“I fake-date,” I say slowly. “One of the girls. Or a few. The ones who run their mouths. They’ll talk. They always talk. When they think I care about them.”
Tristan lets out a humorless laugh. “I’m down, but it has to be you. None of them would spill anything to me. I’m not royalty.”
X nods. “They’ll trust you. They think you’re one of them.”
I feel sick.
Because Iamone of them.
And I hate it.
“There’s that British girl,” X adds. “Rosalie Wexford. The transfer who came early for winter term. Rumor is she’s already in tight with that crew. Maybe hit her up.”
My jaw tics. “Shit.”
Tristan shrugs. “She’s hot, at least.”
“Shut up,” I mutter.
X’s phone buzzes. He checks it.
“There’s a party tonight,” he says. “Post-homecoming debacle. Supposed to be at Rosalie’s house. Her parents went to the New York Ballet.”
“That crowd’s grounded,” Tristan says.
“Grounded?” X laughs. “Their parents don’t care that they slimed a scholarship girl. They don’t even want scholarship kids at Royal Oaks.”
He’s right.
He’s so disgustingly right.
X pockets his phone.
“They’ll be there. They always are. They think they’re untouchable.”
“And we find out exactly who did it,” Tristan says. “Names. Phones. Screenshots. Something.”
“And then what?” I ask.
X gives me a look that goes straight through me.
“Then you decide what kind of king you’re going to be.”
I exhale slowly.
I know my answer.
I’m done being the one who smiles
and nods
and obeys
and lets everyone walk all over the girl I love.
Tonight, I start burning down the throne they tried to trap me on.
“Fine,” I say. “We meet at Rosalie’s. We dig. We listen. We find out who destroyed Jade’s life.”
