Elara
Victoria’s face went white. For a split second, she just stared at the phone, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t process what
she was seeing. Then she lunged at me, her perfectly manicured nails
reaching for the phone.
“You bitch!” she screamed, her composure shattering completely.
“Delete that! Delete it right now!”
I stepped back, keeping the phone out of her reach, but Charlotte and
the other girls rushed to help her. Four of them against one of me,
and suddenly we were in a tangle of designer dresses and flailing
arms, Victoria’s shrieks echoing through the hallway. I felt someone
grab my hair, someone else’s elbow jam into my ribs, but I held onto
the phone with everything I had.
“It’s already backed up to the cloud,” I said, my voice shaking but
clear. “You can break my phone, but you can’t delete the video.”
S
That only made Victoria more frantic. She grabbed my wrist, trying to twist it until I dropped the phone, and I felt a sharp pain shoot up my arm. The other girls were pulling at my jacket, my hair, trying to overwhelm me with sheer numbers. I stumbled backward, my
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shoulder slamming into the wall, but I didn’t let go.
People were starting to notice. I could hear the murmur of voices, the
shuffle of feet as guests in the ballroom turned toward the
commotion. Someone pulled out their own phone, and I knew they
were recording too. Good. Let them see. Let everyone see what
Victoria Vane was really like behind her perfect smile.
Security guards appeared, pulling us apart. Victoria was still
screaming, her face flushed and her hair disheveled, all traces of her
earlier elegance gone. Charlotte and the other girls backed away
quickly, suddenly eager to distance themselves from the scene. I
stood there, breathing hard, my jacket torn and my lip bleeding where
someone had accidentally elbowed me, but my phone was still in my
hand.
“Miss Vane,” one of the guards said, his voice careful and respectful.
“Is everything all right?”
Victoria pointed a shaking finger at me. “She–she attacked me! She
came in here uninvited and attacked me!”
A
I held up my phone, my hand trembling but my voice steady. “That’s
not true, and I have video evidence to prove it. She admitted on
camera that she sent someone to harass me at the flea market, and
then she attacked me when I showed her the recording.”
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The guard looked between us, clearly uncertain. Victoria was a Vane,
the golden granddaughter of the family patriarch. I was… nobody. But
the video on my phone was undeniable, and there were now at least a
dozen guests with their own phones out, recording everything.
The crowd around us was growing, whispers rippling through the
ballroom like a wave. I caught fragments of conversation-“Is that the
girl the Vanes took in?” “What’s happening?” “Someone’s recording-”
Victoria’s face was red now, her chest heaving as she tried to regain
control of the situation. But it was too late. Too many people had
seen her lose her composure, had heard her screaming at me like a
child throwing a tantrum. The carefully constructed image of the
perfect Vane heiress was cracking, and everyone was watching.
And then Julian appeared, pushing through the crowd with Sloane on
his arm. His face was a mask of cold fury, his dark eyes sweeping over
the scene–me with my torn jacket and bleeding lip, Victoria
disheveled and hysterical, the guards trying to maintain order, and
the crowd of guests with their phones out, capturing every moment.
For a second, his gaze locked with mine, and I saw something flicker
in his expression–shock, maybe, or concern, or anger, I couldn’t tell. But then Sloane was there, her hand on his arm, her voice soft and worried as she asked what was happening. And just like that, his attention shifted away from me.
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Victoria saw her chance. She ran to Julian, grabbing his arm and
bursting into tears. “Jules, she’s lying! She recorded me without
permission and now she’s trying to ruin me! She made up this whole
story about the flea market–I never did any of those things!”
Julian’s jaw tightened, and for a moment I thought he might actually
believe her. But then Charlotte, in a moment of panic or stupidity,
blurted out, “Victoria, maybe we should just-”
“Shut up!” Victoria snapped, whirling on her. And in that moment, the
truth was written all over both their faces.
Sloane stepped forward, her expression perfectly composed, one hand
resting on her pregnant belly in a gesture that managed to be both
protective and performative. “Elara,” she said, her voice gentle but
firm, “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here. Perhaps we could
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