Chapter 2
"Summit Club?" one of the classmates gasped, barely able to hide their shock.
Another classmate sucked in a breath, eyes wide.
"Isn't that the most high-end private club in town? I heard just the membership costs millions a year," someone said in a hushed tone.
"What's Claire even doing at a place like that?" someone else muttered, disbelief written all over their face.
"And what was Vanessa doing there?" someone else blurted out, unable to hide their curiosity.
The chatter started up again, but this time, the vibe had totally shifted.
People weren't just looking down on me anymore. Now, there was a whole lot of gossip and curiosity in their eyes, darting back and forth between me and Vanessa.
Vanessa clenched her fists, her whole body tense, like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on.
"I don't know what you're talking about! I wasn't at any club that night!" Vanessa shot back, her voice defensive and stubborn.
She was still refusing to admit anything.
I smiled, my voice calm and steady, "Oh, really? Remember that Dior dress you wore that night? I was the one who cleaned the red wine off the hem for you.
"You were so wasted, you were throwing up like there was no tomorrow, barely able to stand up in the stall.
"In the end, I was the one who helped you out and called your driver, Mr. Carter.
"Oh, right—almost forgot," I said, pausing just long enough to let it sink in.
I locked eyes with her, watching her panic build, then went in for the kill.
"You were on your period that night, and honestly, it was pretty intense," I said, keeping my voice steady.
"I was the one who got you a new pad from the locker and took care of the old one for you," I added, cool as ever.
"So when I said I 'helped you out with your protection,' is there really a problem?" I finished, my tone sharp and unwavering.
A dead silence smothered the private room, so profound that the imagined sound of a dropped pin would have echoed like a shout.
The weight of my revelation hung in the air, stunning everyone present.
Ryan's jaw went slack. His head swiveled between me and a visibly unsteady Vanessa, his expression cycling through disbelief and dawning comprehension.
Jessica was laughing so hard she was practically pounding the table.
"Turns out it was a different kind of 'protection' than what we all thought!
"Ms. Lynn, you really do have a wild imagination!" Jessica cackled.
Vanessa's face became a volatile canvas, flushing crimson, bleaching to stark white, and then darkening with a sickly, mottled hue.
Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound emerged.
She had no rebuttal—every detail I'd offered was a perfect, damning match.
"Y-you..." The words finally erupted, her finger jabbing toward me.
A violent tremble ran through her entire frame. "What gives you, a toilet cleaner, the right to speak here?"
The desperate, venomous insult tore from her.
Its crudeness made even her previous defenders wince, their faces shifting to expressions of clear disapproval.
Jobs weren't ranked by dignity—what she said was just plain cruel.
Ryan's brow furrowed into a deep, troubled knot.
The idealized image of his pristine campus sweetheart was cracking, revealing an ugly core he clearly hadn't anticipated.
In contrast, a strange calm settled over me.
I regarded her outburst with eyes as still and deep as a winter pond.
"That's right. I am a cleaner. I earn my living with my own hands.
"There's no theft, no deceit in it. I take pride in that."
"It seems far more honorable than hiding behind a pretty facade while poisoning others with lies just to feel superior."
Slowly, I let my eyes travel across the stunned faces in the room before finally landing on Ryan. "Don't you agree, Ryan?"
A tumultuous wave of color—red, then pale—washed over his features. His lips parted, but shame, thick and choking, robbed him of any reply.
Humiliation had him in its grip.
For Vanessa, it was the final straw. With a raw, shattered scream, she lunged.
Her hand closed around the nearest wine glass, and in one furious arc, she hurled its contents straight at my face.