Page 122 of Invisible Bars

Not from the audience. Not from the crew. But from Tyla and her little clique.

They stood off to the side like vultures in heels, whispering behind manicured hands, mimicking me with twisted faces and fake grunts.

“Remind me to check the terms for a refund on my therapist,” one of them whispered. “That was therapeutic.”

I froze, still standing in my heels, my breathing shallow. My skin burned hot and my ears rang like I was underwater.

“Lick a cactus, Tyla!”My voice cracked at the end, and the words didn’t even make sense—but the venom in my tone? That landed.

Tyla’s smug expression faltered instantly, her smirk twitching into a scowl. Her eyes darted sideways, like she was checking to see who else was watching.

“You should’ve asked for a straitjacket with that dress,” she snapped back, voice colder now. “Would’ve completed the look.”

Her tone had bite, but the embarrassment in her face gave her away.

I opened my mouth to respond—to scream, to flame her, to tell her about herself from top to bottom—but the energy just wasn’t there. My whole body buzzed with leftover adrenaline. My soul felt cracked wide open, too raw to keep throwing punches.

And then—“Back off, hoe. Unless you wanna deal with me.”

Ambria’s voice sliced through the tension like a blade dipped in fire.

Everything around us fell dead silent.

Tyla and her little pack turned, startled, and then they went quiet—real quiet.

Ambria pushed through them like they weren’t even standing there and came straight to me, stepping between me and whatever damage I was too tired to finish.

Her hands found my shoulders, grounding me, steadying me.

I stared past her, my voice trembling but fierce.

“You… you don’t have to hurt others to win in life,” I said to Tyla, my words slow but sharp, each syllable shaking with the memory of that runway. “But I g-guess that’s all you know—stealing, s-sabotaging, and smiling while you’re poisoningsomebody else’s moment. That’s not power; that’s weakness d-d-dressed up in designer heels.”

She opened her mouth, but I cut her off, stepping closer.

“See, the thing about karma is… she’s patient. She doesn’t f-forget. You might walk that runway today, but when s-s-she calls your name, you’re gonna trip, you’re gonna choke… and you’ll remember me… standing here, telling you it was coming. You can steal my p-pills, my moment, but you can’t outrun what’s owed to you.”

I let my eyes rake over her once, sharp and deliberate.

“So smile for the cameras while you can. Because when karma comes, she doesn’t ask if you’re ready—she j-j-just takes what’s hers.”

Tyla looked stunned—mouth slightly open, her face cycling between offended and caught-off-guard. Like she’d never expected me to say anything at all, let alone hit her with a truth she wasn’t ready to carry.

She didn’t respond; she didn’t have to. The silence around her did it for her.

Ambria’s eyes softened as she turned back to me. “You did it,” she said, squeezing my arms gently. “You didn’t back out.”

“I’m s-s-scared of what’s going to happen. I… I ticced the whole way down that stage,” I whispered, ashamed. “They all saw it.” Fashion roadkill—move the hell over!”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, eyes wide. That one wasn’t rehearsed; that was my body betraying me.

“And you still looked better than all of them,” Ambria replied softly. “Don’t let them shrink you.”

But I didn’t feel brave or strong; I felt exposed, like I’d been cracked open in front of a thousand people and called beautiful for bleeding out.

The show had ended, the lights dimmed, stylists were packing up their kits, security stood idle near the exits, voices were quieter and the chaos was over.

I sat in a hard plastic chair near the makeup tables, my gown slightly wrinkled, my heels still on. The ring Ambria had given me earlier was warm on my finger. I rubbed it slowly with my thumb as if it could undo the day.