Her sponsorships—secured only because of our brand name—were immediately questioned. Some partners backed out on the spot. Others didn’t even bother calling.
By day three, she appeared at my apartment door, mascara smudged, pride shattered.
“Elena… please. We’re sisters. You can’t ruin my career.”
“I didn’t ruin it,” I said. “You burned every bridge yourself. I’m just refusing to rebuild them for you.”
“I’ll change,” she whispered desperately. “Just give me another chance.”
I thought about our father.
I thought about every designer she berated, every assistant she mistreated, every family moment she poisoned.
She had been given hundreds of chances.
“You need to learn humil:ity,” I told her. “Losing your job is only the start.”
And then I closed the door.
In the weeks that followed, my extended family scrambled for positioning—cousins who mocked me now praised me, aunts who adored Victoria suddenly claimed they “always knew she was troubled.”
I didn’t seek reve:nge on them.
Their guilt was punishment enough.
Victoria eventually found small modeling jobs—local, modest, far from the glamour she once flaunted. She had become quieter. Softer. Human again.
As for me, I continued expanding HÉLOISE, investing in kind people with real talent—the opposite of everything she once represented.
Maybe one day I’ll tell the world this story.
But for now, I’ll ask you:
Did Elena go too far… or was this justice finally served?
What do you think?
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