Spoiling The Unfiltered Goddess With My Wealth

"Your resume is... thin, Miss Vasquez." Debra Finch sat behind her massive glass desk, her manicured fingers flipping the single sheet of paper. She let out a loud, heavy sigh that echoed in the sterile Manhattan office. Chelsi Vasquez sat on the edge of the leather guest chair. She twisted the hem of her cheap, off-the-rack blazer so hard her knuckles turned white. Her stomach dropped, twisting into a tight, painful knot. "You have no Ivy League background," Debra said, dropping the paper onto the polished surface. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet room. "No connections. Nothing that fits the image of a top-tier public relations firm." Chelsi leaned forward. Her throat felt incredibly dry. "I have two years of operational experience from my college jobs," Chelsi said, her voice shaking slightly. "I know how to run campaigns from the ground up. I can learn whatever you need me to." "Stop." Debra held up a hand. "Street-level sales experience is worthless here. We deal with high-net-worth individuals, not corner store promotions." Debra's cold eyes moved down. They stopped and lingered on Chelsi's shoes. The black leather was scuffed and peeling at the toes. A slow, mocking smirk pulled at the corners of Debra's mouth. Chelsi felt a hot flush of humiliation burn her cheeks. She immediately pulled her feet back, hiding them under the chair. Her chest tightened so much it hurt to breathe. Debra stood up, smoothing her designer skirt. "You don't fit our demographic," Debra said, her tone final. "Thank you for your time. The exit is to your left." Chelsi swallowed the thick lump in her throat. Her eyes burned with unshed tears. She forced her stiff legs to stand. "Thank you," Chelsi whispered. She turned and pushed open the heavy glass door. In the hallway, a dozen other applicants in expensive, tailored suits stared at her. Some looked pitying. Others openly sneered. Chelsi kept her head down, her heart pounding against her ribs in a frantic, painful rhythm. The moment she pushed through the revolving doors of the building, the New York sky broke open. A massive downpour of freezing rain hit her instantly. Within seconds, her thin blazer was soaked through, clinging to her shivering skin. She couldn't afford a twenty-dollar cab ride. She pulled her bag to her chest and ran. She sprinted through three blocks of heavy rain, her lungs burning, until she finally squeezed into a damp, mold-smelling subway car. She collapsed onto the hard plastic seat. Her hands were shaking violently from the cold. She pulled out her cracked phone and opened the Chase Bank app. The screen loaded. The balance read $14.50. It felt like a physical punch to the gut. She stared at the pitiful double digits, her thumb hovering over the cracked glass as a profound sense of helplessness washed over her. The numbers blurred as her eyes filled with tears. Next week's rent was completely impossible. The freezing subway air bit into her soaked clothes, making her shiver uncontrollably, but the chill in her heart was far worse. She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back against the hard plastic seat. A choked sob tore out of her throat, the sound swallowed by the screeching of the subway tracks. The tears finally spilled over, mixing with the cold rain on her face. She had never felt so utterly defeated. An hour later, Chelsi pushed open the heavy wooden door of her shared basement apartment in Brooklyn. The room was dark and smelled of damp earth. She peeled off her wet blazer and dropped it on the floor. Her legs gave out. She slid down the doorframe until she hit the cold linoleum floor, pulling her knees to her chest. She remembered a conversation with her old college roommate. People make quick cash on Apex Streaming. You just need a few good tips to survive. Just as she wiped her face with the back of her cold hand, her phone buzzed in her palm. A text message popped up at the top of the screen. It was from her landlord. Rent is due Friday. No extensions this time, Chelsi. The harsh reminder acted as a brutal catalyst. She forced herself to stand up. Her fingers trembled as she opened the app store and downloaded Apex Streaming. She created an account. Chelsi_V. She typed in her real name for the verification, her teeth chattering. She walked over to her wobbly, second-hand desk. She clamped a cheap, plastic ring light to the edge and plugged it in. The harsh white light flickered on. She opened the front-facing camera. The screen showed her red, swollen eyes, pale lips, and wet, messy hair. She looked exhausted and broken. A massive wave of insecurity hit her. She couldn't let people see her like this. She quickly tapped the AR beauty filter icon built into the app. She dragged the sliders for face-slimming, eye-enlarging, and skin-smoothing all the way to the maximum. The girl on the screen instantly morphed into a bizarre, plastic doll with a razor-sharp chin and unnaturally massive eyes. Chelsi took a deep, shaky breath. She pressed the green Go Live button in the center of the screen. For the first ten minutes, the viewer count in the top right corner stayed at zero. The silence in the small room was suffocating. "Hi," Chelsi said to the empty room, her voice cracking. "I had a really bad interview today. It was... it was rough." She kept talking, trying to fill the dead air, her stomach churning with anxiety. Finally, the number in the corner ticked from zero to one. An anonymous user had joined. Chelsi's heart leaped. She opened her mouth to say hello. A single comment popped up in the chat box. User9948: That filter makes you look like a literal alien. Gross. The user immediately disconnected. The number dropped back to zero. The fake, hopeful smile on Chelsi's face completely froze. Her chest hollowed out. She reached her trembling finger toward the red button to end the stream.