And then, to add insult to injury, when I tried to confront Skyla about it, she literally walked away from me. Just turned around and climbed back up those basement stairs as if I was nothing. Like I’m not even worth the energy it takes to slap me anymore.
The humiliation burns hotter than any fire in Hell could ever hope, but not as much as the confusion. Something was off about her tonight. Really off, even for Messenger.
“What’s up, Bishop?” Ellis appears next to me, reeking of weed and privilege, the noise from the party inside still raging behind him. All of the above makes me want to strangle him. “That whole thing with Messenger was kind of weird, huh?”
I shrug, as if I didn’t care. “Please. She’d make a paper cut seem life-threatening if it got her enough attention. She’s always so dramatic. And she’ll do whatever it takes to land on one of the Olivers’ joysticks.”
“Yeah, but...” Ellis squints through the fog like he’s trying to see something that isn’t there. “Did she seem different to you tonight?”
My pulse quickens. “Different how?”
“I can’t put my finger on it. Like, I don’t know, older or something? The way she moved, talked. Even the way she looked at people. Like she knew things. And the way she and Logan were acting—since when are they that in sync?”
Interesting. So, I’m not the only one who noticed.
Ellis is right. And since when does Logan Oliver follow her around like a puppy? Scratch that. It’s basic behavior for him at this point. But since when do they act like an old married couple? Two days ago, she was ready to set him on fire for being part Count.
“You’re probably just high,” I tell Ellis, who cackles hysterically then wanders into a wall as if to prove my point.
At least he has an excuse for being brain-dead. What’s everyone else’s?
Eventually, he makes his way back inside.
But I stay on the balcony, replaying the night in my mind. The way Skyla looked at me when I tried to drag her to the basement—not with the fury and jealousy I’ve come to know and love, but with the exhausted recognition of someone who’s dealt with me a thousand times before. The casual way she took off, like she already knew how everything would play out.
And before that? Gage. I had him right where I wanted him—hands on his chest, lips close enough to taste, that beautiful moment where his walls were finally coming down. I could feel him warming up to me, see that flicker of interest in his eyes. Another five minutes and I would’ve had him. Would’ve finally broken through that Skyla-obsessed fog he lives in.
Then she walks in, and he practically shoves me off him. Doesn’t even try to soften the rejection. Just pulls away and leaves me standing there like a dumbass while he chases after her with his tongue wagging.
Messenger is going to pay for that. I’ll make sure of it. She thinks she can keep both Olivers on a leash forever? She thinks she can parade around, switching between them whenever she gets bored, while the rest of us get nothing?
I know exactly what would hurt her most—watching Gage choose someone else. Watching him realize that the girl who can’t pick him, doesn’t deserve him. And when that day comes, when I’m the one in Gage’s bed making him forget Skyla Messenger ever existed, she’ll understand what it feels like to be dismissed. To be nothing.
The thought makes me smile for the first time all night.
And then there was stupid Miller, completely insane, babbling about voices and visions as she hit rock bottom. Although with that new haircut, every night will be rock bottom for her.
At least someone else at this party is having a worse night than me. I’d love to make sure Skyla has a worse night, a worse life than the rest of us. In fact, I think I’ll make it my mission.
“What the hell is your problem, Messenger?” I shake my head out at the fog.
Who the hell does she think she is?
She thinks she’s evolved past me? I’ll show her that some enemies you can’t outgrow. Some people know exactly where to cut to make you bleed.
I head back inside, my heels clicking against the floor with purpose.
This isn’t a game anymore. It’s war. And unlike Skyla, I don’t have any lines I won’t cross.
I find a quiet corner to collect myself, watching as people continue to party around me while the humiliation from the night burns hot in my chest.
“Still moping, Bishop?” Ellis nods my way with bloodshot eyes.
“I don’t mope,” I snap. “I strategize.”
He snorts. “Sure, you do. Want some advice? Forget about Gage Oliver for tonight. He’s too busy brooding somewhere to notice anyone.”
“I don’t need your advice, Ellis,” I seethe, but he’s already scuttled off to safety before I can properly eviscerate him.
