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Now, look.

I pivot for one last shot, holding the two products beside each other. “Together, they create a kind of glow that looks effortless,” I say. “But like everything worth having, it’s the result of care.”

The click of the shutter. The light flash.

And then?—

“Wren.”

Talia’s voice cuts through everything. I turn. She’s at the edge of the set, tablet clutched against her chest, her expression tight.

Uh-oh. What now?

A pit forms in my stomach.

“Give me a minute,” I tell the photographer, slipping out of frame and walking toward her.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, already bracing.

Talia holds out the tablet and I already know I’m not going to like what I see.

“Interview aired last evening,” she says. “It’s making rounds now.”

I blink. “What interview?”

“Marlowe Gray.”

I don’t even flinch. Not anymore.

I press play.

The video loads before I even take a full breath. An interview excerpt of Marlowe in a studio lit to make her look like some delicate, overexposed angel. She’s draped in cream silk, hair styled within an inch of its life, all ease and charm.

“I’ve always believed that ethics in the beauty industry should come first,” she says, her voice honey-smooth. “Transparency matters to consumers.”

The interviewer leans in. “Would you say that’s true across the board?”

Marlowe’s expression shifts with faux measured concern. “Unfortunately, no. Some major players don’t hold themselves to the same standards. It’s disappointing and embarrassing to see big brands stealing concepts from smaller creators.”

She lets the words hang, then smiles. That awful, gracious smile.

“And then trying to divert attention with… PR stunts. Fake relationships. Sudden charitable giving. Calculated, not genuine.”

The interviewer leans in. “Are you saying there are people in the industry using PR to cover up bad behavior? Or scandals?”

“I’m just saying… It's interesting who wants to be seen as a hero all of a sudden. My point in whole is the beauty industry needs to hold itself to higher standards.”

I don’t realize I’ve clenched my teeth until my jaw starts to ache.

“She didn’t say your name,” Talia says, “but?—”

“She didn’t have to.”

Talia swipes the screen again.

“Right. Camille reposted Marlowe’s video on her Insta story last night.”

“They’re still going?”