en customers cursed her out. By night, she wiped tables in a coffee shop until her back ached and her shoes reeked of spilled lattes. Her phone buzzed only with bank alerts, overdraft warning

fountain at midnight just to make security chase him. He lived for attention, craved it, breathed it like oxygen. Zee had been on Cash for Fun way before Ama. His stunts were stunts that usually ended with scraped knees or cheap laughs setting his hair on fire, eating raw peppers, and nearly breaking his arm skateboarding off a roof. He had scars and maybe a hundred loyal viewers, tops. So when Ama's follower count shot past his in days, Zee's jaw clenched like stone. "Rain girl, huh?" he muttered one night, scrolling through her trending clips. He threw his phone on the couch with a scoff. "You dance in puddles, and suddenly the whole internet worships you? I nearly burned my face off last week for twenty bucks." Ama smirked. "Maybe people just... like me more." That stung him. She saw it flash in his eyes before he masked it with a grin. But Zee wasn't dumb. He pitched a collab. "Cousin duo. Chaos squared. Imagine it's your charm, my stunts. Boom. We'd own the app." Ama hesitated, then agreed. The money was too good to ignore. But deep down, she knew Zee didn't want to share the spotlight. He wanted to steal it. If Zee was trouble, Tomi was worse. Tomi had been Ama's friend since high school. She was steady, safe, the kind of girl who always carried tissues and painkillers in her bag "just in case." Tomi knew Ama before the debt, before the app. She was Ama's anchor, the one who reminded her to eat, to rest, to breathe. But Tomi didn't understand the kind that hollowed your ribs and left you awake at night worrying how to keep the lights on. She didn't know the desperation of needing clout to pay for your mother's medicine. "You're turning into somebody else," Tomi said one afternoon, watching Ama edit cli