By admin 
I mixed business with family, and it backfired. I trusted my half-sibling to keep her word, but she acted like she had done me a favor while I was the one who gave everything. In the end, she faced the consequences.
I am 25 and work as a freelance hair and makeup artist during weekends. It is not a large income, but it covers bills and makes me happy because I love to help women feel good about themselves.
Two women smiling while looking in the mirror | Source: Pexels
I have a stepsister, Claire, who is 28. She has always been treated as the favorite. I was the one who took responsibility, kept peace, and tried to make things smooth.
Our relationship has always been rocky. Claire has a habit of taking advantage because everyone in the family puts her on a pedestal. She knows it and uses it. There was one time we even had a fallout because of it.
One woman sitting on the floor while another sits on the couch | Source: Pexels
Back then, I was just starting out as a makeup artist. Claire told one of her friends that I would do her birthday hair and makeup. She described it as full glam, which is usually expensive, but she told her friend it would be free since I was her stepsister. She never mentioned this arrangement to me.
When I later spoke with the client and explained my actual price, the reaction was one of complete surprise. Her friend had believed it was a favor and thought she would not have to pay a cent. That moment was awkward for both of us, and it caused a break between Claire and me.
Two women posing while facing different directions | Source: Pexels
So when she called me months before her wedding, I thought maybe this was her way of reaching out.
She said with a sweet tone, “Sooo, you’ll do my hair and makeup, right? And the bridesmaids too. Six of them. You’re sooo talented.”
I hesitated. “That’s a lot of people. I’ll need to bring help.”
She cut me off quickly: “Don’t worry, I’ll pay. Just give me the family discount.”
For the first time, she was not expecting me to work for free. I accepted. I told her the price would be $500. That was very low for seven full looks with hair. She agreed right away. No contract was written — because she was family.
A woman on a phone call | Source: Pexels
When the wedding day arrived, I showed up with my assistant. The scene was messy. Dresses hung over chairs, and nerves filled the air.
Claire spotted me as I walked in. She crossed her arms and said, “Well, look who finally decided to show up.”
I kept my voice calm. “I’m here on time, Claire. We should start soon if you want everyone ready.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just make sure you don’t overcharge me for this. Remember, it’s family.”
I met her gaze but stayed firm. “We agreed on the price, Claire. Let’s keep it professional today.”
A woman standing behind a vanity desk | Source: Pexels
For a moment, she said nothing. Then she tossed her hair and muttered, “Fine. Just do your job and don’t mess up.”
I nodded, refusing to let her rattle me. “Let’s get started then. There’s a lot to do.”
With that, I turned to my assistant and unpacked our kits.
We worked without pause for hours. Once we were done, the bridesmaids looked in the mirror and squealed. Even the photographer said my work looked great.
However, Claire was harder to please. She asked me to redo her eyeliner three times.
A woman having her makeup done | Source: Pexels
She huffed as I leaned in with the brush again. “Ugh, it’s still not even. Do you even know what you’re doing?”
I set the brush down for a moment and met her eyes in the mirror. “Claire, this is the third time. I’m doing my best, but makeup isn’t magic.”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Funny, I thought you were supposed to be a professional.”
My voice stayed steady, though my hands shook slightly. “I am. And you asked me because you know I’m good at what I do. But if you keep moving every few seconds, it’s not going to come out right.”
She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Whatever. Just fix it. I need to look perfect.”
A hairdresser straightening a client’s hair | Source: Pexels
I inhaled slowly, picked the brush back up, and forced myself to keep going.
At last, she looked at herself and gasped, “I look like a celebrity.”
The bridesmaids gathered around her, adjusting their dresses and fussing with their bouquets. Claire twirled in front of the mirror, soaking in every compliment. The photographer snapped away, and the room filled with chatter and perfume.
The bride and her bridesmaids pictured ahead of the ceremony | Source: Pexels
When it was time to leave, the bridal party rushed out in a flurry of satin and lace. I stood back with my assistant, exhausted but proud of the work we had done. Claire barely looked at me as she hurried off, though I caught her whispering to a bridesmaid, “Good thing she finally got it right.”
The ceremony itself went smoothly. The aisle was lined with flowers, and the music filled the space as guests watched her glide down in her gown. From a distance, I could see heads turning toward her, admiring her hair and flawless makeup. Every detail I had worked on was shining under the lights.
A newlywed couple leaving the church following their vows | Source: Pexels
At the reception, people clapped and cheered. Some of the bridesmaids even came up to me quietly and said, “Thank you again, we loved our looks.” I smiled politely, though Claire never once acknowledged me or introduced me as the artist behind it all. She danced, laughed, and posed for photos, as if none of the earlier tension had happened.
By the time the night ended, I was drained but certain that I had delivered everything she asked for. I went home expecting to be paid quickly, since she had promised.
A woman driving a car | Source: Pexels
The following day, I sent a message to ask for the payment. No reply. I waited. More days went by. Finally, she answered.
Her words shocked me: “Lol, I’m not paying. Family shouldn’t charge family. Plus, think of all the exposure you’ll get from the photos.”
I reminded her she promised. That I brought help. That I’d given her a massive discount. She ghosted me.
I felt betrayed. My trust was gone. But I did not know what was coming for her.
Only a few days later, my phone rang. Claire’s voice cracked through the line. She was hysterical: “You MUST help me! What they did is a total disaster!”
A woman touching her head while talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
At that moment, it was clear — karma had already found her.
I asked flatly, “Who’s they?”
Her words tumbled out in a rush. “The stylists I went to for another event after the wedding. They ruined my hair. It’s uneven, it’s fried, it’s falling out! And my makeup — it’s blotchy and I look terrible in every picture!”
An up-close shot of a woman on a phone call | Source: Pexels
I let her words hang in the silence, her desperation loud through the line. She begged again, “Please, Abby. I need you. I know I said I wouldn’t pay, but this is different. Everyone saw me like this. People are laughing. I can’t live with these photos.”
I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “Claire, I gave you my best work on your wedding day. You looked perfect. You promised to pay me, and then you refused. You ghosted me when I reminded you. And now, after you chose someone else, you expect me to fix their mistakes?”
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
She stammered, “But… you’re my sister. You’re supposed to help me. Isn’t that what family is for?”
My grip on the phone tightened, but my voice stayed calm. “I was your sister when I woke up at dawn to do your hair and makeup. I was your sister when I charged you next to nothing for hours of work. I was your sister when I made you feel like a celebrity. And you still decided to walk all over me. No, Claire. Not this time.”
A woman talking on the phone with one hand raised | Source: Pexels
Her sobs grew louder. “Abby, please. I’m begging you. I can’t go out like this again. I need you.”
I shook my head, though she couldn’t see me. “Then you’ll have to find someone else. Because the truth is, I don’t need this anymore.”
There was a long pause on the line, only the sound of her crying. I hung up before she could say another word.
For the first time in years, I felt no guilt. Only relief.
But it didn’t end there. A day later, my mother called. Her tone was sharp from the start. “Abigail, I just spoke with Claire. She’s upset. She says you refused to help her when she really needed you. Can’t you just let this go and fix things for her?”
A woman holding a smartphone | Source: Pexels
I closed my eyes, gripping the phone. “Mom, I already showed up for her. I worked for hours on her wedding day and charged almost nothing. I did everything she asked, and she still refused to pay me. That’s not a mistake. That’s a choice.”
She sighed. “Still, she’s your sister. Family should be there for each other.”
This time, my voice was steady. “I’ve always been the one to keep peace. I’ve taken the blame, stayed quiet, and sacrificed more than I should have. But not anymore. Claire broke her word, and I won’t fix her problems again.”
A woman on the phone | Source: Pexels
There was silence on the line. I didn’t waver. I didn’t bend.
When I hung up, I realized something had shifted. I was done mixing business with family. And I would never make that mistake again.
A woman using a smartphone | Source: Pexels
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one: Rebecca was recovering from surgery when she lent her sister, Kathy, her car. Kathy brought it back on empty without saying a word, which cost Rebecca an important opportunity. What followed was careful revenge.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
