Chapter 2
The private club Bella frequented was dimly lit, the air thick with smoke and the greasy swell of jazz.
I walked in with Ava. The laughter stuttered, just for a heartbeat. Bella sat in the center, swirling a champagne glass, and arched an eyebrow at me.
I answered with a meek smile and leaned close to Ava. "Go grab something to eat over there. I'm going to say hello to a few people."
Ava curled up at the edge of the buffet table like a frightened animal. I, meanwhile, steered a few of the heiresses toward the partition just behind her.
"Bella, are you seriously going to let that peasant sister of yours take the guaranteed spot?" The voice was shrill. It came from behind the partition—Bella's best friend.
"As if she's worthy," Bella sneered, her tone laced with venom Ava had never heard before.
"Mom and Dad already greased the wheels. All we have to do is mess with the evaluation form and slap her grades under my name.
"That bumpkin can't even read sheet music. Giving her the spot would be a total waste. She was born to rot in some mud pit," Bella added.
"Exactly. Just looking at that shabby little face makes me want to puke..." her friend said.
I stayed in the shadows. Turned to look at Ava.
She stood frozen. The small cake slipped from her fingers and vanished into the plush red carpet. Her eyes stayed fixed on the partition, the light in them dying, breath by breath, until something else caught flame in those amber irises. Hatred. Raging.
Ava burst out of the club, trembling. I followed. In the pitch-black alley, she broke.
She clawed at her own hair, a wail tearing from her throat like a caged animal. "Why? Why are they doing this to me? I'm their real daughter too!"
I walked over and grabbed her shoulders. Her shoulders were so bony that it hurt my hands.
"Ava. Look at me." I forced her chin up, my voice cold as the first frost.
"In this family, weakness won't earn you sympathy. It'll only get you trampled harder. If you want to survive, you grow fangs. And you tear out the throat of anyone who tries to bite you," I said.
I pulled out a tiny recorder, no bigger than a lighter, and slipped it into her sweaty hand.
I continued, "Everything they just said is on here. I'll help you, but you have to press that switch yourself."
Ava's eyes were bloodshot. She gripped the recorder so hard her nails bit into her own flesh. Her voice trembled. "Ethan... what do I do?"
I smoothed the tangles the wind had left in her hair and leaned close to her ear. "Not yet. First, we destroy her name. We make it rot."
In my diary, I wrote:
[The plan is working. Ava's eyes have changed. I put that hatred there myself. But when I looked into them tonight, burning with fury, something stirred in my dried-up heart. Something I've never felt before. Unease.]
*****
The morning peace was shattered by a blood-curdling scream.
"Who did this? Who the hell did this?" Bella came charging down the stairs like a madwoman, phone clutched in her hand. The school forum was open on the screen, the top post blazing.
[Shocking: Fake Heiress Steals Guaranteed Spot? Full Audio Inside!]
The post included last night's recording of Bella mocking Ava, along with a carefully doctored grade comparison.
No names had been named, but every accusation pointed straight at the Lane family. The comments section was exploding. [Entitled fraud.] [Family corruption.] [Rot at the top.] The phrases climbed fast.
Father slammed his hand down on the table, his fury making the veins on his forehead stand out like writhing purple snakes.
"Ava! Was it you?" Bella stormed over to Ava, who was eating breakfast, and knocked the bowl from her hands. Hot soup splashed all over Ava, scalding her hand an angry red.
I jumped up and stepped in front of Ava, my voice urgent and anxious. "Bella, calm down!
"Ava came home and went straight to bed last night. How could she have done any of this? Dad, Mom, right now we need to focus on damage control, not turn on each other."
"Damage control? Our reputation is already ruined!" Father roared, then gave Bella a backhanded slap. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the living room.
Bella held her face, totally shell-shocked. This was the first time Father had ever laid a hand on her.
"Do you know how much I put into securing that spot for you? Now it's all gone!" Father was shaking with rage, jabbing a finger in Bella's face.
He added, "You're not leaving this house, not for anything! The school has already revoked our family's recommendation. It's over."
Bella shrieked and ran back to her room, smashing everything she could get her hands on.
I turned around, putting on a look of concern as I gently took Ava's scalded hand. With my back to our parents, I caught a glimpse of a cold, triumphant smile flickering in Ava's lowered eyes.
As I helped Ava dab the soup from her sleeve, my fingers tapped lightly against the table.
All the dirt I'd been saving—proof of Bella bullying classmates, blowing money on luxury goods with no explanation—was already going out in waves to the major influencer accounts, routed through overseas servers.
The fire needed to burn even hotter.
In my diary, I wrote:
[First round, won. Watching Father's face twist with rage—I haven't felt a thrill like that in years. But this is only the beginning.
[Bella was just a pawn. Next, I go for the foundation: the company my dear father swindled from my grandfather, now rotten to its core.]