As I stepped out of the audition room, a sea of reporters stormed me, microphones thrust forward, cameras flashing like paparazzi on the red carpet.
"Miss Dahlia, what's your reaction to landing the role?"
"How did you feel about Clyde Grey's presence?"
"Is it true you're replacing Anissa Grey?"
My agent, Lara, and bodyguards swiftly intervened, shielding me from the chaos.
"Let's get you out of here," Lara whispered, her voice firm but reassuring.
As we navigated through the crowd, Lara's expression turned somber.
"Dahlia, have you seen the news?" she asked.
I shook my head.
Lara handed me her phone.
My eyes widened.
Social media was ablaze.
Fans and passersby were mercilessly insulting Anissa.
"Clyde's wife can't act to save her life."
"Anissa's talentless."
"Dahlia deserved the role."
But one post caught my attention:
"Clyde Grey shows up to support wife Anissa at audition, but even his influence can't save her mediocre acting. Dahlia wins role due to genuine talent."
My heart sank.
The backlash against Anissa was brutal.
I felt a pang of guilt.
Had my success come at her expense?
Lara's voice interrupted my thoughts.
"Dahlia, focus on your win."
"This role will catapult your career."
But the taste of victory was bittersweet.
I couldn't shake off the feeling.
That Anissa's humiliation.
Was somehow linked to my triumph.
As we escaped the reporters.
Lara briefed me on damage control.
"We'll release a statement."
"Congratulations on your win."
"No comment on Anissa."
But I knew.
This wasn't the end.
Only the beginning.
The backlash was relentless.
Twitter was flooded with hate tweets.
"Anissa Grey is a talentless leech."
"Can't believe Clyde's stuck with that ugly wife."
"Anissa's acting skills are non-existent."
Instagram comments were just as vicious.
"Shameless woman clinging to her husband's fame."
"Ugly inside and out."
Facebook posts called for boycotts.
"Refuse to watch any movie with Anissa Grey."
"Support real talent, not Clyde's wife."
The hate speech was staggering.
Death threats and profanity-laced comments poured in.
Anissa's Instagram account was bombarded.
With cruel messages.
Then, someone brought up her past.
"Remember when Anissa Grey tried to make it as a singer?"
"Failed miserably."
"Acting's not much better."
The internet exploded.
Comparisons to me flooded social media.
"Dahlia's the talented sister."
"Anissa's just a pretty face."
"No, wait, not even that."
"Ugly and talentless."
The comments stung.
Not just for Anissa.
But for me.
My sister.
My blood.
How could people be so cruel?
So heartless?
Lara intervened.
"Dahlia, stay offline."
"Focus on your celebration."
But I couldn't help myself.
I scrolled through.
The hate.
The vitriol.
My heart ached.
For Anissa.
For our family.
As I walked into the house, I was met with a heartbreaking sight. Anissa was crouched down on the floor, her body shaking with sobs. I rushed to her side, concern etched on my face.
"Anissa, what's wrong?" I asked, trying to comfort her.
But instead of welcoming my embrace, she slapped me. Hard.
"Get away from me!" she yelled, her eyes blazing with anger.
I recoiled, shocked. Anissa had never yelled at me before. Never touched me in anger. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.
"Anissa, please..." I started.
"You think you're so perfect, don't you?" she spat. "You think you're better than me?"
Tears streamed down my face. "No, Anissa, that's not true."
But she wasn't listening.
"You have no idea what it's like to be me," she shouted. "To carry the weight of our family's expectations. To raise you like my own child."
Memories flooded my mind. Our parents' funeral, when I was just ten and Anissa was fifteen. Aunt Sophie and Uncle Jack taking us in, but always traveling, leaving Anissa to care for me.
"Anissa, you've always been there for me," I said, trying to calm her down.
"But who's been there for me?" she countered, her voice cracking.
I realized then that Anissa's pain went far beyond this audition. It was years of sacrifice, of putting me first, of carrying the burden of our family's legacy