Chapter 3 #3
“Maybe,” she says, “but I’m not that stupid, Leo.”
Something in her tone makes my spine stiffen.
“You think I want to talk?” she whispers. “Please. I’m not risking shit for your scholarship girl.”
My jaw tics. “Don’t call her that.”
“She is that,” Vivian snaps. “And she’s gone now. Good. She never belonged here.”
I stare at her, trying not to break the cue stick across the table.
Vivian tosses her hair. “You belong with one of us.”
“No,” I say flatly. “I don’t.”
“Yes,” she counters, eyes blazing with the ugly truth she thinks is gospel. “Everyone knows it. Even your mother knows it. Even Jade knew it.”
My grip tightens.
“Dating her?” She continues, shrugging like she’s bored, like she’s discussing stocks. “That was just you rebelling. Playing pretend with a girl who can’t afford to breathe our air.”
She leans closer, lips almost brushing my ear.
“But this is our system, Leo.”
Ice slides down my spine.
“And you,” she whispers, “better get back in line.”
Something snaps inside me.
My fingers go white around the pool cue.
My heart goes cold.
Not broken.
Not bruised.
Cold.
I turn my head just enough to meet her gaze.
“You think I’m yours?” I say quietly. “You think any of this is mine?”
She smirks. “It is, whether you want it or not.”
“No,” I say. “Not anymore.”
Her smile falters.
Good.
Because I’ve never hated this place more.
Never hated them more.
Never hated myself more than I do right now, standing in the middle of marble and gold while Jade is somewhere hurting because of all of us.
Vivian senses the shift.
She stands, adjusts her mini dress, and huffs.
“You’re delusional if you think you can change anything.”
Maybe I am.
But she doesn’t get the last word.
I exhale one long plume of smoke.
“Watch me.”
I leave the man cave with the cigar still between my fingers and a fresh pour of something aged enough to make my father jealous. The marble floors echo under my shoes as I cross the main hall.
A DJ has taken over the far corner, bass thumping hard enough to shake dust from the chandelier.
Half the kids are dancing.
The other half are standing in circles gossiping.
The rest are doing whatever they want—because consequences don’t exist in their world.
I move through them like a ghost. No one touches me, but they all feel me. Heads turn. Eyes follow. Whispers trail behind me like smoke.
Then I find the door.
The “secret room.”
Rosalie’s father probably thinks it’s a sophisticated library.
It’s not.
It’s a sex den.
Red lighting.
Leather sofas.
Velvet curtains.
The scent of perfume, sweat, and desperation.
And, of course—
Tristan is dead center, a girl grinding on his lap like she’s auditioning for rent. His hands are on her hips. His mouth is on her neck. He looks like he’s living his best degenerate life.
X is in the corner.
Drink in hand.
Blank expression.
A girl draped across his lap trying to get his attention.
He doesn’t even bother to look at her.
He just drinks.
The second I walk in, the air shifts.
Because they know.
Every girl in here knows.
They’re all trying to be Jade’s replacement.
That’s what all this bullshit has been about.
Spotlight.
Status.
Queen-by-proxy.
They want the position.
They want the crown.
They want me.
But what they don’t understand—
what none of them will ever understand—
is that Jade never wanted any of it.
She just wanted me.
And I threw it away.
I stop in the doorway, take a long, slow drag from the cigar, and let the smoke roll out in a thick stream.
Then I nod once.
“Everyone out.”
The grinding girl freezes mid-hip-thrust.
The others laugh like I’m joking.
One girl snarls, “Uh, you can’t order us out. This isn’t even your house.”
I level my gaze at her.
And I say it again—quiet, calm, dangerous:
“I said out. Now.”
Something in my voice makes a few of them bolt immediately.
The rest protest under their breath but still scramble for the door, heels clicking, whispers hissing.
Tristan’s girl peels off his lap, clearly offended.
X’s girl sulks away after he lifts one eyebrow in warning.
When the door shuts and it’s just the three of us, Tristan throws his hands up.
“Hey! We were partying here, bro.”
I take another drag, flick ash onto the expensive rug, and deadpan:
“Yeah. Do you need another lawsuit?”
Tristan goes pale. “No, bro. Nope. Definitely not.”
X huffs a laugh. “The high-end skanks didn’t do it for you, huh?”
I ignore the term—because I don’t have the energy to police anything tonight—but my voice is colder than ice.
“I’m not here to party. I’m here to get answers.”
Tristan runs both hands through his hair. “So, what now?”
I blow out the smoke slow. Controlled. Razor-sharp.
“Now,” I say, “we figure out which one of these rich, feral idiots destroyed Jade’s life.”
And for the first time tonight—
For the first time since homecoming—
I feel something that isn’t grief.
I feel purpose.
Tristan tosses a cushion across the room and slumps back, defeated.
“Bro, I got nothing,” he admits. “And I swear I was trying everything.”
I give him a flat look. “Yeah. Clearly.”
He throws his hands in the air. “What? I was working the girl! Like you said. Loving her up, kissing her neck, whispering sweet nothings. You know how it is. spill easy between sexy kisses.”
I stare at him.
“Tristan,” I say, “you weren’t getting anything.”
He groans, covers his face. “I hate our generation. No one snitches anymore.”
X laughs once—dry, humorless. “Guess loyalty is the new accessory.”
We sit in silence.
Pour more drinks.
Smoke more.
Stew more.
I’m stretched across a chaise lounge, cigar in one hand, tumbler in the other. My shirt collar is open. My hair is a mess from running five miles earlier. I probably look like a Greek tragedy propped against six thousand dollars of upholstery.
That’s when the door creaks open.
Mindy Chen steps inside.
All three of us shift at once.
Interesting.
She shuts the door behind her, fingers trembling slightly. Then she squares her shoulders.
“I like Jade,” she says, voice soft but steady. “We had chem lab together. She was always… nice to me.”
I straighten.
This is already different.
She takes a breath.
“I know I’m not top of the food chain here,” she continues.
“I’m the bottom of the pyramid. If I’m even on the pyramid.
My parents have money, sure, but I’m from Hong Kong.
I don’t have the American bloodlines. The old steel money.
The railroad money. The oil money. The nonsense these parents worship. ”
She glances between us.
She’s nervous.
Really nervous.
“But I know what’s up.”
X leans forward.
Tristan sits up straighter.
I freeze with the cigar halfway to my lips.
Mindy swallows, then steps closer.
“If I tell you,” she says carefully, “you have to let me sit with you at lunch. You have to… protect me.”
Her voice cracks just a little.
“Because those girls? They leave me alone now. They let me be the dorky, crazy-rich Asian girl in the background. But if I give them up? They’ll come after me next.”
X narrows his eyes. “Why are you helping us then? What do you want?”
Her shoulders lift.
She doesn’t blush.
She doesn’t look embarrassed.
She tells the truth.
“What every girl wants,” she says. “Social status.”
I blink.
Not the answer I expected.
But the honesty hits harder than a lie would.
“I want the American dream,” Mindy says. “The European-American rich boyfriend to bring me home for Thanksgiving. Christmas pictures by the fireplace. Snap streaks with a guy everyone drools over. Something pretty to send back to my friends in Hong Kong.”
She steps closer.
“I don’t want your status for here,” she clarifies. “Your status here will help me get status back home. Which helps me snag a crazy-rich Asian husband someday. Which will make my parents happy.”
Then she laughs—a small, bitter sound.
“You have no idea what having a tiger mom is like. I’m not smart enough. I’m not thin enough. My hair isn’t glossy enough. My skin isn’t perfect enough. I’m not enough.”
She grabs my cigar.
Takes a long puff.
Exhales the smoke like a fed-up dragon.
“Everyone’s life sucks,” she murmurs. “Why do parents do this shit to us?”
She swipes X’s drink next.
Takes a swallow.
Hands it back like this is normal.
Then she looks at the three of us.
“You’ve got my back, right?”
X stands, extending a hand. “It has to be a deal.”
Mindy nods.
“We shake,” she says. “I give them up… and you give me the American social dream.”
I take her hand last.
Her grip is small.
But her eyes?
Ruthless.
“Deal,” I say.
And for the first time all night—
We finally have a crack in the facade.
A real lead.
A real informant.
“Talk,” I say.
Mindy inhales, steadying herself. “Well… I know you’re a gentleman. But—” Her eyes flick to X. “You have to date me. Take me to the winter ball.”
X blinks. “Wait, what?”
“Fake date,” she clarifies, waving her hands. “But you need to be my man.”
The way she says man in her sharp Hong Kong accent makes Tristan bite his knuckle to keep from laughing. X smirks.
Mindy glares. “Don’t laugh. I need social proof if I’m going to betray the senior girls. Protection.”
X leans back. “Protection I can do. But how do you know they’re clean? Leo grabbed their phones. My dad’s men checked everything. Nothing.”
Mindy nods, totally unsurprised.
“Of course nothing was on their phones,” she says, taking my cigar. “They’re not stupid.”
She inhales, blows out a ring.
“They recorded the slime incident, sure. But they claimed they were filming the king-and-queen announcement. That they didn’t know what was happening. So you can’t get them for cyberbullying.”
Tristan mutters, “Convenient.”
Mindy shrugs. “Believable.”
X nods. “It held up legally.”
“And they paid cash for everything,” she continues. “The glue. The slime mix. The colored gelatin. All of it.”
She sits forward.
“Bianca had her housekeeper’s cousin’s in-law buy the supplies out of state. Cash only. No cards. No Prime shipping.”