I had not been invited.
Technically.
Brielle had made sure I heard about it. She had stood in front of my locker talking loudly about how it was “kind of a legacy thing” and “not really open to randoms.” Then her boyfriend had looked at me and said maybe I could come if I brought entertainment.
Everyone laughed.
I went home.
I said nothing.
Tonight was the party.
Tonight, they were going to drink cheap beer out of expensive coolers and congratulate themselves for surviving four years of private school oppression.
Tonight, they thought I would sit at home behind the clubhouse gates while Edge counted my breaths and Regan pretended not to know I was angry.
My fingers curled around the picture until the paper creased.
No.
I was done being the whisper.
Done being the punchline.
Done being Mandy’s daughter like that was all I had ever been.
If they wanted a biker’s daughter, I would give them one.
Not the sad secret.
Not the girl who swallowed every insult because she was too proud to tell.
Not the almost-eighteen-year-old princess kept behind locked doors and bulletproof love.
I was going to show up.
Not in my school uniform. Not in neat braids. Not in the borrowed name Regan had put on my records to keep me safe.
I was going to show up as Destiny Rourke.
Edge’s daughter.
Mandy’s blood.
Steel, spite, and desert fire.
And I was going to make every single one of them remember it.
The bell rang.
I stood, folded the paper carefully, and tucked it into my pocket.
The boy by the fountain lowered his phone fast when I looked at him.
Smart.
For the rest of the day, I became perfect.
