My Bully Became My Fan Chapter 08
Madison’s Instagram exploded before I’d even left the hotel. Seven posts within an hour about “catching up with amazing friend ScarlettGlow” and “blessed to be surrounded by inspiring women.”
Amazing friend. If your fake followers only knew.
She posted my beta products like Christmas presents, squealing about how “exclusive” everything was in her unboxing video.
Five hundred dollars worth of products that cost me thirty to make.
Over the next two weeks, I rolled out the real traps.
The “exclusive photoshoot opportunity“—fifteen hundred dollars. I watched her scramble through Instagram stories, posting a “closet cleanout sale” where she was obviously selling everything valuable.
she borrowed money. Multiple sources, judging by How long it took.
Next came the “networking dinner with beauty executives“-eight hundred dollars. This one was harder. She started posting more about “manifesting abundance“-desperate spiritual bypassing when you are drowning.
She sold something important. Jewelry, maybe furniture. Something that hurt.
Finally, the “celebrity styling consultation“-two thousand dollars. This one broke something in her.
Three days between my offer and her shaky “yes.” When she showed up, there was something hollow behind her eyes.
Payday loan. That’s the look of borrowing from sharks.
The networking dinner was where everything unraveled.
invited twelve real beauty influencers to Spago, telling them it was casual industry networking. Madison was the only fraud among them.
She walked in wearing another obvious rental, clutching her phone like a lifeline. When I introduced her as someone “building her brand,” I caught the skeptical glances between the real influencers.
The conversation started with industry basics- alorithm changes, partnership rates. Madison nodded along, but her panic grew with each topic she clearly knew nothing about.
Then Jessica asked the fatal question: “Madison, what $ your engagement rate these days?”
Madison’s face went blank. “My… engagement rate?”
“Yeah, you know. Comments and likes divided by followers. Basic metric.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably. Madison was turning red, sweat beading at her hairline.
“Oh, um, it’s… good. Really good.”
“What’s your follower count?” someone else asked.
“About three… well, growing fast…”
Three thousand in a room where the minimum is 300, 000.
Wait,” said Mia, pulling out her phone. “These followers are totally fake. Look–all bot account comments.”
The table went silent. Everyone looked at their phones, then at Madison, then at me. this This is perfect.
“That’s not–I mean, everyone has some fake followers-” Madison stammered.
Some fake followers? Honey, these are ALL fake. You have maybe two hundred real followers, max.”
Two hundred real followers after years of trying, The energy shifted completely. These were professionals who’d worked years to build their brands, and Madison had just been exposed as a complete fraud.
The rest of dinner was exquisite torture. Madison sat there while everyone talked around her, occasionally getting pitying looks. When the bill came, I watched her panic about thirty–three dollars.
Panicking over thirty–three dollars.
But the masterpiece came during my live stream the following week was in my perfectly lit studio doing a Q&A. Madison was watching–I could see her username spamming heart emojis in the comments.
So desperate for my attention.
Then someone asked exactly what I’d hoped for:
ViewerLove23: Scarlett, what inspired you to focus on scar coverage?
I looked directly into the camera with practiced vulnerability.
It comes from personal experience. High school can be really tough. Some people can be incredibly cruel, and I learned firsthand how scars–physical and emotional–affect your confidence.”
Some people can be incredibly cruel. Like Madison Blackwell, watching this right now.
The comments exploded with support. Madison was posting hearts frantically.
She has no idea. She’s cheering for a story about what she did to me.
“Everyone has experienced bullying or cruelty,” I continued. “The important thing is not letting those people define you. Sometimes the best revenge is becoming successful enough that they become irrelevant.”
More hearts from Madison, probably crying with inspiration at my “wisdom.”
After the stream, I posted behind–the–scenes content from my penthouse–the city view, the designer closet, the marble kitchen bigger than most apartments.
Within an hour, Madison posted her own “behind–the- scenes“-her tiny studio shot from strategic angles, drugstore products arranged to look expensive, captions about “manifesting abundance.”
Manifesting abundance from a studio that costs half our Target salary.
My assistant texted me that night; “Madison just signed up for Malibu retreat. Used four credit cards and a cash advance to cover $3000.”
Four credit cards and a cash advance. She’s not just drowning–she tied concrete to her own feet.
I thought about sixteen–year–old me in that hospital room, listening to Madison’s lawyer buy his way out with blood money.
Not this time. This time you pay for everything.