Hitting Rock Bottom

Rebecca

I throw my phone onto the kitchen counter, the screen still glowing with the remnants of another rejected call. My throat feels raw from repeating the same desperate script to potential clients, trying to convince them to stay onboard with my ventures. Each time, I've barely gotten two or three sentences in before they cut me off—some politely, others bluntly—making it clear they'd rather not associate with me anymore.

It's been like this all day, and I'm not sure how many rejections I can take. There's a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, a sense that no matter what I say, it won't change the damage already done. The tabloids have painted me as a "Scorned Socialite," and the business community seems to have bought that narrative wholesale.