Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
LEO
It was supposed to be a damn fairytale.
And for five seconds, it almost was. Jade looked like something out of a dream—elegant in that soft green gown, her hair pinned half-up, soft tendrils brushing her cheek.
When she walked into the Vanderbilt mansion beside Tristan, heads turned.
Phones snapped. Even Vivian, the British royal import clinging to my arm like we were auditioning for Buckingham Palace, paused to blink at her.
Because Jade didn’t look like a scholarship girl tonight.
She looked like a queen.
And then they called her one.
I froze the second her name hit the mic. Jade Bryan—Homecoming Queen. Me—King. The crowd went dead quiet for one beat. Two.
Then the whispers started. The jeers. The girls clutching their champagne flutes with too-tight fingers. The jocks muttering, “She rigged it.”
Only she didn’t.
Xavier’s voice rang through my head—“I had you and Shani voted in. I used a few back-end tricks. Figured she deserved at least one night to feel on top.”
And she did. For one second. One fragile, perfect second, Jade smiled like she believed it. Like the crown meant more than a joke.
Then the spotlight hit us, and I reached for her hand, heart pounding. She looked up at me—eyes wide, disbelieving, like she couldn’t decide if this was the start of a dream or a new kind of nightmare.
It ended up being both.
Because the moment our fingers laced and we stepped into the center of the ballroom, something fell from the vaulted ceiling with a wet, sickening splash.
Cold. Slimy. Muti-colored.
Glue and lemonade. Food dye. Who knows what else.
Jade screamed, a high, gutted sound that cracked me open.
Phones flew up. Lights flashed. Laughter rang out like gunshots.
She blinked through the mess—crown slipping, mascara running, dress ruined—and I watched the moment her heart snapped. And then she ran.
And I lost it.
Everyone’s phones buzzed. All at once.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Over and over like a swarm.
Whispers turned into gasps. Heads bent. Fingers tapped.
A voice behind me gasped. “Whoa…”
I yanked my phone out and the screen lit up like a nuclear bomb.
“Local Girl Victim of Deepfake Porn Scandal—Now Homecoming Queen at Elite Royal Oaks Prep?”
“Jaden Leigh Barron’s Sealed School Record Leaked in Shocking Twist.”
“From Ohio Shame to Country Club Fame—Scholarship Fraud at Royal Oaks?”
My breath left me like a punch to the chest.
Pictures. Police reports. Screenshots of the old fake account. Blurred thumbnails from deepfake porn clips with her face on them. Her real name. Her real hometown.
All of it.
Leaked. Unsealed. Public.
“No,” I whispered, scrolling faster, heart jackhammering in my chest.
Xavier and Tristan elbowed through the crowd toward me. “Leo—”
“I don’t know how—” I couldn’t breathe.
“She filed a police report,” Xavier said grimly. “Under her alias. About the fish incident.”
“She used her fake name,” I rasped.
“Exactly. But the cop on the case connected the dots. Found the scholarship record. The sealed file. And guess who funded the dig?”
“Who?”
“Nadia Livingston’s dad.”
I blinked, stunned. “What?”
“She got cut from the soccer team. Jade took her jersey number. His daughter was benched for the scholarship girl—and he wanted dirt. So he paid for it.”
Tristan’s hands curled into fists. “They couldn’t stand her getting the spotlight.”
Vivian was saying something behind me—I didn’t hear a word.
The room was caving in. The lights. The noise. The vultures. And Jade?
Gone.
I shoved through the crowd. Out into the night. Past the torches. Past the photographers waiting at the gates.
I found her in the rose garden, curled on a marble bench, arms wrapped around herself, eyes hollow. She didn’t flinch when I stepped into view. Just looked up at me with all the strength she had left and said:
“Did you know?”
It shattered me.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
Because yes, I knew pieces. My parents’ sanitized version. But not this. Not this nuclear fallout. Not the bloodbath the world had turned it into.
“I didn’t know it would go public,” I said, hoarse.
She nodded, slow. “But you knew.”
I stepped forward. “I tried to protect you.”
“You broke me.”
My jaw locked. “I know.”
She stood, shoulders straight. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m going to fix this,” I swore.
Her eyes glistened. “You can’t. It’s already done.”
Then she walked away, wet dress dragging across stone, tiara gone.
I ran after them, heart in my throat, but Shani turned on me, fire blazing in her eyes.
"Leave her alone, Leo!"
"Shani—"
"No. You don't get to hurt her, break her, then chase her down like you're the hero of the story. Just go. Let her breathe for once."
And then the car door slammed between us.
I stood frozen under the soft golden lights outside the mansion, the cold finally starting to bite through my tux. I should’ve gone home. Should’ve left with some grace. But that wasn’t me anymore.
So I turned.
And went hunting.
The first girl I found was Bianca—because of course she slithered out of the shadows like the snake she was, wrapping herself around me.
“You done slumming, Leo?” she purred, tracing her nails along my chest. “Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”
I flicked her hand off like it burned. “Don’t touch me.”
“You’re so dramatic,” she laughed, wounded pride behind the fake smile.
I didn’t look back. My fury needed a target.
And I knew exactly where to aim it.
I found them near the coatroom—the scorned soccer girls, their minions, the little coven of mean girls who thought they could destroy someone like Jade and walk away unscathed.
I stood there, jaw locked, blood boiling, and they finally noticed.
“Smile, Holt,” Nadia Livingston sneered. “Should’ve picked a girl who could take a joke.”
I didn’t smile.
Instead, I took a step forward, and the room went cold.
“I hope you enjoyed your moment,” I said calmly, my voice sharp enough to draw blood. “Because you just committed social suicide.”
They blinked.
I took another step.
“You think this is just prep school politics? Cute little pranks? Think again. Phones. Now. All of you.”
When no one moved, I barked, “I said now.”
The room shifted. Their confidence cracked.
“Put them in the basket,” I said, grabbing a silver punch bowl from the table. “You’re done.”
“You documented everything,” I said coldly, voice low but razor-sharp. “Every text. Every group chat. Every damn video. That digital trail? It’s evidence now. And congratulations—your little prank just became cyber harassment and conspiracy to commit defamation.”
I stepped closer, eyes blazing. “There are lawyers involved. Real ones. And remember those NDA agreements from Ohio? We’re tearing them apart. Which means everyone—everyone—who knew about tonight is fair game now.”
Their faces paled.
“You think this ends with a suspension or some sanitized apology? Try civil suits. Misdemeanor charges. Maybe even felonies."
I scanned the room like I was memorizing each of their names.
“Ivy League? Gone. Pledge week? Not happening. Your perfect college essays about integrity and leadership? Shred them. You’re not getting internships—you’re going to get subpoenas.”
They blinked.
I didn’t.
“You won’t feel the weight of this tonight. Or tomorrow. But one day—when you’re fifty, forgotten, and bitter—you’ll remember this night. The night you fucked with the wrong girl.”
Pause.
“And realized you weren’t the predators. You were the prey.”
“Phones. Now.” My palm was out, jaw ticking eyes ablaze. I wasn’t fucking around and they all knew it.
“You can’t—”
“Watch me.”