Page 12 of The Clifftop Cottage

Top Three Erica Hayes Moments That Prove She’s Just Another Mean Girl.

She hesitated – then clicked.

Her face filled the screen.

Composed. Guard up.

Mean girl? What do you think?

An old interview played.

Interviewer: “Your fans have been so vocal about supporting the show and its mission. How does it feel to know you’ve built such a loyal community?”

Erica: “They love the content. That’s why they’re here. Let’s not pretend liking something online is the same as changing the world.”

She winced. Not because it wasn’t true, but because she could hear what had been cut away. The smile that had followed. The longer answer about responsibility, about impact, about not wanting false sainthood.

The clip jumped.

Another studio. Another chair. Legs crossed, chin lifted.

Interviewer: “What advice would you give to young women hoping to follow in your footsteps?”

Erica: “It’s hard work. Brutal, sometimes. If you’re looking for permission or reassurance, this probably isn’t the industry for you.”

The sentence ended abruptly, her voice sliced mid-thought.

For a beat, there was silence.

Then the text appeared.

Erica Hayes reportedly told her staff they were “too fat” to model her custom T-shirt designs.

Her stomach lurched.

She had never said that. Not like that. Not at all.

The reel ended with its verdict, stamped across the screen like a sentence passed down.

Erica Hayes is the worst human being.

She closed her eyes. The words burned anyway. When she opened them again, another reel had already queued, her face frozen mid-expression on the thumbnail.

That was enough.

She slammed the laptop shut. Heat rushed up her neck, nausea curling low in her gut. Shame crawled over her skin – hot, disorienting. Was this really how she came across? Those interviews felt distant now, from another life. A woman who’d been certain. Sharp. Untouchable.

That was when things had started to slip.

Steven said she’d made a spectacle of herself. That sponsors were nervous. That people had lost faith. And in flashes – unwelcome and brief – she could see it. The pressure. The speed. The sense that the ground was shifting while she was still expected to smile.

She hadn’t adapted. She’d resisted. Dug in. Tried to outpace the change until it overtook her anyway.

And then he’d taken her to the hospital.

Unhinged, he’d said. Not cruelly. Almost kindly.

And hadn’t it felt that way? Like she was watching herself from a small distance, trapped in a body that wouldn’t slow down.