The crowd erupted.
I didn’t want to look.
But I did.
There he was on the giant screen—smog swirling, lights slicing through haze—dribbling down the lane like the floor belonged to him. Sweat glistened on his temples, the muscles in his arms flexing with each move. Those same arms I used to trace with my fingertips, slow and secret, like they were the only safe place I knew.
The cheers grew louder, the beat syncing with the rhythm of his steps. Then the fireworks—tiny golden sparklers shot up at the corners of the court like a mini NBA intro, because of course they did.
He looked… untouchable.
Every girl in the stands leaned forward when he smiled. When he winked. When he lifted a hand in salute toward the crowd.
And when the cheerleaders ran out to toss white flowers—real roses—onto the court for him and Xavier, my throat went tight.
Because I couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t roll my eyes or laugh it off like I didn’t care.
Because we were over.
Because he wasn’t mine to look at anymore.
The music hit harder, lights flared white-hot, and for a moment, Leo was everything he was raised to be—the golden boy, the prince, the untouchable King of Royal Oaks.
And I was just one girl in the stands, trying to remember that queens don’t bow.
The gym smelled like smoke and sugar—burnt sparklers, body spray, and whatever overly sweet energy drink they’d passed out with the school logo on it. The lights finally dimmed, the crowd still buzzing, and somewhere behind the bleachers a few freshman girls were crying from excitement like this was Coachella.
Shani bumped my shoulder. “Tell me he didn’t looksofine out there.”
I didn’t answer. I was too busy pretending I hadn’t just watched Leo’s highlight reel three times like my heart didn’t hiccup every time the screen flashed his name.
But then camethem.
The echo of stilettos on polished gym floor.
The collective turn of heads.
The Queen Vipers of Royal Oaks.
Still here. Still perfectly unbothered. Untouched.
It didn’t matter that the entire school had seen the screenshots, the messages, the clips that leaked. It didn’t matter that everyoneknewwho did it.
The school might’ve scrubbed the hallways, but it hadn’t cleaned house.
Because, apparently, when one of the girls’ dads is a second cousin twice removed to the Vice President, and the other one’s father runs a billion-dollar hedge fund, you get… “under investigation.”
That’s what the dean called it.
“Everything is being looked into thoroughly.”
“Due process.”
“Nothing can be confirmed until the board completes its review.”
I had turned down their check but they still were pretending to do a legitimate investigation, in case I decided to sue—which newsflash my lawyers are already piecing litigation together.They also started a criminal case by filing a protective order. The judge heard my side and granted it.
Translation? Hush money, favors, and legacy connections ran deeper than justice. For now. Royal Oaks might shine like gold, but underneath, it still played by old rules. Ones I was slowly taking a sledge hammer to.
