The Price Of Revenge

One

"If I were you, I'd stop reading all those negative comments," Rumaisa told Sarah, short for Saratu, trying to keep her tone gentle.

Sarah shot her a glare. "Sorry, I'm not like you. You're so used to insults that they don't even bother you anymore," she snapped, frustration clear in her voice.

Rumaisa leaned back in her chair and folded her arms. "That's exactly the problem. If you keep letting every comment get under your skin, it'll wear you down. You need to toughen up, or it'll eat at you. When you're someone like us on Instagram, dealing with criticism isn't optional. It's inevitable."

Sarah let out a long sigh as she continued scrolling through her comments. "Sometimes, I really don't want to be you," she muttered.

Rumaisa laughed softly. "Well, maybe you don't. But most of the people hating on you are just jealous. Money, influence, followers... it rubs them the wrong way. Don't take it personally."

Sarah shook her head, a small smile breaking through her frustration. "Don't call me stupid. That's harsh."

"Not harsh," Rumaisa said lightly. "Just honest."

At that moment, Raziqah, Rumaisa's assistant, walked in. "Everything's ready. Time to start your shoot."

Rumaisa nodded. "Thanks, Raziqah. Go get my phone from the main parlor. I'll be there in a minute. I just need to finish my makeup."

Raziqah smiled and left.

Rumaisa turned back to Sarah, who was still absorbed in her comments. "Go ahead, solve your problems," she said, laughing.

Sarah looked at her, clearly irritated, but said nothing.

Rumaisa shook her head and left her to it.

⸻

"Today, we're making a club sandwich," Rumaisa began, speaking to the camera. "It's a snack that satisfies those midday cravings. Make sure you've gathered all your ingredients. I went over this in my last video, so you should already have everything ready."

She continued, guiding her viewers through each step with calm precision. "Place lettuce on the toast, then add a slice of cheese and some cooked chicken..."

"And now for the drink: fruit cocktail," she said. "Hopefully, you have your mangoes, oranges, cucumber, and the other ingredients ready."

Rumaisa carefully explained how to make the syrup, combining sugar, water, lime juice, and basil and stirring until the sugar dissolved.

Step by step, she walked the audience through the process, making sure nothing was rushed.

⸻

Hours later, the shoot was over.

Rumaisa collapsed onto her bed, phone in hand, and started scrolling through her comments.

Seeing Sarah reading hers earlier had sparked her curiosity, but she hadn't wanted Sarah to notice her doing the same.

Rumaisa prided herself on being mentally strong, but the truth was that reading the comments now made her chest tighten.

The rumors and lies had started two years ago, when she first launched the blog, and they never seemed to stop.

Everyone seemed to see her as the arrogant, spoiled, self-centered girl.

Rumaisa lived with her elder brother, Mutassim, his wife, Madina, and their four children in one of her father's estates.

Mutassim was thirty-three, Madina twenty-eight, and their children ranged from three-year-old twins, Abdulrazaq and Abdulwahab, to ten-year-old Aziza and seven-year-old Nabila, who was named after their mother.