Investing In Overlooked Women: I Get Cashback On Every Glow-Up

In the VIP box, Tiana leaned right against the glass, her live analytics tablet immediately flaring up with a spike in search traffic so massive the servers began to hum.

I leaned back in the VIP seat, taking a slow sip of my drink. I was completely chilled because I already knew this heat was going to be a cakewalk for her.

Down on the track, May was an absolute blur. The moment she exploded out of the blocks, she put two full strides between herself and the rest of the field before they even hit the thirty-meter mark. The matte-black Zenith gear cut through the air, looking incredibly sleek as she pulled further and further ahead.

The crowd went absolutely wild, standing up in the bleachers and screaming as she pushed the pace. She didn’t just coast to an easy win—she kept accelerating.

When she crossed the finish line, the stadium clock flashed in bright red numbers: 10.72 seconds.

She didn’t just win the heat; she completely shattered her own national record on day one.

The stadium erupted. May slowed down to a jog, catching her breath, and looked straight up at the main broadcast camera. She tapped the silver ’Z’ logo on her chest with two fingers, giving the camera a cold, confident wink.

Up in the VIP box, Tiana looked at her tablet, her eyes wide.

”Her social media just exploded,” Tiana said, holding up the screen. ”Over two hundred thousand people searched for ’Z athletic gear’ in the last sixty seconds alone. They’re going crazy trying to figure out where to buy it.”

”And that’s just the heats,” I smirked, watching May wave to the cheering crowd down on the track. ”Day one is officially locked down.”

---

The next morning, the stadium was buzzing before the gates even fully opened. Yesterday’s record-shattering heat had set the entire country on fire, and every sports blog, news outlet, and online forum was obsessing over May’s performance—and that sleek, unidentified kit.

In the VIP suite, I watched the pre-race broadcast while May finished her warm-ups down below.

”Tiana,” I said, leaning over her desk. ”Drop the official name today. Don’t release a link, don’t drop a price, and don’t take pre-orders. Just drop the name: Zenith. Let them target their hype instead of just searching for ’Z brand’.”

”On it,” Tiana smirked, her fingers flying across her screen.

Minutes later, a simple, massive digital banner went live across our national media buys and May’s social channels: a single image of the silver emblem resting on matte-black fabric, captioned with just one word:

ZENITH.

The internet went into absolute overdrive. Within ten minutes, ”Zenith Gear” and ”Z-Stan” were trending #1 nationwide. People were practically begging in the comment sections, arguing over release dates and trying to guess how much the elite prototype line would cost.

Down on the track, the crowd roared as the sprinters were called out for the 100m semifinals. May stepped into Lane 4, looking as cold and composed as ever. She rolled her shoulders, took off her warm-up top, and locked her eyes on the track.

She was ready. Nothing was stopping us.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

One second May was completely dominating the field, tearing down the lane like a machine, and the next—her ankle gave out. She went down hard, tumbling across the track in a terrifying roll right before the finish line.

The stadium gasped in collective shock.

”May!” Chloe yelled, standing up so fast her chair knocked back.

I didn’t waste a single second. I threw open the VIP suite door and sprinted straight down the service stairs, shoving past security and cutting through the athlete tunnel. Down on the track, the crowd was dead silent. The medical team was already running out with a stretcher, but through the chaos, I saw her—she had used her momentum to drag her body over the line, securing her spot in the final through sheer grit before collapsing onto her back.

I broke through the track barrier, ignoring the officials trying to hold me back.

”May!” I called out, dropping to one knee right beside her as the medics reached us.

She was clutching her right ankle, her face pale, sweat pouring down her forehead. The matte-black Zenith gear was scuffed with red track dust, but despite the intense pain radiating from her leg, she looked up at me and forced a strained, stubborn smile.

”I... I still crossed the line,” she wheezed out, her voice tight. ”Check the board...”

I glanced up at the screen. Qualifier: May - Lane 4 (1st Place). Even with the fall, her lead had been so massive she still won the semifinal.

”Don’t worry about the clock right now,” I said softly, taking her hand as the head medic began examining her ankle. ”We’re getting you checked out immediately.”

The camera crews were trying to zoom in on us, but my bodyguards instantly formed a wall around May and the medical staff, keeping the media from capturing her at her lowest moment.

”Ankle sprain,” the medic said, looking up at me with a serious face. ”We need to get her to the medical bay for X-rays right now. The finals are tomorrow... I don’t know if she’s going to be able to run.”

May grabbed my wrist tightly, her eyes burning with pure defiance. ”I’m running tomorrow. I don’t care what it takes.”

The launch, the hype, and the corporate war with Apex instantly vanished from my mind. Right now, May was the only thing that mattered.

I stayed right by her side as the paramedics wheeled her down the quiet stadium corridor into the medical bay. I kept a firm grip on her hand the entire way, ignoring the noise of the stadium fading behind us.

”Seriously, I’m fine,” May winced as they lifted her onto the examination table. She squeezed my hand back, trying to act tough despite the tears of pain building at the corners of her eyes. ”It’s just a tweak. Put some ice on it, wrap it up, and I’ll be ready for the blocks tomorrow. We worked too hard for this launch to bench me now.”

”Shut up and rest, May,” I said gently, brushing a damp strand of hair off her forehead. ”You don’t have to prove anything to anybody. Right now, we’re doing the X-ray, and we’re listening to the doctors.”

She let out a frustrated huff, leaning her head back against the pillow, but the tight line of her shoulders finally softened a bit. She knew I wasn’t backing down on this.

The head physician walked in, sliding the portable digital X-ray machine into position while Chloe and Tiana waited anxiously near the door.

”We need to check for any hairline fractures or severe ligament tears,” the doctor said, prepping the scanner. ”If it’s just a grade-one sprain, we might be able to manage the swelling. But if there’s structural damage, running tomorrow is completely out of the question.”

May looked up at me, her stubborn grit still burning bright, but her eyes silently asking for reassurance. I held her hand tighter as the doctor positioned the scanner over her ankle.

Tiana walked into the waiting room, her eyes softening as she checked on May resting through the open door.

”She’s tough,” Tiana whispered, stepping back into the hallway. ”How’s she holding up?”

”She’s insisting she runs tomorrow,” I said, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. ”I’m making her wait for the X-ray results first.”

Tiana nodded, but her face darkened as she turned her tablet toward me. ”We’ve got a situation brewing outside. Look at this.”

On the screen was a rapidly growing wave of social media posts, news clips, and forum threads. Someone had taken high-resolution footage of May’s tumble and weaponized it. They were spinning a narrative that the unreleased Zenith shoes lacked stability, claiming the prototype gear caused her ankle to give out mid-sprint.

Bot accounts and seeded articles were spamming comment sections with hashtags like #ProtectMay and #DitchTheZ, begging her to switch back to legacy brands for tomorrow’s final to preserve her career.

”It’s a coordinated hit,” Tiana said, pointing out the suspicious engagement spikes. ”This isn’t random fans being overly protective. Someone bought heavy bot networks to drive this narrative within minutes of her fall. The public is falling for it—they think Zenith gear just put the world record holder in the hospital.”

I stared at the live metrics, my eyes narrowing. Peter Pear. Apex Global was running their dirty play early, using May’s injury to crush Zenith’s credibility right before the drop.

Just then, the door to the radiology suite swung open, and the lead doctor walked out holding the digital scan setup.