Page 108 of Bad Prince
“You worked too hard to become gossip, Stella.”
The word lands heavy.
“I know.”
“You keep your head clear,” she says. “You remember why you’re there.”
I close my eyes.
“I remember.”
Her anger softens into worry before the call ends, which somehow hurts more.
I wipe off makeup slower than necessary, watching my reflection shift back into the version of me that feels safer — hair pulled up, oversized shirt, bare face.
The room is quiet.
My phone is not.
I flip it over.
For the first time since this started, the question isn’t who I want.
It’s whether wanting either of them is worth what this could cost me.
Because lightning is intoxicating.
Warmth is comforting.
But reputation?
That’s fragile.
And tonight proved how quickly it can crack.
The dorm is too quiet for how loud my phone is.
It’s past midnight, but the notifications won’t stop.
Mentions. Tags. Screenshots.
The same two images circulating over and over:
Me between them at the table.
Me on the balcony.
Me kissing Tristan.
Me kissing Kane.
Freeze-frame judgment.
I should’ve known better.
The first call from Mamá was heat.
The second one is fire.
