David and I had just returned from our honeymoon, deeply in love, but his mother, Gertrude, never warmed up to me. She criticized everything—from my cooking to my appearance.
During one dinner, she made snide remarks about my soup and lipstick. David, distracted by work, remained unaware of the tension. After he left the table, Gertrude coldly told me I wasn’t “pretty enough” for her son.
Hurt, I retreated to my atelier, my sanctuary, where I found an invitation to a beauty contest. I saw it as a chance to prove my worth—not to her, but to myself.
David supported me wholeheartedly. I threw myself into training and preparing a clothing line to showcase my talent. Living with other contestants was tough—some were ruthless, like Chloe, who sabotaged others. But I stayed kind and built true friendships, especially with Katie.
The night before the contest, Lily—the friend who invited me—acted suspiciously. Something felt off, but I didn’t press it. The next day, the show began, and I proudly presented my collection with a message: fashion should be inclusive and compassionate.
The crowd responded with a standing ovation, but Gertrude whispered, “This contest isn’t for someone like you.” I didn’t let it break me.
Backstage, Katie’s dress was destroyed. Suspecting foul play—likely Gertrude’s doing—I gave her my gown and wore a simple backup. Despite the contrast on stage, I held my head high, reaffirming my dream: to empower others, not chase fame.
Katie won the contest; I received the People’s Choice award. David, beaming with pride, told me I didn’t need a crown to prove my worth.
Then I confronted Gertrude. I told her I knew she had orchestrated the sabotage through Lily, who had confessed. David backed me up, standing firmly by my side.
We walked away, hand in hand, leaving Gertrude behind with a choice: change, or be left out. I had finally found my voice—and my strength.
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