Summer Cline had always been the kind of girl who turned heads, and she knew it. At 22, she was petite but striking, her 5'1" frame toned and athletic from countless hours at the gym. Her blonde hair flowed in loose, effortless waves, and her bright blue eyes sparkled with a mix of confidence and ambition—or at least that’s how it seemed on camera. Her naturally tanned skin glowed, often accentuated by the barely-there crop tops and high-waisted shorts she favored, outfits that showcased her flat stomach and long, shapely legs. Summer looked like she belonged on a sun-drenched beach in Florida, not in the sleepy, conservative town of Sunshine Springs.
The image she crafted for her online followers was one of carefree beauty and charm. On TikTok, she was the blonde bombshell bouncing along to viral dance trends, her hips swaying just enough to draw attention. On Instagram, she was the sunlit goddess, posing in bikinis or flashing a playful grin with her toned abs front and center. And on OnlyFans, she was...well, a little more than that.
But for all her online allure, Summer’s real life was far less glamorous. She still lived at home with her parents, in the same lavender-walled bedroom she’d had since middle school. Despite her curated image of independence and success, she relied on her parents to pay for the roof over her head, the food on the table, and even the gas in her car. And they had been patient—very patient—with her dreams of becoming a social media star. But that patience was wearing thin.
It all came crashing down one quiet Thursday evening.
Summer had just finished uploading her latest video to TikTok, a sultry dance set to the latest viral track. In the clip, she wore a tight tank top that barely covered her chest and tiny shorts that left little to the imagination. The video ended with a slow-motion turn, her hair flipping dramatically as she winked at the camera. She grinned as the comments started rolling in.
“Damn girl
”“Why are you not famous yet?!”
“When’s the next OF drop?
”She tossed her phone on her bed, stretching with a satisfied smile. This was the life she wanted—adoration, attention, and eventually, sponsorships big enough to get her out of Sunshine Springs for good. But that smile faded when she heard her dad’s voice booming from downstairs.
“Summer! Get down here. Now.”
She hesitated, her heart skipping a beat. It wasn’t unusual for her dad to raise his voice, but this was different. There was a sharpness to it that made her stomach twist. She slowly made her way down the stairs, finding both her parents sitting in the living room. Her dad, a gruff man with a permanently furrowed brow, was gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles were white. Her mom sat beside him, her face pale and strained, holding her own phone in trembling hands.
“What’s going on?” Summer asked, her voice wary.
Her dad didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held up his phone, the screen glowing with a familiar image. Summer’s stomach dropped. It was her OnlyFans profile. Her name, her picture and the subscription price were all there, staring back at her.
“Explain this,” her dad said, his voice low and cold.
Summer blinked, her mouth suddenly dry. “How...how did you even get that?”
“Don’t change the subject,” her mom snapped, her voice breaking with emotion. “Is this you? Are you...selling pictures of yourself like some...some kind of prostitute? Selling yourself to strangers for clicks and money? You think that’s going to last? You think you’ll always have people willing to pay to see you naked? Grow up, Summer”
“It’s not like that,” Summer said quickly, her voice defensive. “It’s just...private content. For subscribers. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” her dad bellowed, standing up so abruptly the coffee table rattled. “You’re parading yourself half-naked on the internet for strangers’ money, and you don’t think that’s a big deal? What are you going to do when this all blows up in your face? When no one wants you? You’re going to look back on this and see how stupid you were to throw everything away for likes and followers.”
“I’m not half-naked,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “And even if I was, it’s my body. I can do what I want with it.”
Her mom let out a small, anguished gasp, pressing her hand to her mouth. “We raised you better than this,” she whispered. “I can’t believe this is what you’ve been doing while we’ve been paying your bills and feeding you.”
“I’m 22, Mom,” Summer snapped. “I’m an adult. I don’t need your permission to make money.”
“You’re not an adult if you’re still living under our roof and relying on us for everything,” her dad said, his voice cutting. “You don’t even pay rent, Summer. And this is how you repay us? By embarrassing our family? By humiliating us in front of the whole town? "You’re throwing your life away, Summer. Nobody’s going to respect you if you keep doing this. You’re better than this.”
“Humiliating you?” Summer scoffed. “Nobody even knows it’s me.”
“Are you serious?” her mom cried, tears streaming down her face. “People from church are whispering about us. Do you know how I found this? Linda from the prayer group sent it to me. Do you know how mortifying that is?”
Summer’s jaw clenched. “That’s not my fault,” she muttered, looking away.
Her dad stepped closer, his face red with anger. “You have until the end of the week to pack your things,” he said coldly. “We’re done supporting this. If you want to sell yourself online, you can do it somewhere else. But not under my roof.”
Her head snapped up. “You’re kicking me out? Are you serious?”
“Dead serious,” he said. “And don’t come back asking for money when this little ‘career’ of yours falls apart.”
Summer turned to her mom, hoping for some kind of support, but her mom shook her head, her expression a mix of disappointment and heartbreak. “We love you, Summer,” she said softly. “But we can’t condone this.”
Summer’s eyes burned with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. “Fine,” she spat. “I don’t need you. I’ll be just fine on my own.”
She stormed back upstairs, slamming her bedroom door so hard the walls shook. Her hands were trembling as she started shoving clothes into garbage bags, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. She hated them. They didn’t understand her. They didn’t see the potential she had, the life she was trying to build. All they cared about was their stupid small-town reputation.
By the time the weekend came, she had packed everything she owned into her beat-up car. Her dad didn’t say a word as she loaded the last bag into the trunk. Her mom hugged her briefly at the door, but it was stiff and distant.
“Take care of yourself,” her mom said quietly. “And...please think about what you’re doing.”
Summer didn’t respond. She got in her car and drove off, refusing to look back. But as she pulled into the parking lot of the tiny studio apartment she’d managed to rent, the weight of it all hit her. She was on her own now. And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could handle it.
Summer’s new studio apartment was an exercise in denial. To anyone else, it would have been a bleak downgrade—cramped, musty, and poorly lit with peeling wallpaper that couldn’t decide whether to stick to the walls or curl in defiance. But to Summer, it was simply another step on her journey. It wasn’t that she couldn’t see the imperfections; it was that she refused to acknowledge them. This was her staging ground, the temporary launching pad to the life she deserved. The fact that the refrigerator door wouldn’t close all the way or that the water pressure in the shower was barely more than a dribble didn’t faze her. She’d have a glamorous penthouse soon enough.
The first thing Summer set up wasn’t her bed or even the kitchen essentials. No, the ring light and her phone tripod took priority. Those were her lifelines, her weapons, her tools for capturing the perfect angles and the sultry smirks that her followers loved. Her outfits—crop tops, bikinis, and a seemingly endless array of tiny shorts—were carefully unpacked and organized in the corner, right next to her modest collection of makeup and her ever-growing assortment of candles. The candles weren’t just for ambience; they were for the aesthetic. Everything Summer did, every item she owned, had to fit the image she projected online.
She spent the first evening in her new place sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of her phone, scrolling through Instagram. Her smile stretched wider with every compliment she read on her latest bikini post. “You’re stunning.” “Body goals.” “Hottest girl on the app.” Comments like these were the air she breathed. But then her finger stopped on one comment that hit like a pinprick to her carefully inflated ego. “Tryhard,” it said, accompanied by a string of laughing emojis. Her heart skipped. For a moment, she stared at the screen, her mind racing with indignation. Tryhard? Who the hell did this troll think they were? Probably some fat loser, she thought. Her fingers moved quickly, blocking the account with a satisfying tap. “Haters gonna hate,” she muttered, though the comment lingered longer in her mind than she wanted to admit.
Her dinner that night consisted of a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos and a can of diet soda. The kitchenette was functional enough to cook a meal, but Summer didn’t have time for that. Cooking wasn’t cute. Nobody wanted to see her chopping vegetables or boiling pasta. Instead, she propped her phone up on the counter and recorded herself holding the bag of chips to the camera with a flirty smile. “Sometimes, you just gotta treat yourself,” she said, popping one into her mouth and giving the camera a playful wink. She figured she could caption it with something like, “Snack time but make it sexy,” and post it to TikTok later. Even her most mundane moments had to be content.
The next morning, the sunlight that streamed through the single cracked window was harsh, making the room’s imperfections impossible to ignore. Summer groaned as she stretched, then picked up her phone to check her notifications. It was an automatic gesture, like breathing. There were a few new likes, some comments, and a couple of DMs, but nothing that gave her the hit of validation she craved. Her OnlyFans earnings for the week had trickled down to half of what they were a few months ago, and the sponsors on Instagram hadn’t reached out for a new campaign in weeks. The thought made her chest tighten, but she shook it off. She just needed to work harder. Post more. Do better.
After throwing on a pair of neon pink leggings and a matching sports bra, Summer headed to the gym. The gym was more than a place to work out; it was her stage. As she walked through the doors, she could feel the eyes of the other patrons on her, or at least she thought she could. She pretended not to notice but made sure to move with an exaggerated sway in her hips. She chose a spot by the mirrors and set up her tripod, angling it just right to capture her glutes in the frame.
She started her workout with squats, making sure each movement was slow and deliberate, her back arched just enough to highlight her assets. Every so often, she’d glance at her phone to make sure she was staying in frame. After all, what was the point of working out if her followers didn’t see it? Between sets, she pouted at the camera, swiping sweat off her brow with a dramatic flair. She muttered to herself about the caption she’d use later. Something like, “Building the dream, one squat at a time
.”Her routine was interrupted when a middle-aged man began using the weights directly behind her. His presence wasn’t disruptive in any real way, but to Summer, it was an affront. She paused mid-squat and turned to glare at him. “Uh, excuse me? Can you not?” she said, her voice dripping with annoyance.
The man looked up, confused. “What?”
“You’re in my shot,” Summer snapped, gesturing toward her phone. “Like, can you move? This is kind of important.”
He raised an eyebrow. “It’s a gym,” he said simply, turning back to his weights.
Summer rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, grabbing her phone and storming off to find a new spot. She didn’t care that she was the one being unreasonable. To her, the gym wasn’t a public space; it was her personal photo studio.
The gym incident was still simmering in Summer’s mind as she climbed into her car, tossing her tripod and phone onto the passenger seat with far less care than usual. "What a dick," she muttered to herself, gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary. The guy had ruined her shot, and with it, her morning. That video was supposed to be her next big post—something simple yet perfect to grab attention and rack up likes. Now she’d have to find a new spot in the gym tomorrow, one with better lighting and fewer idiots wandering into her frame.
Her mood darkened further as she glanced at the clock on her phone. She was running late. Her workout, interrupted and now useless in her mind, had eaten into the time she needed to get ready for work at the daycare. She sighed, throwing the car into gear and speeding toward her studio apartment. It was a miracle she hadn’t already lost her gym membership; between her dwindling OnlyFans earnings and Instagram sponsors ghosting her, it was one of the few luxuries she couldn’t justify. Still, she couldn’t stop. Her body—toned, petite, and perfect for the camera—was her brand.
By the time she got home, Summer was in full-on rush mode. The studio apartment greeted her with its usual bleakness—peeling wallpaper, a faintly sour smell she’d never been able to locate, and cluttered corners filled with tripods and props for her content. She didn’t even glance at it as she darted to the bathroom, stripping off her neon pink gym set and hopping into the shower. The water pressure, pathetic as always, trickled over her skin, but she didn’t have time to care. She scrubbed off the sweat, her mind racing about what to wear.
Ten minutes later, she was standing in front of her closet, towel-drying her hair while eyeing her options. Sunshine Kids Daycare wasn’t exactly a runway, but she couldn’t bring herself to dress completely down. Modest for her was a pair of fitted jeans and a blouse with just enough tailoring to hint at her figure. She found a white button-up that she tied at the waist, leaving a sliver of skin visible. Paired with sneakers, it was practical enough for the daycare and cute enough that she didn’t feel invisible.
Her makeup was quick but precise—mascara to brighten her blue eyes, a touch of blush, and her signature glossy pink lip. She checked her reflection, smoothing her blonde ponytail, and gave herself a nod. It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it would do. She grabbed her phone and gym bag, then rushed out the door.
The parking lot of Sunshine Kids was already busy with parents dropping off their children. Summer pulled in, parking crookedly but not bothering to fix it. She stepped out, her smile bright and practiced as she waved at the parents she passed. A few dads lingered a second too long, their gazes trailing after her, and she felt a flicker of satisfaction. Even here, she couldn’t help but soak up the attention.
Inside, the daycare was its usual whirlwind of chaos. Kids ran between play areas, parents gave rushed instructions to staff, and the faint smell of crayons and sanitizer hung in the air. Summer dropped her bag in the break room and headed to her group of kids. The moment she stepped into the room, a chorus of tiny voices greeted her.
"Miss Summer!" one toddler squealed, racing to hug her leg.
Summer crouched down, scooping the little girl into her arms with a laugh. "Hey, sweetie! Did you miss me?" she asked, ruffling the child’s hair. Moments like this were what kept her grounded—well, as grounded as she could be. She loved the kids, even if she hated most of her coworkers. The kids didn’t care about her followers or her side hustle. They just saw her as someone who made them laugh and helped them build block towers.
Her day passed in a blur of finger painting, snack time, and defusing minor tantrums. She was good at this part. She had a knack for getting kids to smile, for making them feel seen. But even in the middle of storytime, her phone felt heavy in her pocket, a constant reminder of her other life. She checked it during nap time, scrolling through OnlyFans messages and Instagram notifications. Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Her frustration bubbled up, but she shoved it down. She’d figure it out later.
As she was putting away art supplies, Kelly walked into the room. Summer noticed her immediately, and her mood soured. Kelly was annoyingly perfect—the kind of person who worked at the daycare because she loved kids, not because she was biding her time for something better. She was studying pre-med and wanted to be a pediatrician, which made her almost unbearably self-righteous in Summer’s eyes. Kelly was always the first to volunteer for extra tasks, the one who remembered every kid’s birthday, and the one who subtly reminded everyone how much she cared.
Kelly’s face carried a solemn look that immediately put Summer on edge. Summer knew that expression; it was the one Kelly always wore when she was about to be annoyingly sanctimonious, like some self-appointed moral guardian of the daycare. It made Summer want to scream.
“Hey, Summer,” Kelly said, her tone calm but with an edge of urgency. She glanced at the kids napping on their mats and gestured toward the break room. “Can we talk? It’s important.”
Summer sighed, standing up and brushing her ponytail over her shoulder. She didn’t trust Kelly’s version of “important.” “Fine,” she muttered, following her into the break room. Once inside, Kelly closed the door behind them, her movements deliberate, like she was preparing for some big reveal.
“What’s up?” Summer asked, crossing her arms. She leaned against the counter, her posture casual, but her eyes were already scanning Kelly’s face for a reason to dismiss whatever nonsense she was about to say.
Kelly hesitated for a moment, as if trying to choose her words carefully. Then she pulled her phone out of her pocket, her fingers swiping quickly before holding the screen out toward Summer.
“This,” Kelly said, her voice steady but with an undeniable undertone of concern. “A parent showed me this this morning.”
Summer’s eyes flicked to the screen, and her stomach twisted into a tight knot. It was a screenshot of her OnlyFans profile. Her heart skipped, then started pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears. She didn’t need more than a glance to recognize the photo—it was unmistakably hers.
The image was a seductive masterpiece of her own making. In the photo, Summer was stepping out of the shower, her blonde hair wet and clinging to her shoulders. A small white towel was draped loosely across her chest, barely covering her breasts, the curve of one side teasingly visible. Her lips were parted in a playful, sultry smile, her eyes sparkling with a look that practically screamed, I just used the showerhead for more than rinsing, and it felt amazing. It was provocative, intimate, and undeniably hers.
Summer’s first reaction wasn’t guilt or fear. It was anger. Anger at being called out, anger at Kelly, anger at the audacity of someone thinking they could hold this over her. She let out a small, dry laugh, leaning back against the counter and folding her arms. “Oh my God,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain. “Really, Kelly? What, you went digging for my OnlyFans? Should I be flattered?”
Kelly blinked, caught off guard. “What? No, I didn’t—”
“Look,” Summer interrupted, holding up a hand. “If you’re hoping for a discount membership or—God forbid—you want to make a video with me, the answer is no.”
Kelly’s expression hardened. “That’s not what this is about.”
“Sure it’s not,” Summer said, rolling her eyes. “You just ‘accidentally’ found it, right? Whatever, Kelly. I don’t have time for your weird obsession with me.”
Kelly’s jaw tightened, but she forced herself to remain calm. “Summer,” she said, her voice firm now, “a parent found this. She came to me this morning and showed me the screenshot. She said she’s bringing it to Mr. Johnson this afternoon and expects a meeting about it.”
The words hit Summer like a slap. Her smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, crossing her arms tighter. “A parent?” she echoed, trying to keep her voice steady. “And you didn’t think to tell them it’s none of their damn business?”
Kelly gave her a pointed look. “Summer, they’re concerned. This is a daycare. You know how protective these parents are. It doesn’t matter if it’s private or separate from work. The moment they see something like this, it’s a problem.”
Summer’s nails dug into her arms as she glared at Kelly. She could feel her temper rising, but underneath it was a creeping sense of panic. This couldn’t be happening. “It’s not illegal,” she said sharply. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“I’m not saying it’s illegal,” Kelly replied evenly. “I’m just telling you what’s happening. You should know before it gets to Mr. Johnson.”
Summer’s mind raced. She didn’t care about Kelly’s concern or her stupid holier-than-thou attitude. What she cared about was the fact that her private life was about to be dragged into her day job. The one job she couldn’t afford to lose right now. She needed this paycheck, even if the thought of working with Kelly and these uptight parents every day made her skin crawl.
“And what are you getting out of this, huh?” Summer snapped, her voice rising. “You think you’re some hero for running to tell me? You’ve been dying to see me fail, haven’t you?”
Kelly’s face softened, and for a moment, she looked genuinely hurt. “I don’t want you to fail,” she said quietly. “I know you love the kids. I just… thought you should know.”
Summer scoffed, rolling her eyes so hard she could’ve sprained them. “Yeah, well, thanks for nothing.”
Kelly sighed, clearly realizing there was no winning here. “For what it’s worth, I hope you figure this out,” she said before turning and leaving the room.
As soon as the door closed, Summer let out a frustrated groan, pacing the small break room like a caged animal. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not like this. She grabbed her phone, scrolling furiously through her notifications, but there was nothing that could undo what had already been set in motion. Her carefully constructed image—the one she worked so hard to keep separate from her day job—was crumbling. And she had no idea how to stop it.
The remainder of the day passed in a blur for Summer. Every movement felt mechanical, every interaction hollow. Her mind spun endlessly, replaying Kelly’s words and the dreadful realization that one of the parents had seen her OnlyFans page. Her parents’ harsh words rang loudly in her ears, unshakable now that her fragile reality was beginning to crack.
“Are you...selling pictures of yourself like some...some kind of prostitute?” Her mother’s voice cut through her memories. “Selling yourself to strangers for clicks and money? You think that’s going to last? You think you’ll always have people willing to pay to see you naked? Grow up, Summer.”
Her father’s words had been no kinder. “What are you going to do when this all blows up in your face? When no one wants you? You’re going to look back on this and see how stupid you were to throw everything away for likes and followers.”
Summer clenched her fists, refusing to let herself spiral into despair. They don’t know me. They don’t know what I’m capable of. I’ll prove them wrong. I’ll prove all of them wrong.
As the afternoon trudged on, her confidence began to reassert itself. Her mind turned to Mr. Johnson, the daycare director. Yes, he was a moral, righteous man, but he was also just a man. And men, she knew, were predictable. She’d seen the way his eyes lingered when he passed her desk, how his voice softened when he spoke to her compared to the other staff. If she played this right, she could smooth things over before the meeting even happened. Summer had spent years perfecting this skill of getting what wants from a man. She knew exactly how to craft a message that would be impossible to ignore.
She leaned against the bathroom counter, ignoring the smudged mirror and the fluorescent lights that made her tan look harsher than it actually was. Her phone screen glared up at her, waiting for her next move. With a deep breath, she typed out her hail Mary.
"Hey Mr. Johnson
, I really hope you’re not too upset with me. I care so much about this job, and I don’t want to lose it over something that’s honestly been blown way out of proportion. I know I’m good at what I do, and I know the kids love me. I’d hate to lose that because of a misunderstanding.But let’s be real—people make mistakes. I think we could work this out between us… in private. I’m more than willing to do whatever it takes to make you happy. Anything. You’d never regret keeping me around. Just say the word, and I’ll make it worth your while. If you need proof of how much I can offer… maybe I could show you?
I mean, I’d even throw in a free lifetime subscription to my page if that’s what it takes.Or… maybe something more personal? I’ll fuck you if I have to. Just don’t fire me."
Summer stared at the message for a moment before hitting send. There was no going back now. She felt a strange mix of confidence and dread as she watched the message status change to “delivered.” Mr. Johnson wouldn’t ignore her; she was sure of it. He might play it cool, might even act all moral and uptight at first, but she knew he’d come around. Men always did. It was just a matter of when.
But as the hours ticked by and there was no response, her confidence began to falter. She told herself he was just busy, probably trying to figure out how to reply without looking desperate. It wasn’t until parent pick-up that the unease really set in.
Summer had just finished wiping glitter off her hands when Miss Deb, the secretary, appeared in the doorway with one of the aides. “Summer,” she said, her expression tight, “Mr. Johnson needs to see you in his office right now. The aide will handle pick-up for you.”
Summer froze. Her mind raced. He must have seen the message, she thought, her heart leaping into her throat. This is it. He’s going to talk to me before the meeting with the parent. Her hands were clammy as she grabbed her purse and smoothed down her modest—but still subtly sexy—outfit. She took a shaky breath and headed toward his office, trying to summon the confidence she had when she’d sent that message earlier.
But when she opened the door to Mr. Johnson’s office, her stomach dropped. Sitting across from his desk was a well-dressed, middle-aged woman with a stern expression. Summer didn’t recognize her, but she could tell immediately that this was the parent Kelly had mentioned. And on the woman’s phone, clear as day, was her OnlyFans profile—the infamous wet-hair-and-towel photo smiling back at her.
“Take a seat, Summer,” Mr. Johnson said, his voice calm but tense. His usual warmth was replaced by something harder to read. Summer hesitated, but the parent’s sharp glare made her legs move. She sank into the chair beside the woman, her confidence evaporating.
The parent wasted no time. “This is completely unacceptable,” she snapped, waving her phone for emphasis. “I trusted this daycare with my child, and this is the kind of person you have working here? Someone who’s… flaunting herself online in ways that are just plain disgusting?”
Summer opened her mouth to respond, but the woman’s tirade rolled on. “What kind of example does this set for the children? And what about the parents? How are we supposed to feel knowing someone like this is taking care of our kids? It’s unprofessional. It’s immoral.”
“I—this is my personal life,” Summer stammered, her voice shaky. “It doesn’t have anything to do with my job—”
“It has everything to do with your job!” the parent interrupted. “You’re supposed to be a role model. And instead, you’re parading yourself around online like…” Her voice trailed off in disgust. “You should be ashamed.”
“Ma’am,” Mr. Johnson said quietly, holding up a hand to calm her. “I understand your concerns, and I assure you this situation is being handled.”
The parent leaned back, crossing her arms. “It had better be.”
Mr. Johnson turned to Summer, his expression unreadable. “Summer,” he began, his tone softer but no less firm, “there’s something else we need to address.”
He pulled a sheet of paper from his desk and slid it toward her. Summer’s stomach lurched as she read the text message she’d sent him earlier, printed in glaring black and white.
“This,” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment, “is completely inappropriate. Not only did you cross professional boundaries, but you also undermined any chance of resolving this situation in a constructive way.”
Summer’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. The weight of the situation finally crashed down on her.
“I don’t even know what to say to this,” he continued. “Even if I wanted to find a way to work through this… after this message, there’s no way.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Summer blurted, desperate now. “I was just trying to… to fix things!”
“Fix things?” Mr. Johnson’s voice was sharp now. “You thought this was the way to fix things? By making it worse?”
The parent snorted, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry, Summer,” Mr. Johnson said, his voice softening again. “But I can’t have someone working here who doesn’t represent the values we stand for. Your employment is terminated, effective immediately.”
Summer sat there, stunned, as the words sank in. The parent stood, gathering her things with a satisfied air, while Summer remained frozen in her chair, her world crumbling around her.
Mr. Johnson’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts, calm but edged with finality. “Summer, I need you to gather your belongings and leave immediately. Consider yourself fortunate that I’m not taking this further or pressing charges for harassment.”
Summer’s head snapped up, her mouth opening to protest, but no words came. There was no room for negotiation in his tone, no flicker of the understanding she had naively hoped for. He gestured toward the door, his gaze unwavering.
“You’re done here,” he said, softer this time, but it landed with the same force.
And just like that, it was over. Summer sat in her car, parked in the lot outside the daycare, her hands trembling as they gripped the steering wheel. Her chest heaved as she tried to calm the storm raging inside her. Anger. Panic. Embarrassment. It all churned together in a sickening brew that made her stomach twist. She had just lost her job, the steady, albeit unimpressive paycheck that kept her lights on and her landlord off her back. That was gone now, thanks to some sanctimonious parent and Kelly’s meddling.
She bit down on her lip hard enough to sting, her mind spinning in frantic loops. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Her parents' voices echoed in her mind, cruel and cutting. "You’re throwing your life away, Summer. Nobody’s going to respect you if you keep doing this. You’re better than this." But she wasn’t better than this. This was all she had. And now, even that was slipping through her fingers.
Her gaze fell to her phone, sitting innocently on the passenger seat like a loaded weapon. OnlyFans was her last lifeline, her only real source of income now. But even that had been shaky for months. The sponsors had pulled back, the subscribers had dwindled. She didn’t have time to post something fresh right now. She needed cash now—something big, something that would grab attention and make her followers pay up without hesitation.
Her hands fumbled as she unlocked her phone, opening the gallery app with the ease of muscle memory. Her finger scrolled past dozens of selfies, thirst traps, and dance clips before landing on the video. Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the thumbnail—a dimly lit image of her bedroom, her body poised in motion, and a shadowed figure beneath her.
She tapped it, letting it play, and a slow, almost predatory smile crept across her lips. The video was steamy, sensual, perfect. Trevor had no idea she’d recorded it. It had been months ago, back when they were still together, in that golden period when he worshipped the ground she walked on. The footage was grainy but intimate, the kind of raw authenticity her fans craved.
The video started with the soft rustling of sheets and the sound of a deep, muffled laugh—Trevor’s laugh. He was lying on her bed, his shirt off, his lean, toned body stretched out beneath the dim glow of her bedside lamp. Summer climbed onto the bed, her silhouette framed against the faint light. Her hair was loose and wild, cascading over her bare shoulders. She straddled him, her petite frame fitting perfectly against his, her hands trailing up his chest.
The camera angle, perfectly placed on the nightstand, captured every detail: the curve of her hips, the way her fingers tangled in Trevor’s hair as she leaned down to kiss him. Her movements were slow, deliberate, almost teasing. She looked over her shoulder once, locking eyes with the camera, a sly smile playing on her lips. It was as if she were performing, even then. The video was raw, sensual, and undeniably captivating. It wasn’t vulgar—it was a masterpiece of seduction.
Trevor, blissfully unaware of the camera, had his hands on her hips, his head tilted back in pleasure. The audio captured the faint gasps and moans, the sound of skin against skin, the intimacy of the moment. It ended with Summer’s face filling the frame, her lips parted in a soft, satisfied smile as she turned the camera off. It was flawless.
This wasn’t just content; this was art. She could almost feel the rush of validation already—the likes, the comments, the flood of messages asking for more. The money. That’s what she needed. The money.
She opened the OnlyFans app, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she composed the perfect message.
"Hey, babes
I’ve got something extra special for you today. Just dropped the steamiest, most intimate video I’ve ever made. You don’t want to miss this one. 3 minutes of pure bliss for just $125. First come, first serve—DM me now to unlock! 
"She attached the video, her heart pounding in her chest as she hovered over the “Send” button. Her mind raced, but not with guilt or second thoughts. She was too focused on the rush, the thrill of knowing she was about to make bank. She hit send, watching as the message went out to her subscribers.
Leaning back in her seat, Summer let out a shaky breath. The anxiety was still there, gnawing at the edges of her confidence, but she pushed it down. She needed this. She deserved this. So what if it wasn’t filmed last night? They’d never know. They didn’t care. All they wanted was Summer Cline, the fantasy, the goddess. And she’d give it to them.
“This is good,” she muttered to herself, her voice steadying as she spoke the words out loud. “This is smart. Everything happens for a reason, right? Now I can focus on what really matters. No more distractions.”
Her phone buzzed with a notification—a subscriber had already bought the video. Then another. And another. A wicked grin spread across her face as the sales poured in.
This was the life she was meant for. Not cleaning up glitter at a daycare. Not taking orders from some prude like Mr. Johnson. She was a star, a brand, a queen. And nothing—no job, no scandal, no ex-boyfriend—was going to stop her.
The days after Summer’s impulsive upload were a rollercoaster of emotions, starting with a fleeting sense of triumph. At first, the video brought in an avalanche of attention on OnlyFans. Notifications buzzed her phone non-stop: new subscribers, private messages, tips flooding in with each purchase. Summer sat in her dimly lit apartment, the glow of her phone screen reflecting in her wide, excited eyes. This was the validation she had craved—the proof that her daring decisions weren’t just reckless but lucrative. She felt like she was finally taking control, riding the wave of notoriety and leaning into the attention.
The clip—intimate, raw, and undeniably provocative—was performing better than she had expected. The video captured her perfectly, her blonde hair cascading damp against her back, the sheen of sweat adding an almost cinematic appeal. Trevor, blissfully unaware of being filmed, played his part well enough in the background, but it was Summer’s soft moans and playful glances at the camera that sold it. She didn’t care that it was old footage. In her mind, it was still gold. The captions she sent out with the mass message had been teasingly vague: “Your wildest dreams come true—3 minutes of pure heat
. For my favorites only.” Her tone was seductive and enticing, no hint that the footage wasn’t recent. Summer’s confidence in her ability to control the narrative was unshakable.For the first 24 hours, it seemed like she had made the right move. The money rolled in, and her fragile ego inflated to dangerous heights. The growing subscriber count felt like vindication, proof that her unconventional methods worked. She didn’t even flinch when some fans messaged her asking about the mystery man in the video. “None of your business,” she replied with a wink emoji, letting the ambiguity add to the allure. She saw herself as untouchable, above reproach, immune to consequences.
But the cracks began to show as quickly as the money came in. By the second day, her newfound income had started to dwindle. She couldn’t understand it at first, brushing it off as just part of the ebb and flow of online content creation. Then, a subscriber sent her a link. When she clicked, her stomach dropped. Her video was there, plastered across multiple piracy sites, surrounded by vulgar captions she hadn’t written and downloadable for free. Blonde Bombshell Leaked—Uncut Steamy Action the title read. Her face, her body, her voice—it was all out there for the world to consume. Worse, it was for free.
Panic set in as she clicked through the pages, each one displaying her video with a thumbnail that made her heart race. She tried to report the leaks, but every takedown request was met with a new site popping up to replace the old one. Summer stared at her phone, her hands trembling, realizing just how out of control the situation had become. But even now, she couldn’t bring herself to fully confront the consequences of her actions. “This is just part of the game,” she whispered to herself, pacing the small confines of her apartment. “This happens to everyone. It’s proof I’m relevant.”
The validation she had felt just 48 hours ago was gone, replaced by a gnawing sense of unease. Her notifications were no longer the steady stream of purchases and compliments but instead a mix of mocking messages and cold reality. “Saw your freebie on Reddit,” one fan wrote. “Guess I won’t need to resubscribe after all.” The words stung, and yet Summer clung to the delusion that this was temporary, that she would rebound with the next video or the next big idea.
That fantasy shattered entirely when she opened her DMs to find dozens of screenshots of a post on X. Her heart dropped as she realized the screenshots all came from Trevor’s account. Her hands trembled as she read his words, her face growing paler with each sentence.
“I can’t believe my life is in ruins because of some clout-chasing, two-faced EX,” Trevor’s post began, his rage palpable through the screen. “I just got FIRED because of a video I didn’t even know existed. That’s right—SOMEONE FILMED ME WITHOUT MY PERMISSION, sold it online, and now people think I’m a damn PORN STAR. Look no further than @SummerClineOF—yeah, I’m naming names. She’s gonna PAY for what she did. #Justice #Exposed #ILostMyJobForThis.”
Her breath hitched as she re-read the post, her chest tightening. His words were brutal, a public lashing that left her completely blindsided. Her first reaction wasn’t guilt or regret—it was anger. “What the hell does he think he’s doing?” she hissed, gripping her phone tightly. “I made him look good in that video. He’s just pissed because he’s irrelevant without me.” Her delusional sense of self-importance spun Trevor’s justified rage into an attack on her greatness. The thought that she might actually be in the wrong never crossed her mind.
As she scrolled through the replies to Trevor’s post, the knot in her stomach tightened. “She filmed him without consent? That’s disgusting.” “Cancel @SummerClineOF—what a snake.” “Imagine ruining someone’s life for clout.” Each comment was a dagger to her ego, each retweet spreading Trevor’s post to a wider audience. Her name was trending, and not in the way she had ever imagined.
Her mind raced, trying to spin the situation in her favor. This was just another challenge, she told herself, another hurdle on her path to stardom. “People love a scandal,” she muttered, pacing back and forth. “I’ll just ride this out. Give it a couple of days, and everyone will move on. They always do.” But even as she spoke the words, a flicker of doubt crept into her mind. Trevor wasn’t just angry—he was vowing revenge. The public nature of his outrage made it clear he wasn’t going to let this go.
She threw her phone onto the bed and collapsed beside it, staring at the cracked ceiling of her studio apartment. Her thoughts swirled with anger, fear, and the unshakable belief that she could somehow spin this into an opportunity. “This isn’t over,” she whispered to herself, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I’m not going to let him ruin me. I’m Summer Cline, and I always come out on top.”
But as the reality of her crumbling world set in, that smirk faded. The notifications on her phone kept buzzing, each one a reminder of the chaos she had unleashed. For the first time, Summer felt the weight of her actions pressing down on her, but in true Summer fashion, she shoved that feeling aside. Regret wasn’t in her vocabulary—at least not yet.
Summer sat cross-legged on her creaky twin bed, her phone resting on her knees, notifications flashing like tiny daggers on the screen. Trevor's tweet had gone viral. Her name was spreading across social media like wildfire, and not in the glamorous way she’d always imagined. Every mention of her OnlyFans account, every retweet of Trevor’s rage-filled post, every “Cancel Summer Cline” hashtag felt like the universe conspiring against her. Her chest tightened with anxiety, but the sting of humiliation was immediately drowned by her insatiable need to reclaim control of the narrative.
Her fingers flew across her phone, typing out a carefully crafted response in the notes app first. She knew better than to post impulsively when it came to damage control. She needed to turn this around, and fast. The truth? The truth didn’t matter. What mattered was maintaining the image she had worked so hard to build, even if it was crumbling around her.
When she was done, she exhaled sharply and read the draft aloud, her voice dripping with calculated indignation.
"I just woke up to the most disgusting accusations being thrown at me. Let me make this clear: I was HACKED. The video circulating online is NOT me, just some lookalike that trolls are trying to use to ruin my reputation. Funny how my ex, Trevor, is suddenly so vocal now. Feels like someone’s bitter and trying to stay relevant. Maybe check who posted it before coming for me. I’d never violate anyone’s trust like that. To my real supporters, thank you for sticking by me. These haters can try, but I’m not going anywhere. #FakeNews #TheyWish"
Her thumb hovered over the “post” button, a brief flicker of doubt crossing her mind. What if no one believed her? But she dismissed it just as quickly. They had to believe her. People loved a scandal, sure, but they also loved a redemption story. If she played the victim well enough, she could turn this mess into sympathy, maybe even gain some new followers.
She hit post and watched as the likes and comments began to roll in almost instantly. Some were supportive—her diehard fans always had her back. Others, predictably, were skeptical, calling her out for the blatant lie. “If it’s not you, why do you sound so guilty?” one comment read. Another said, “Girl, hacked accounts don’t post homemade videos. Just own up.” But she ignored them, focusing only on the handful of people defending her.
"See? They're buying it," she whispered to herself, a smug grin spreading across her face as she scrolled through the supportive comments. She even retweeted one: “Summer’s right. This is clearly a setup. Trevor needs to take several seats. #TeamSummer.”
But the grin didn’t last. Her phone buzzed with an email notification from one of her long-standing sponsors. She opened it quickly, her heart sinking as she read the contents.
"Dear Ms. Cline,
We regret to inform you that due to recent events and the controversy surrounding your online presence, we can no longer sponsor you or allow you to represent our brand. As a family-oriented company, we must uphold a standard of integrity and respectability. We wish you the best in your future endeavors.
Sincerely, The GlowFit Team."
Her jaw tightened as she reread the email, her cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and panic. GlowFit had been one of her most reliable sponsors, providing free workout gear and a decent paycheck every month. Losing them was a blow, but as she checked her inbox, it wasn’t the only one. Two more emails from other sponsors echoed the same sentiment. “This is temporary,” she muttered, clenching her fists. “They’ll come crawling back when this blows over.”
But deep down, she knew this wasn’t temporary. The video, the scandal, Trevor’s accusations—it had all tainted her brand. And now, with less money coming in from sponsorships, even the quick cash she’d made from the video wasn’t going to be enough to cover her expenses.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a text message from her landlord. She groaned and opened it reluctantly.
"Summer, rent is past due. This is your FINAL notice. If I don’t have payment by the end of the week, you’ll be out on the street. No exceptions."
She stared at the message, her stomach twisting into knots. The rent was $900, and after paying off her gym membership and some overdue bills, she barely had $300 left. The idea of eviction loomed over her like a dark cloud, but even as she felt the panic rising, her ego wouldn’t let her fully accept the reality of her situation.
“Who does he think he’s talking to?” she muttered, throwing her phone onto the bed. “I’ll pay him when I can. I’m not some broke loser. I just need one good post, one good opportunity to fix this.”
But as the hours ticked by, her mind raced with possibilities, none of them viable. She thought about messaging a few of her more generous subscribers directly, offering personalized content for a higher price. She considered reaching out to a smaller brand for sponsorship, hoping they wouldn’t care about the scandal. But no matter what she thought of, it all came back to one undeniable truth: her reputation was crumbling, and she was running out of time.
Her phone buzzed again, another email notification from a sponsor cutting ties. Summer buried her face in her hands, teetering on the edge of despair. But even in her darkest moments, she couldn’t fully let go of her delusion. She refused to see herself as the problem. This wasn’t her fault—it was Trevor’s fault, the internet’s fault, her landlord’s fault. Anyone but her.
“I’ll bounce back,” she whispered to herself, a hollow attempt at reassurance. “I always do.” But the pit in her stomach told a different story. For the first time, the cracks in her perfect facade were starting to show, and no amount of filters or hashtags could cover them up.
Summer sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone like it held the answers to all her problems. She had cycled through every idea she could think of—another OnlyFans promotion, maybe DMing a few old sponsors with some half-hearted apology, even the absurd thought of setting up a GoFundMe—but none of it felt like it could pull her out of the hole she’d dug herself into. Her inbox was filled with ignored requests for payment: the landlord, a credit card bill she’d been pretending didn’t exist, and a gym membership notice that screamed Final Warning. Each notification felt like another nail in her coffin.
She tossed her phone onto the bed, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. “I need to fix this. Now,” she muttered, the words coming out more like a demand to the universe than an actual plan. Summer wasn’t used to not being in control. Sure, things spiraled from time to time, but she always managed to find a way to spin it, to land on her feet. This time, though, the walls felt like they were closing in.
Her eyes drifted to her gym bag in the corner of the room. If nothing else, the gym had always been her go-to place to regroup, to clear her mind. And, of course, it was another opportunity to shoot some content. She could already picture the caption for her next post: “Sweat now, shine later
#NoDaysOff.” The thought gave her a flicker of motivation. Maybe she could pull together some decent clips, something eye-catching enough to distract her followers from the scandal. And if she couldn’t solve her money problems immediately, at least she’d look hot trying.She grabbed the bag, slipping into a matching lavender sports bra and leggings set that hugged her body in all the right places. A quick glance in the mirror confirmed it: she still had it. “Okay,” she said to herself, flipping her ponytail with confidence. “Time to remind the world who Summer Cline is.”
The gym was buzzing with its usual mid-afternoon crowd, a mix of dedicated fitness buffs and casual gym-goers who seemed more interested in scrolling through their phones than breaking a sweat. Summer strutted in, headphones on, phone in hand, exuding the kind of confidence that suggested she was here for more than just a workout. She found her usual spot by the mirrors, the best lighting in the room, and set up her tripod.
The routine was familiar. A couple of squats, slow and deliberate, with just the right angle to emphasize her glutes. A quick hair flip for the camera, followed by a few sets of kettlebell swings that sent her ponytail bouncing. Between reps, she’d check the footage, making sure every frame was perfect. “Content is king,” she whispered under her breath, adjusting the tripod to capture a better angle.
But even as she went through the motions, her mind wandered. The quick cash from the video had slowed to a trickle, and her followers weren’t engaging the way they used to. The weight of her problems felt heavier with every rep. She paused, staring at her reflection in the mirror. What the hell am I doing? she thought, the question lingering in her mind longer than she was comfortable with.
Her attention was drawn to a group of guys lifting weights nearby. They were loud, their voices carrying across the room as they joked and hyped each other up. Normally, she’d tune them out, but a particular phrase caught her attention.
“Thirty grand for the main card,” one of them said, his voice tinged with excitement. “Can you imagine? That’s life-changing money.”
Another guy laughed. “Yeah, but you gotta survive to see it. MMA’s no joke, man. You can’t just walk in there and expect to win.”
Summer’s ears perked up. Thirty grand? That was exactly the kind of money she needed to dig herself out of this mess. She casually shifted her position, pretending to stretch as she inched closer to their conversation.
“What’s this about thirty grand?” she asked, her tone light and curious as she approached them. The guys looked at her, clearly taken aback by her sudden interest.
One of them, a tall guy with a shaved head, grinned. “It’s an amateur MMA tournament. Big prize money for the main card winner. But trust me, it’s not for the faint of heart.”
Summer tilted her head, feigning innocence. “How big are we talking?”
“Thirty thousand for the winner of the main card,” he repeated. “But you’d have to fight your way to the top. And let’s just say, it’s not exactly the kind of thing you can fake your way through.”
Another guy chimed in, smirking. “Yeah, it’s not like a TikTok dance. This is real fighting. Blood, sweat, broken noses—the whole deal.”
Summer’s cheeks flushed, both from the jab and the spark of an idea forming in her mind. She ignored the second guy, focusing on the one who seemed to know the most. “So how do you enter?” she asked, her voice steady, betraying none of the desperation bubbling beneath the surface.
He shrugged. “You sign up through one of the local gyms. There’s a weigh-in, some basic medical checks, and then you’re in. But like I said, it’s no joke. You’d need a trainer, someone to get you fight-ready.”
Summer nodded, her mind racing. It was risky, sure, but the payout was too tempting to ignore. Thirty grand could solve everything. Her rent, her reputation—it could even launch her to a new level of fame. She could already see the headlines: “Social Media Star Dominates MMA Tournament.” It didn’t matter that she had zero experience. Summer Cline didn’t back down from a challenge.
She flashed the guy her best smile. “Thanks for the info. Sounds like it could be fun.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Fun’s not the word I’d use, but good luck.”
As she walked back to her tripod, her heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement. For the first time in days, she felt like she had a plan—a way out of the mess she’d created. All she had to do was figure out how to make it happen. Thirty grand, she thought, her grip tightening on the kettlebell. That money is mine.
Summer pushed open the door of the gym, her stomach churning with a mix of anxiety and determination. She wasn’t just walking into a gym—she was walking into a lifeline, a last-ditch effort to salvage her spiraling life. The flyer she'd grabbed from the gym’s bulletin board earlier in the day was crumpled in her hand, the bold words “Ironworks MMA Tournament: $30,000 Grand Prize” nearly smudged from the sweat of her palm. The dingy fluorescent lights of the gym buzzed faintly, illuminating the bustling room filled with fighters punching bags, grappling on mats, and shadowboxing in front of cracked mirrors.
The air was thick with sweat and adrenaline. This was nothing like the pristine gyms where Summer filmed her TikToks; this place was raw and unforgiving. But Summer straightened her shoulders, plastered a confident smile on her face, and approached the front desk, trying to exude the kind of energy she usually reserved for her camera. The man behind the desk looked up from a clipboard, his face weathered and unimpressed. His shirt read "Mick," and his eyes seemed to pierce right through her.
“Help you?” Mick grunted, looking her up and down. Summer could almost hear his thoughts: This Barbie doll thinks she belongs here?
“I’m here to sign up for the tournament,” Summer said, her voice steady despite the nerves bubbling under her skin.
Mick raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You got fight experience?”
“Of course,” Summer lied without missing a beat. “I’ve been training for years. Cardio, weights, boxing—you name it. I’m ready.”
Mick didn’t look convinced, but he leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Alright, you’ve got guts. But you know this ain’t no fitness contest, right? This is a mixed tournament. Amateurs, pros, anyone can enter. Some of these fighters, they’ve been doing this their whole lives. You sure you’re not just looking to get your ass handed to you?”
Summer’s smile didn’t waver, though her heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t let him see any hesitation. “I’ll take my chances,” she said confidently, clutching the flyer like it was her ticket to salvation.
“Fine,” Mick muttered, grabbing a clipboard and slapping it on the counter. “Fill this out. Waiver, medical info, weight class. You’re in the Atomweight division, right? 105 pounds or under?”
“Yep,” Summer said, scribbling her information onto the form without even reading it. The waiver warned of broken bones, concussions, and other injuries, but she didn’t care. All she saw was the $30,000 prize, a way out of the mess her life had become.
“Tournament’s today,” Mick added, watching her. “First round starts in an hour. You win, you advance. You lose, you get nothing. First-round payout’s 30 bucks, second’s 300, third’s 3,000, and the finals? Thirty grand. Think you can handle that?”
“Absolutely,” Summer said, even as her stomach twisted. An hour? She’d barely have time to fake looking like she knew what she was doing. But it didn’t matter. She could bluff her way through this. She had to.
“Alright,” Mick said, taking the clipboard back. “Follow me. We gotta do your weigh-in.”
Summer kicked off her sneakers and stepped onto the scale, holding her breath as the numbers flickered and settled at 105. Mick scribbled something on his clipboard and nodded. “You’re in.”
She was about to step off the scale when a voice behind her caught her attention. “She’s in? Are you serious, Mick?” The voice was sharp, female, and dripping with disbelief.
Summer turned to see a towering woman with a muscular build and an aura that screamed intimidation. Her braided hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her intense gaze locked onto Summer like a predator sizing up its prey. The woman wore a black sports bra and fight shorts that revealed her chiseled abs and toned legs. Summer immediately recognized her from the posters plastered around the gym: Shandra Henderson, the undefeated flyweight champion.
“Rules are rules, Shandra,” Mick said with a shrug. “She made weight. She’s in.”
Shandra’s lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. “She’s gonna be eaten alive,” she muttered, shaking her head as she walked away.
Summer swallowed hard, her confidence faltering for the first time. She’d heard of Shandra Henderson. Who hadn’t? Undefeated in 21 fights, 12 of them TKOs. She’d unified two major MMA titles and was known for knocking out opponents in the first round. The idea that she might have to face someone like Shandra sent a chill down her spine, but she quickly shoved the thought away. She’s probably in a different weight class, Summer told herself. There’s no way they’d match us up.
After the weigh-in, Mick handed her a small card with her fight details. Her heart sank as she read it: Round 1: Summer Cline vs. Shandra Henderson.
Her face must have gone pale because Mick chuckled. “Bad luck, huh? You’re up against the champ.”
“She’s... in this?” Summer stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, some of the pros like to join these tournaments for fun. Keeps ‘em sharp,” Mick said with a shrug. “You better be ready. Shandra doesn’t mess around.”
Summer forced a smile and nodded, her mind racing. How the hell was she supposed to survive against someone like Shandra? This wasn’t high school scraps or choreographed TikTok moves. This was real. But then she thought of the money, the bills piling up, the eviction notice taped to her door. She had no choice. She had to at least try.
As she walked away from the desk, her phone buzzed with a notification. It was another email from a sponsor, officially ending their partnership. Summer clenched her jaw, shoving the phone into her bag. This fight wasn’t just about the money—it was about proving she wasn’t the failure everyone thought she was. If she could just last long enough, maybe someone would notice her. Maybe this could still turn into her big break.
Standing outside the locker room, Summer took a deep breath and muttered to herself, “You’ve got this. It’s just one fight. How hard can it be?” But even as she said the words, the image of Shandra’s cold, predatory smirk lingered in her mind like a dark omen.
As the announcer’s voice echoed through the arena, hyping up the crowd, Summer stepped into the cage, forcing herself to maintain the confident strut she’d perfected for social media. But inside, her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. The steel of the cage, the roar of the audience, the bright, unforgiving lights—all of it hit her at once. Her breath caught as she looked across the ring and saw Shandra Henderson standing there like a statue carved from stone. Shandra’s chiseled body gleamed under the lights, every muscle coiled and ready, her green fight gear sharp and commanding. Her braided ponytail hung tight and precise, swinging gently as she rolled her neck. There was a predator’s calm in her gaze, her eyes narrowing as they met Summer’s from across the cage.
Summer swallowed hard, her throat dry. It’s just a fight. Just one fight. How hard could it really be? She tried to psyche herself up. She’d done enough gym selfies, enough fake shadowboxing videos to at least mimic the look of a fighter. Besides, this was amateur. Maybe Shandra would take it easy. Maybe… maybe luck would be on her side.
The referee stepped to the center, his expression serious as he gestured for both fighters to approach. Summer shuffled forward, her feet feeling heavier with every step. She could see the crowd now, phones raised, cameras ready. She could picture the captions they’d write if she won. Summer Cline: From Social Media Starlet to Cage Queen. The thought sparked a flicker of her usual delusional bravado.
But then she looked into Shandra’s eyes—cold, focused, unmoving—and her stomach twisted into knots. It was like staring down a storm that was about to break. Shandra didn’t see her as a challenge. She didn’t see her as anything at all.
“Fighters ready?” the referee barked, raising his arm.
Summer forced a nod. “Ready,” she croaked, though her voice barely came out.
Shandra gave the slightest tilt of her chin, her mouth set in a hard, unflinching line.
“Fight!”
The bell rang, sharp and deafening. Summer’s brain screamed at her to move, but her body hesitated. Shandra didn’t. She exploded forward like a bullet, her speed shocking, her movements fluid and predatory. Summer stumbled back instinctively, throwing up her arms in a weak, instinctive attempt to protect herself. She didn’t even see Shandra’s right kick coming.
It wasn’t until the split-second before it connected that Summer’s brain registered what was happening—the powerful arc of Shandra’s leg whipping through the air, aimed directly at her head.
The impact was blinding.
Shandra’s shin struck Summer flush on the jaw with a sickening crack, and for a fraction of a moment, there was nothing but white—white heat, white light, white noise. Summer’s brain felt like it had been yanked out of her skull and slammed against a wall. Her teeth clacked together so hard it was like her jaw was trying to shatter itself. The world tilted violently, and then the light snapped off.
She was gone before her body hit the ground.
Summer crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut, collapsing into a limp heap on the canvas. Her face was slack, frozen in a stunned, neutral expression, her mouth slightly parted. Her eyes rolled back into her skull, leaving only the whites visible, unfocused and lifeless. Her arms stiffened momentarily in a grotesque, unnatural position—one bent at the elbow, the other splayed awkwardly across her torso—as her legs twitched briefly before settling. For several heartbeats, her body was frozen, completely still, save for the faintest twitch in her fingers.
The crowd gasped in unison at the sheer brutality of the knockout. Shandra stood over her, unbothered, already turning to walk toward her corner, shaking her arms loose like she’d just warmed up.
“OH MY GOD!” the commentator shouted over the stunned crowd. “Shandra Henderson with a devastating head kick! Summer Cline is OUT COLD in just fifteen seconds! This fight is OVER!”
The referee dropped to his knees, waving the fight off immediately as he checked on Summer. “She’s done! Get the medics in here!”
Summer’s body lay sprawled like a broken doll under the harsh lights. Her skin had gone pale, her breathing shallow. Her brain, rattled by the impact, had sent her nervous system into chaos—her limbs twitched faintly before settling back into stillness. Her jaw hung slack, a trickle of saliva pooling at the corner of her mouth.
The medics rushed into the cage, their footsteps pounding against the mat as the crowd buzzed with a mix of awe and discomfort. Phones were up, videos already being recorded and sent out to the world.
Shandra leaned casually against the cage, her chest barely heaving, her expression blank and unimpressed as if she’d just taken out a training dummy. She didn’t even look back at Summer as the medics checked her vitals, adjusting the oxygen mask they’d strapped over her face.
Summer’s world was silent and dark. There was no crowd. No money. No victory. There was only the deep, empty void of unconsciousness.
Summer awoke in a fog of searing pain and sterile white light. The ceiling above her blurred in and out of focus as her brain struggled to piece together where she was and what had happened. Her mouth throbbed with a relentless pulse, like someone had shoved shards of glass into her jaw and lit them on fire. A low groan escaped her lips as her head lolled to the side.
“Miss Cline?” A voice. A nurse. Calm and detached. “You’re awake. You’ve been in and out for a while. Don’t try to talk yet. You’ve sustained a fractured jaw.”
Summer blinked, her vision sharpening enough to make out the dull, washed-out walls of the emergency room. She felt like her entire body was made of cement—too heavy, too stiff, too broken. Her lips were swollen, stretched tight and aching, the skin raw and cracked. With trembling fingers, she reached up to touch her face. The pressure sent a blinding shock of pain through her jaw, and she let her hand drop with a pathetic whimper.
Fractured jaw. The words rattled in her brain. Her tongue felt swollen and alien in her mouth, wedged awkwardly against the splint and bandages that kept everything in place.
She turned her head just enough to spot her phone sitting on the bedside table. The cracked screen reflected the overhead light, its surface smudged with fingerprints. Summer reached for it with weak, shaking hands, fumbling until she managed to unlock it.
Her reflection was the first thing she saw.
The front camera had somehow opened, and staring back at her was something she didn’t recognize. Her jaw was wrapped in thick, white bandages that distorted the delicate shape of her face. Her lower lip was grotesquely swollen, ballooned out like it didn’t belong to her. Bruises painted dark purples and greens across her chin and up the side of her cheek, a sick reminder of Shandra’s devastating kick. One of her eyes was bloodshot, the red veins spiderwebbing against the pale blue of her iris.
She looked monstrous.
Her fingers froze on the screen, hovering just above it as her heart sank into her stomach. This isn’t me. Her thoughts screamed the words, denial wrapping around her like armor. This isn’t what I’m supposed to look like. This isn’t my face. The Summer Cline she knew—the Summer who smiled for millions of likes and hearts, who posed perfectly for the camera with her golden tan and smooth, flawless features—was gone. Replaced by this battered, unrecognizable creature.
Tears welled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks, stinging as they passed over her swollen lips.
The nurse reappeared, adjusting the IV line running into her arm. “You’ll need to follow up with an oral surgeon,” she said gently. “No solid foods for a while. And we’re prescribing medication for the pain. Try to get some rest.”
Rest? How could she rest? Summer tilted her head just enough to stare back at her phone. The notifications that once gave her life now sat silent and still, nothing but a handful of old messages and a few pitying texts from friends who’d seen her knockout circulating online.
The fight was everywhere. Clips of Shandra’s devastating head kick had gone viral, shared and reshared across Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok. “Fastest Knockout in Tournament History!” screamed one caption, while others joked, “Did Summer Cline just take a nap?” Someone had even slowed the footage down frame by frame, highlighting the exact moment the kick connected with her jaw and her lights went out.
Summer’s thumb hovered over the delete button on her apps. Her mind raced in angry, panicked circles. How could this happen? This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was supposed to win. I was supposed to fix everything.
Her reflection stared back at her from the corner of the screen, warped and pitiful. She gritted her teeth—or at least tried to—but the effort only sent another wave of sharp, stabbing pain through her jaw. Her grip on the phone tightened, her breathing heavy and ragged as tears streamed silently down her face.
No. I can’t let this be the end.
Her thoughts turned over themselves like frenzied vultures. Social media wasn’t going to fix this, not now—not with her face looking like this. There was no filter in the world strong enough to cover up what she’d become. Her followers wouldn’t want to see this version of her. Sponsors certainly wouldn’t. She’d built everything on being perfect, on being beautiful, on being desired.
But if beauty wasn’t an option…
Her swollen lips parted slightly as a dangerous, bitter thought wormed its way into her mind. She didn’t have to stop. She didn’t have to give up.
If people want to see me destroyed… if that’s what they want… maybe I can give it to them.
The idea hung in her mind, twisting and darkening with every passing second. Summer’s breath slowed as her thumb hovered over her phone again. For the first time, she didn’t feel scared. She felt resolved.
She couldn’t sell perfection anymore. But maybe she could sell something else.
And with that thought, Summer laid back against the hospital pillow, her puffy lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile.
