Brianna Sluski Facebook ad: “They Erased My Name, But My Face Has a Price”

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Meta Ad Library ID

1442618177985082

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Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network and Threads

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1

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The charity gala wasn’t even over when I made my decision. From now on, every time my family tried to erase me—their biological daughter—they would pay. I was their only biological child, born through a surrogate, yet I had never been formally introduced. This time, they’d put my childhood photo on the giant screen and labeled it “underprivileged student supported by our foundation.” Onstage, my adopted sister, Ivy, accepted the applause on behalf of our family. And I, the biological daughter, didn't even rate a name. My family watched. Not one of them corrected it. In the past, I would have hidden somewhere to cry, wondering what I lacked that she possessed. But in that moment, I suddenly didn’t want to ask anymore. The answer was already painfully clear. They needed their adopted daughter to uphold their image of perfection, and they needed me to disappear quietly. But they had forgotten one thing. They could delete my name. My face, however, had a price. They wanted their dignity. I wanted money. The first charge would be for that childhood photo on the giant screen. Once I named my price, would this family still be able to smile? … An hour after the gala ended, we were all in the study on the second floor of the mansion. My father, Wade, didn’t offer me a seat. I stood before his desk, the hem of my evening gown still damp from the grass outside, feeling like a criminal awaiting sentencing. “Who was that look for downstairs?” he snapped. “A reporter almost got a shot of you. Do you have any idea what they would have written?” “They could write that my childhood photo was used without authorization and mislabeled as a student receiving aid.” The study went quiet. I pressed on. “While they’re at it, they could also write that I had to spend three months’ salary on a dress just to attend my own family’s charity gala.” My brother, Beck, scoffed. “Don’t act like we abuse you. The trust Grandmother left you includes an annual clothing budget. How much more do you want?” I turned to look at him. “Really? Because my annual budget requests have never once been approved.” The smugness on his face froze. “Aren’t you about to become co-trustee?” I asked. “And you don’t even know how the approval process works?” Beck’s expression darkened. “Are you questioning me?” “I’m just stating the facts.” “Fine,” he ground out. “Since you’re so ungrateful, I’ll suggest to Mom and Dad that they freeze your access to the trust entirely. Let’s see how long you last without Mercer money.” I looked at Wade. He had once been the last of my illusions in this family. But he avoided my gaze, asking only, “Celeste, did any reporters notice the issue with the photo tonight?” “The PR team has it under control for now.” My mother, Celeste, pulled a few pages from her handbag and held them out to me. “Sign this, and the matter is settled.” I lowered my eyes and skimmed the document. A likeness release agreement. Perpetual use. No re......

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They Erased My Name, But My Face Has a Price