He Called Me Ugly Until I Turned Off The Filter Chapter 04
The chat scrambled to catch up: Who tf is V. You don’t know V?? #1 on the Rippl leaderboard, media mogul, worth billions. He NEVER shows up in beauty streams — and he just dropped 100 Waves on the filter goblin?
Tara recovered first. Her eyes watered as she forced a brave little smile.
“V is so generous. She really does need the help. I don’t mind.”
One sentence. Turned the gift into charity.
I stared at the screen.
“Thank you, V,” I said quietly. “But you don’t have to pity me.”
V sent two words.
⟢ Not pity. ⟣
Another beat of silence.
Ethan’s face darkened. Then he laughed it off. “Guess V doesn’t want us all going blind from her face either!”
Round two. Random questions.
Tara’s: What’s your favorite feature of yours?
She tilted her head. “My eyes, I think. Everyone tells me they look sweet.”
Chat ate it up.
Mine: If you could change anything about your appearance, what would you change?
I thought about it honestly.
“My nose. Too prominent. My eyes tilt up too much. And I’d probably sharpen my chin a little.”
One second of silence. Then chaos: Is she nuts? She thinks the FILTER is her real face? Peak delusion.
Tara let out a delighted giggle. “Aww, hon, copium hits different, huh?”
Round three. Talent.
Tara sang a sugary ballad. Mediocre voice, but she nailed the doe eyes at the camera and buried her face in her hands afterward, whispering how nervous she’d been.
Chat ate it up.
My turn.
I don’t sing. I don’t dance.
I picked up the battered notebook from my desk.
“I write live-stream scripts. Sometimes.”
Ethan’s face changed.
I didn’t look at him. I read from the page.
“Line one: Don’t rush off when you drop in. I’m not here to trauma-dump — just three minutes of company.”
“Line two: Think of me as a 24-hour diner. You don’t have to order anything. The light’s always on.”
“Line three: If nobody’s listening to you tonight, drop it in chat. I’ll read it out loud.”
By the third line, Ethan’s stream had gone dead quiet.
Because tthose three lines were part of his most-quoted opening spiel — the one his fans called “Ethan’s tenderest words.”
He cut me off. “Enough.”
I looked up. “Why?”
I turned the page and kept reading.
“Even when nobody’s in the stream, keep talking. Because somewhere out there, at 3 a.m., someone will scroll past you. They may never send a gift. But one sentence from you might be enough to make them feel less alone.”
Chat began to shift. Wait — isn’t that from Ethan’s early highlight reel? He said he wrote that during his lowest point. How does Willow have the original notebook?
Ethan’s voice went cold. “Willow, stop trying to hijack the moment.”
I didn’t explain. I flipped to the last page.
Dated three years ago. Underneath, a transcription of a voice memo Ethan had sent me:
“Willow, this is gold. I’m reading this on air tomorrow. When I blow up, you’re my ghostwriter forever.”
Chat detonated.
Tara had stopped smiling. Ethan was glaring holes through the screen.
“What do you want?”
“To win the challenge,” I said.
The final tally came in. Tara won — she had the numbers.
Ethan latched onto it like a lifeline.
“Willow. A bet’s a bet. Filter off.”
Tara’s eyes were red now. “Yeah, hon, don’t change the subject. The script thing — we can deal with later. Everyone’s waiting to see your face.”
Chat piled on. Turn it off. Don’t chicken out. All the pretty words in the world won’t fix your face.
I looked at the camera. Opened the beauty panel.
Slim — 100. Eyes — 100. Nose — 100. Chin — 100. Smoothing — 100.
Ethan smiled — the last twist of the knife.
“Willow, if you actually turn out to be hot, I’ll get on my knees on this stream and call you Your Majesty.”
I looked at him.
And hit Reset All.