Stacey checked her phone for the third time—6:30 PM, and Betty still wasn't back from detention. A triumphant smirk spread across her perfect features. Her little stepsister was probably still crying somewhere, completely humiliated after this morning's presentation disaster.
Good, Stacey thought, pushing open Betty's bedroom door. Maybe now she'll finally learn her place.
The room was exactly what she'd expected—cramped, cluttered with textbooks, and painfully ordinary. Stacey wrinkled her nose at the secondhand furniture and cheap decorations. How could anyone live like this?
Her eyes landed on Betty's laptop, still open on the desk. Stacey couldn't resist. She'd always wondered what went on in her weird stepsister's head.
The screen was locked, asking for a password. Stacey tried a few obvious ones—"password," "123456"—before having a thought. She typed in Betty's birthday.
The desktop appeared.
"Stupid, gullible, fat ugly duckling," Stacey muttered with satisfaction.
She opened the browser and immediately found what she was looking for—Betty's secret blog folder. Video files, photo files, all neatly organized. Stacey's eyebrows rose as she clicked through them.
There were the usual pathetic diary entries about not fitting in, about wanting to be pretty. But then Stacey found the photos from just yesterday—Betty in her underwear, hands on her stomach, looking vulnerable and desperate.
Stacey's eyes lit up. This was perfect. This was exactly what she needed.
She quickly transferred the photos to her phone, her mind already spinning with possibilities. Betty would do anything to keep these from getting out.
The front door slammed downstairs. Betty was home.
Stacey didn't bother closing the laptop or trying to hide what she was doing. She simply leaned back in Betty's desk chair and waited.
Footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door opened.
"What are you doing in my room?" Betty's voice was sharp with exhaustion and suspicion.
Stacey turned slowly, her expression innocent. "Nothing. Just reading your blog." She gestured casually at the laptop screen. "Got quite horrified at those naked photos of yours... which I copied to my phone."
Betty went white. "You what?"
"You really should use a better password, sis." Stacey held up her phone, showing Betty one of the photos. "Though I have to say, even with good lighting, you still look like a whale."
"Delete it," Betty said, her voice shaking. "Delete it right now."
Stacey stood up slowly, enjoying every second of Betty's panic. "You know, I figured it wouldn't be too hard to get rid of you in my life, but I didn't imagine it'd be this easy."
Her laughter was cold and cruel.
"Stay away from Marcus," Stacey said, stepping closer to Betty, "or this gets leaked... sis."
Betty stared at her in horror. "You can't—"
"Oh, but I can. And I will." Stacey brushed past her toward the door. "Sweet dreams, Betty."
***
The next day at school, Marcus noticed immediately that something was wrong. Betty avoided his eyes in the hallway, took a different route to classes, and practically ran whenever she saw him coming.
By lunch, his patience was gone.
He found her trying to slip past the science wing and cornered her in an empty classroom, blocking the door with his body.
"Have you been avoiding me, Betts?"
Betty’s eyes were red-rimmed, like she hadn’t slept, like she’d been crying through the night and just ran out of strength to hide it.
“I have bigger problems than you,” she snapped, her voice cracking on the last word.
She tried to push past him, but Marcus stepped in again, catching her wrist—gentle, but firm.
“What problems?”
That was it. The question broke something open in her. She froze, shoulders trembling, then dropped into the nearest desk chair like her legs couldn’t hold her up anymore.
The tears hit fast and hard. Ugly. Messy. From deep in her chest. She covered her face with both hands like she could disappear into them.
“Betty,” Marcus said, kneeling beside her. His voice was soft. Real. “What happened?”
She shook her head, trying to swallow it down, but the words pushed through like they’d been building all day.
“Stacey,” she choked. “She got into my laptop. She found the pictures. The ones I took of myself.”
His brow furrowed. “What pictures?”
“I was…” Her voice collapsed into a whisper. “I wasn’t wearing much. Just trying to… I don’t know. See if I could look pretty. Sexy, even. Just for once. Just… not disgusting.”
Marcus was silent, too stunned to speak. Betty let out a dry laugh, bitter and trembling.
“She’s going to show everyone. She’s going to ruin everything.”
She looked at him then, really looked—like she was bracing for disgust.
“You don’t get it,” she said. “You don’t know what it’s like, trying to squeeze into clothes that aren’t made for you. Nothing fits. Not the jeans, not the bras. My boobs are too big, and not in a cute, porn-star way—in a heavy, awkward way that makes shirts ride up and straps dig in and people stare.”
Her arms tightened around her middle like she was holding herself together. “And you—you’re Marcus. You’re built like a Calvin Klein ad. And I’m just… not. I’m not built for guys like you.”
He opened his mouth, but she cut him off, voice rising.
“You know what I am? I’m a curiosity. A joke. Something you’re kind to because you feel bad for me. Because we live in the age of Stacey—of Victoria’s Secret models and filter-perfect girls—and I’m the one who gets pity-kissed in the dark or posted in a group chat for laughs.”
Her lip quivered.
“Guys like you don’t want girls like me, Marcus. You want skinny, shiny girls who come with angles and thigh gaps and confidence. I come with stretch marks and panic attacks and a sweater I won’t take off in gym class.”
She looked away, wiped her cheek.
“I didn’t take those photos for anyone else. I took them to see if I could maybe want myself, just once. But now? Now they’re ammo.”
Marcus was quiet for a long moment, processing what she'd told him.
"I haven't seen them," he said finally, his voice low. "But Betty, look at me."
She reluctantly met his eyes.
"You are beautiful," he said, and something in his tone made her breath catch. "You don't need to try to be anything. You already are."
The way he was looking at her—intense, hungry, like he meant every word—made Betty's heart race.
"Marcus..." she whispered.
He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "Stacey can't control you. Don't let her win."
The space between them seemed to disappear. Marcus leaned in, and this time, Betty didn't run.
Their lips met softly at first, tentative and sweet. But then Betty's hands found the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepened. Marcus's arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her onto the desk as his mouth moved against hers with increasing urgency.
Betty had never been kissed like this—like she was wanted, like she was precious. Marcus's hands tangled in her hair, and she could feel the heat radiating from his body as he pressed closer.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard. Marcus rested his forehead against hers, his dark eyes intense.
"Don't let her scare you away from me," he whispered. "Promise me."
Betty nodded, still dizzy from the kiss, from the feeling of being in his arms.
She had no idea she was playing right into his hands.