On Valentine's Day, I literally ate myself to death. With five million followers watching my live stream, my stomach ruptured from extreme binge-eating. My blood vessels collapsed. My soul hovered, leaving that bloated, 250-pound body behind. That was when I saw my husband, Mario, holding hands with my skinny model bestie, Samantha, strolling down the street. In Samantha’s arms was a gorgeous bouquet of lisianthus—the exact flowers I had been begging Mario for. They kissed, they hugged, and they talked trash about me. "That fat whale," Mario sneered. "I get sick just looking at her. Sitting in front of her webcam, she looks like a giant white pig." Samantha giggled, leaning into his chest. "Well, she’s just your cash cow. I’m your real love. Just look at me, babe, don’t look at her." In that second, a wave of pure, toxic hatred consumed my soul. The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes. I was back in the dressing room. Ten minutes before walking down the aisle. I looked down at the outdated, size-XXXXL wedding dress clinging to my body. I realized I had been reborn. I grabbed the hem of my dress and sprinted backstage. Just as the DJ announced, "And now, please welcome our beautiful bride!" I snatched the microphone from the coordinator and marched onto the stage. Samantha, wearing a frilly, white Lolita-style gown, "accidentally" stepped into the spotlight, spinning twice like a fairy to draw all eyes to herself. After finishing her little show, she realized I wasn't standing at the entrance to be her ugly foil. She looked around in a panic. I switched on the microphone and spoke loud and clear: "As you can all see, the star of today’s show isn't me. It’s Samantha!" "Look at how stunning she looks in that white gown. She’s the real princess today. I gladly step aside and let her be the bride!" The crowd went wild. Murmurs erupted instantly. People started pointing and whispering at Samantha, who was standing right in the spotlight. Dozens of guests pulled out their phones, recording her trying to upstage the bride at a wedding. Samantha stood frozen, her face turning bright red with sheer embarrassment. Mario rushed onto the stage and ripped the microphone from my hand. He hissed, "Betty, what the hell are you talking about?!" In my past life, when I walked through those doors, everyone laughed at how fat and ugly I looked in that dress. I had blinked back tears, only for the officiant to publicly joke that I looked like a prize-winning sow. And when it came to the kiss, Mario just leaned in, fake-kissed the air next to my cheek, and whispered: "You’re so fat. If a picture of me actually kissing you gets online, I’ll be the laughingstock of the city." I looked at his twisted, angry face now. I snatched the microphone back and said, cold as ice, "This wedding is over. I. Am. Out."
In the VIP holding room, thirteen of Mario's relatives stood before me, glaring with fury. Only Samantha had tears in her eyes. She knelt at my feet, looking like a kicked puppy. "I’m so sorry, Betty. I didn't expect you to gain forty pounds in just three months." "I went to thirty bridal shops just to find a size XXXXL for you. I didn't mean to ruin your day!" I pulled my foot back, giving her zero reaction. Mario slammed his suit jacket onto the floor. "Betty! You're the one who stuffs your face and gets too fat to fit into a normal dress! How can you blame Samantha for trying to help? You are pathetic!" I ignored him. I pulled out my phone, went to my Mukbang profile page, transferred all my account balance to my PayPal, and hit "Delete Account." Mario's mother, Gloria, pointed her finger at my nose and shrieked: "Who do you think you are? Calling off the wedding just like that? You've humiliated our entire family!" My parents immediately started apologizing to them. They nudged me on the sofa, whispering anxiously: "Stop throwing a tantrum, Betty. Get back out there and finish the ceremony. Don't make us a laughingstock!" Account successfully deleted. My Mukbang account—with 446k followers and 500 videos—was gone. I took a deep breath, feeling lighter than air, and stood up. I smiled at Gloria, pointing at Samantha, who was still crying on the floor. "Your actual daughter-in-law is sitting right there. I won't be taking her spot." Thank God I was reborn on the wedding day—exactly one day before we were supposed to sign the legal marriage papers. Leaving a chaotic screaming match behind me, I slammed the door and walked out.
Back at the apartment I bought with my own money, I called my former manager. Katelyn was shocked to hear my voice. "Betty? You vanished without a word. I couldn't even reach you. I asked Samantha." "She told me you wanted to quit modeling. Is that true?" Regret hit me like a physical blow. Tears welled up. "Katelyn, I was stupid. I want to come back to SKY Modeling." After a long silence, Katelyn sighed. "Come back. You're the most talented girl we’ve ever had. Since you left, we haven't found anyone with your potential." After hanging up, I put my phone on silent, blocking out the noise of the world. I stepped onto my dusty treadmill. Half an hour later, Mario was pounding on the front door like a zombie, screaming, "Betty! Open the damn door!" I grabbed the towel around my neck, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and ignored the deadbeat outside. I pressed the speed-up button on the treadmill. When I finally ran out of breath and sat on the floor, chugging water, Mario used his spare key to burst in. Seeing my flushed face and sweat-drenched clothes, he stared. "What the hell are you doing?" I took another sip of water. "Are you blind? I’m losing weight." Mario took a step closer, a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Why are you losing weight all of a sudden?" I pulled up an old photo of my slim, high-fashion modeling days on my phone and thrust it in his face. "I'm a model. How am I supposed to work if I don't lose weight?" Mario’s cheek twitched. He looked away guiltily. "Didn't we agree you’d stick to Mukbang? A single sponsored video makes way more than your crappy modeling gigs." Right. You brainwashed me into doing Mukbang, made me do sponsorships day and night, called me a giant white pig behind my back, and stole my money to spoil Samantha, didn’t you? I smiled. "Oh, I changed my mind. I deleted that account."
"What?!" Mario went ballistic. He grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. "Who gave you the right to delete that account? Do you have any idea how much the mortgage on this place is?" I used my free hand to slap him across the face. Hard. "This is my apartment," I spat. "It has nothing to do with you!" Seeing that I wasn't playing, Mario softened his tone, trying to hug me. "Stop being dramatic, babe. Samantha said she wore that dress by accident." "She didn't mean to upstage you. Don't be so petty." I pushed him off. Oh right, he didn’t know I already knew about their affair. I smirked. "Oh, really? I guess I misjudged her, then." Seeing my attitude soften, Mario leaned in to hug me again. But his phone rang. He checked the screen, muttered something about an emergency at his new startup, and rushed out.
Mario was a nobody. His father died when he was two, and his mother raised him in a trailer park. But his ambition was limitless. Unfortunately, his wallet couldn't support his grand dreams. So, he spent three years playing the perfect, devoted boyfriend to win me over. He washed my feet, ran through heavy rain at midnight to get me medicine, and took ten-hour bus rides just to see me for an hour. With those cheap, low-effort tactics, he won my heart. I fell hard, completely losing myself in the process. When I switched to Mukbang, ninety-five percent of my income went straight into funding his startup. The remaining five percent went to the mortgage and buying mountains of high-fat, high-sugar junk food that ruined my body. Three years into our relationship, I had ballooned into his "giant white pig," while he used my hard-earned money to play the role of a hotshot CEO, cheating on me with Samantha. Well, Mario. Let's see how you play the big shot now that your cash cow is gone.
That evening, I called a locksmith and changed the locks. I packed my bags, grabbed my property deed, and contacted an old classmate. He was a well-known, wealthy heir in Chicago. Without hesitation, he agreed to rent me a luxury townhouse in the city center for a mere $2,000 a month. The next day, Mario’s call came through. He sounded like a detective interrogating a criminal. "Betty! Where the hell are you? Why won't my key work?!" "Do you know my startup is in desperate need of cash right now? If you don't want that Mukbang account, just give it to me!" I chewed on a sweet baby carrot, amused. "It's my apartment and my account. I do whatever the hell I want with them." "And who do you think you are, talking to me in that tone, Mario?" In my past life, after we got together, I used my hard-earned money to buy him a closet full of Air Jordans. He never wore cheap, $10 t-shirts again; everything he wore was name-brand. On our engagement day, I bought him a $12,000 Rolex with the payout from my first major brand deal. I packaged him into a wealthy, successful gentleman. But he forgot. Without my money lifting him up, he was still just a loser whose entire outfit didn't even cost fifty bucks. Then came Samantha’s texts, spamming my Snapchat: Betty, why can't I find your Mukbang account anymore? I smiled, my eyes cold. Because I’m getting skinny and taking my throne back, bitch.
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