Chapter 28 Sustainable Stories
Olivia：POV
"Don't waste energy on meaningless distractions," I told myself as I pushed open my office door. "You've got a company to revolutionize and a vision to bring to life."
For the next month after blocking Blake's number, I threw myself headfirst into work. It was exactly what I needed—a purpose bigger than my confused feelings, something concrete I could shape with my own hands rather than trying to decipher mixed signals from a guy I'd known since childhood.
My sustainable product line became my obsession. I assembled a small but dedicated team of four people who actually gave a damn about changing the industry. We commandeered a corner of the R&D floor, covering whiteboards with flow charts and filling tables with biodegradable packaging samples.
I practically lived there, often staying until the cleaning staff kicked me out around midnight.
"We need something more," I said one Thursday afternoon, staring at our progress charts. We'd nailed the sustainable packaging and the carbon-neutral production pipeline, but something was missing. "This isn't just about the product specs. It's about connecting with people."
Mia, our social media wizard, looked up from her laptop. "What if we create a story around the products? Something that makes people care beyond just 'this is good for the environment.'"
I snapped my fingers. "That's it. Not just a marketing campaign—an actual narrative."
The idea crystallized rapidly after that. We'd create a series of short films following the journey of our ingredients from source to skin. But with a twist—we'd make it personal, emotional.
"Each ingredient has its own story," I explained to the team the next morning, pacing excitedly. "The women harvesting shea butter in Ghana who built their own cooperative. The wild rose fields in Oregon where we source our botanical oils, saved from development by a family who's worked that land for generations."
"That's great," said Trevor, our packaging designer. "But how do we make it more than just another corporate sustainability spiel?"
I grinned. "We tell only half the story at first."
"Half?" Anita from product development frowned.
"We show the beginning—the raw ingredients, the people who grow them, the land they come from. But we don't reveal how they connect to our products until phase two. We build anticipation, make people wonder what these powerful stories are building toward."
The team loved it. We spent three intense weeks filming, gathering footage from our supply partners around the world. I even flew to Portland for two days to interview the family running the rose farm, wanting to capture their story myself.
By the second week of May, our first video was ready—a beautifully shot three-minute piece following a day in the life of the women's cooperative in Ghana. We paired the stunning visuals with an ethereal voiceover narration that I'd written and revised at least twenty times.
"In the heart of Ghana," the gentle female voice began over footage of sunrise breaking through mist-covered fields, "a community of women rises before dawn, continuing a tradition passed through generations." The words appeared on screen in elegant typography, fading in and out with the imagery.
The narration continued, weaving a story of heritage, sustainability, and empowerment, but deliberately avoided any mention of beauty products. Instead, it ended with an ambiguous line that left viewers hanging: "Their hands create more than just a livelihood—they nurture a legacy that touches lives continents away. But how? That's a story still unfolding..."
I played it for Mike the day before our planned launch.
"This doesn't look like a cosmetics ad," he said, brow furrowed as the final frame faded to black.
"Exactly." I couldn't keep the excitement from my voice. "That's the whole point. We're not selling products yet—we're telling stories that matter."
He looked skeptical. "People might not make the connection."
"They're not supposed to—not yet. We'll release four of these stories over two weeks, then launch the reveal that connects them to our new sustainable line."
Mike leaned back in his chair, studying me. "This is risky, Liv."
"Innovation always is." I held his gaze. "Trust me on this."
The next day, we uploaded the first video to the Radiance website and all our social platforms with a simple caption: "Origins: Part One of a Journey." No explanation. No product mentions. Just the powerful story of women creating economic independence through traditional harvesting methods.
The response was immediate and polarized.
"The cinematography is gorgeous!"
"What does this have to do with makeup?"
"I'm literally crying watching these women's stories."
"Is this company seriously trying to greenwash by showing random footage from Africa?"
"That narration gave me chills. 'A legacy that touches lives continents away'—what's the next chapter??"
I monitored the comments obsessively the first day, alternating between excitement at the positive responses and frustration at the critics who didn't get it.
The second video—about the Oregon rose farm—went up three days later. This time, the narration spoke of "petals that capture morning dew, holding nature's purest essence" while showing close-ups of wild roses being harvested at dawn. The camera lingered on an elderly farmer's weathered hands as the voiceover whispered, "Some treasures can't be manufactured—they can only be gently coaxed from the earth." The video ended with rose petals floating downstream, the narrator asking, "Where does this river of renewal flow? The journey continues..."
This fueled even more speculation, exactly as planned.
By the time we released the third story, featuring sustainable palm oil farmers in Malaysia, the marketing department was getting nervous about the mixed reactions. This video focused on the environmental practices that preserved rainforest biodiversity while still allowing for cultivation. "Balance isn't simply found," the narration explained as a butterfly landed on a farmer's shoulder, "it's carefully, lovingly created." The final shot showed a single drop of oil catching sunlight, with the narrator musing, "What transformations await this golden essence? Soon, all will be revealed..."
"Ms. Parker," Jen from digital marketing poked her head into our war room, "should we maybe push up the timeline for the reveal video? People are getting impatient."
I looked up from the storyboard for our final installment. "No. Let them talk. Let them wonder. We're creating anticipation."
"But some of the comments—"
"Are exactly what we want," I finished for her. "People are engaged. They're debating. When was the last time anyone had passionate feelings about a Radiance campaign?"
Jen couldn't argue with that. Our traditional ads got polite engagement at best.
The fourth video went live exactly two weeks after the first. This one featured artisanal beekeepers in New Zealand, with breathtaking footage of pristine landscapes and close-ups of honeycomb being carefully harvested. "Nature's most perfect creation," the narration called it, as golden honey dripped in slow motion. "A substance so precious, it can preserve beauty for eternity."
The video ended with the most tantalizing cliffhanger yet: "Four journeys, one destination. What connects these stories of earth's bounty? The answer lies where nature and science meet..."
Now we had people actively waiting for it, speculating what these seemingly disconnected stories were building toward. The comments section was filling up before the video even finished processing.
"What's the endgame here?"
"Loving these stories but confused about the connection to beauty products."
"This is pretentious marketing BS. Just show us what you're selling!"
"The visuals are stunning. Whoever did the cinematography deserves an award."
"I've watched all four videos twenty times trying to piece together the clues in the narration!"
I was reviewing the final cut of our reveal video when Trevor burst into my office.
"We're trending!" he announced, phone in hand. "The hashtag #RadianceOrigins is picking up steam. People are theorizing about what we're doing!"
"Perfect," I said, unable to suppress a grin. "Now we just need to nail the conclusion. The reveal needs to launch next Monday."
"About that," Trevor hesitated. "Marketing's pushing for immediate release. They think the iron is hot."
I shook my head. "We're sticking to the plan. Let's talk about the spokesperson situation first. Have we heard back from Zoe Reynolds' agent?"
“This morning. She's interested, but she said she wants to meet in person to discuss the details.”
"We can work with that," I nodded. Having a celebrity environmentalist as the face of our campaign would add legitimacy. "Set up a call for tomorrow."
The office hummed with energy as we prepared for the final push. I felt more alive than I had in weeks. No thoughts of Blake. No confusion about mixed signals or what-ifs.
I was heading to my car that evening, scrolling through the day's comment threads and mentally rehearsing my pitch for Zoe, when a familiar figure stepped out from beside a black Audi.
"Olivia."
I froze, my body tensing at the sound of Jason's voice.
"We need to talk," he said, taking a step toward me.