Played For A Fool? Not Me.

romise. He gave

f the Scott Tower. The closet was bigger than my old living room, and he filled it with clothes I' d onl

f joy over a diamond necklace. Caleb and his friends watched me with condescending

ught I w

ing them. I was renting them out. I found a network of aspiring influencers and models who would pay a premium to be photographed in a

champagne; I listened. I heard them complain about the lack of high-quality, convenient cocktail options

young. My family wasn't a source of comfort; they were a burden. My mother was weak, and my brother was a drug addict. They saw me not as a daughter or a

is a cage. Money is freedom. I wasn' t just p

rom Tara' s point of view-a snarky, anonymous blog detailing the "hilarious" experiment of turning a common girl into a society lady. I posted pi

e cried. It was pathetic. #Projec

disgusted by the anonymous socialite' s cruelty. They had no idea the "project" her

ing: my own brand of premium, ready-to-drink canned cocktails. I used my bartending knowledge to deve

ng me up to tear me down. The