Page 4 of Stuck with my Mountain Daddies

Another influencer built on lies.

This is why you don’t trust small-town girls who blow up too fast.

Imagine biting the hand that fed you. Ava made her.

By midnight, two sponsors had pulled out, one with a Notes-app apology tagged publicly, like I was a PR disease they needed to quarantine from.

By morning, three more followed.

By noon, my manager called. Then texted. Then ghosted.

My inbox? Dead.

Brand collabs? Paused indefinitely.

Follows? Down by the thousandsper hour.

And Ava?

She posted a blurry, mascara-streaked selfie with the caption:

I never wanted this. I still believe in forgiveness. But we need to hold each other accountable. #BeKind

The comments were flooded with heart emojis and cries ofWe love you for speaking out!!andYou didn’t deserve that, queen.

I didn’t post. I couldn’t.

Anything I said would be twisted.

Anything Ididn’tsay was already being used as proof of guilt.

I paced the apartment, trying to breathe around the pressure in my chest. Everything I’d built, every connection, every deal, every drop of validation I’d worked tooth and nail for, was slipping through my fingers.

And the worst part?

No one wanted to hear my side.

Because outrage is louder than truth.

And takedowns? Takedownsgo viral.

The phone buzzed again. Another news alert. Another YouTube commentary video. Another DM from someone I used to know, pretending to “check in” while secretly hunting for gossip.

I pulled a hoodie over my head, shoved my phone in a drawer, and collapsed onto my bed, the weight of it all pressing down as heavy as a second skin.

This wasn’t just bad—it wasthe endof everything I’d built.

And the internet was still hungry for more.

CHAPTER ONE

Riley

I pressedmy forehead to the cool airplane window, watching the clouds roll by like waves I couldn’t surf. Just… float through.

Powerless. Weightless. Disconnected.

Perfect.

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