Chapter 5: Public Humiliation

I never thought I’d be on the stage—for all the wrong reasons.

The moment my phone vibrated nonstop, I knew something had gone horribly, horribly wrong. The cab pulled up to my building, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. I sat in the seat, hands trembling, eyes glued to the screen.

The first notification was from Avery:

“Scarlett — you need to see this. Call me now.”

Then dozens more. Mentions. Tags. Screenshots.

I opened one.

There I was — my face flushed, tears streaming, standing in front of the ballroom entrance, mouth half‑open, taking a step back from Ethan and Vanessa. Behind me, the massive marquee: Emerson Grand Ballroom — Wedding Rehearsal. The caption below read: “She found out live. The bride who lost her groom today.”

Another post: “#VanessaWins #ScarlettOut” with a video clip: me, voice trembling, “What do you mean, marrying her? You promised—” My words cut off. The video ended with Ethan’s blank stare and Vanessa’s small, cold laugh.

Another: “Socialite drama at its finest — forgot this was a rehearsal, not a show.” The comments rolled in by the second: “Poor thing,” “What a mess,” “Serves her right,” “Hope she gets what’s coming”. Toxic. Cruel. Merciless.

I felt exposed — naked — in front of the world. A voyeur’s feast.

I didn’t know how I made it out of the cab, but I pulled open the door, stumbled into the lobby, and made my way to the elevator. My legs felt weak. The walls felt like closing in.

The elevator dinged. My apartment floor. The doors opened. Avery was waiting there, face pale, lips pressed tight.

“Scarlett,” she said quietly. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t speak. The tears waited, roiling, wanting release.

She wrapped her arms around me. I felt the tremors in my limbs. The humiliation. The rage. The sorrow. All mingled.

“Come inside,” she said. “Let me help you shut it out for a minute.”

Her voice was a lifeline.

I collapsed onto the couch in my living room. Avery sat beside me, pulling out her phone. “I’m screenshotting everything. Storing it. We’ll need it.”

I nodded, burying my face in my hands. “They’re making memes. A filter. Someone added glitter to my tears.” My voice cracked. “Why does this feel like they enjoy watching me break?”

“They do,” Avery said softly. “People love a spectacle. But we’ll fight back.”

She showed me a thread — the video was everywhere now. On I*******m stories, on T*****r retweets, on gossip blogs. The thumbnails: my face, devastated, the headline “Rehearsal Gone Wrong.” Some articles called it “the most dramatic socialite scandal of the season.” One even speculated that the wedding was cancelled.

I swallowed hard. Each word was a knife.

I looked up at Avery. “I need to respond. But I don’t want to look desperate.”

She shook her head. “You don’t respond. You reclaim. You rise. You don’t lower yourself to their level.”

I closed my eyes. “How?”

She took a deep breath. “We take control of the narrative. You release a statement. You be dignified. But firm. They’ll expect tears. They’ll expect weakness. So you give them strength.”

I nodded, slowly. I didn’t feel strong. I felt broken. But I didn’t want weakness to define me.

My phone pinged again — another screenshot, another comment, another cruel jab. I ignored it, breathing in slowly, trying to steady the storm.

“I’m going up,” Avery said. “Let me get you something. Water. Food. Something to anchor you.”

I nodded. The room felt small, suffocating. My heart pounded in my ears. My body shook.

When Avery left, I pulled myself upright and grabbed my laptop from the coffee table. I opened a blank document. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I typed:

To those who have seen the video circulating online:

I will not offer a public spectacle. But I will say this: my dignity is not for sale.

I trusted. I was betrayed. But I will not be broken.

I ask for respect, patience, and compassion during this time.

— Scarlett E.

I read it. It sounded too shallow, too safe. I deleted “patience and compassion.” I changed the last line to:

— Scarlett E., reclaiming her voice

Better. Not perfect. But better.

I hesitated over send. The weight of it sat in my chest. I knew once it was out, there was no going back.

I took a breath and pressed “Post.”

Within seconds, my own statement was shared, reshared, quoted, dissected. Social media erupted again. Some messages praised the dignity. Others accused me of playing victim. But at least now I had a voice in the conversation.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Avery brought me dinner and coaxed me to eat. I forced down a few bites of pasta while she monitored comments and messages. She blocked hateful ones. Reported harassment. Saved anything that looked like evidence.

My phone kept buzzing — from friends, from distant relatives, from people I barely knew. Some offered support. Some sent articles. Some asked “Is it really true?” Some said nothing but left blue check marks or emojis.

One message from Vanessa — forwarded through a friend: “I am deeply sorry for the escalation. Let us handle things discreetly.”

I didn’t reply. I stared at it and erased it before I even opened it.

Another from Ethan: “Scarlett, this got out of control. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t wanna hear it. Not now.

I pressed delete. The screen flickered and went dark.

Silence.

My heart pounded.

Later, I stood at the window of my apartment, looking out at the city lights. They blurred, trembling. The world was bright, noisy, unforgiving.

I thought of the elegant version of me—the wedding gown hanging in limbo, the perfect smiles, the life that was supposed to come next. It all felt like a distant dream.

Avery came up behind me, leaning her head on my shoulder. “You did good,” she murmured.

I shook my head. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know,” she said. “But you did what you had to do.”

I closed my eyes. The embarrassment had torn skin off my soul. But I refused to let them watch me bleed without a fight.

She squeezed me gently. “Sleep now. Tomorrow’s another day.”

I nodded. My body exhausted. My mind buzzing with anger, shame, sorrow, and determination.

As I lay in bed later, I thought of Margot’s warnings — sudden changes. Foreshadowing. She had said it. I dismissed it. But now I saw the truth in it. Everything had changed. In one explosive moment, my life had been rewritten in the public eye.

I didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. Would people sympathize? Would they judge me forever? Would I recover any control?

I thought of the statement on my phone. I will not be broken. I repeated it to myself in the dark. Over and over. Until the words gave me a pivot. A foothold.

Because I knew this — humiliation was a weapon. But so was rising from it.

And in the quiet of that night, I vowed: I would rise.