Page 103 of Gilded Fake

“There are rules that say people can’t fight with their car,” she points out.

“True,” I say. “Some people use words. Some use violence.”

“Which is why she’s in jail, and if I have anything to do with it, she’ll be there for life.”

“Everyone fights,” I point out. “Even if it’s not by choice, sometimes your hand is forced.”

“You can’t force someone to fight,” she says, giving me a sour look. “I learned that the hard way. No one forced her to run me over. She made that choice, and now she’ll pay.”

“You can’t force someone to fight for you,” I agree. “You can’t force someone to care. But you can force someone to fight, even if it’s in self-defense.”

“What she did wasn’t in self-defense,” she says, gaping at me. “I didn’t touch her!”

“Because you fight with words, not violence,” I point out. “You can force someone to fight if you back them far enough into a corner, but you still can’t choose someone else’s weapon. You can’t choose what victory looks like to them, or the path they take to get there.”

Her face reddens with anger, and she splutters to get out her words. “Victory?” she chokes out. “You think that washed up, ugly bitch beat me? She couldn’t even stay relevant when the whole world was handed to her on a silver platter. She probably hasn’t had a single visitor. Even her sisters came to see me, not her! She’s not a victor. She’s the villain.”

“And you’re the victim,” I point out. “That’s why everyone’s feeling sorry for you, just like you wanted. But you can’t be a victim and the victor at the same time.”

“I can,” Dixie fumes. “I am.”

“She showed everyone at school who you really are. You said so yourself.”

“She tried,” Dixie says with a scoff. “I manipulated everyone to get exactly what I wanted. They all love me, and they think she’s trash. Clearly, I won.”

“Did you, though?”

She narrows her eyes, her tone turning confrontational. “Didn’t I?”

“Maybe you did,” I concede. “But you’re in a hospital bed with no ring on your finger, nothing to show for all your hard work except a bunch of flowers that will be tossed in the trash when you walk out of here. Not the best show of victory.”

“You don’t think I won,” she accuses. “You think Gloria won because she got you.”

“Gloria’s in jail.”

She stares at me a long minute. “Then who won?” she asks, and I can tell she’s frustrated by not feeling like the cleverest person in the room for once. It’s probably the only thing in the world she hates more than losing the ring. “The Dolces?”

I snort at that. “The Dolces folded as soon as Tony died. Royal was already halfway out the door. Baron scurried off to hide like a cockroach. Duke is a loser.”

“So who’s the victor?”

“Maybe there isn’t one,” I say. “Gloria didn’t make everyone hate you, but she finally proved you’re not exempt. You’re not untouchable after all. We’ve all paid now.”

“But someone always comes out on top,” Dixie insists. “If not me, then who won?”

I shrug. “You’re the queen of the long game. This should be easy for you. Who got everything they wanted in the end?”

I turn and walk out without waiting for the answer. I already know.

twenty-three

3 MONTHS LATER

Rumor Has It… A certain blogger who reached celebrity status by graduation is going on tour with a former rebel boy’s new band! Watch for a brand-new blog full of juicy tales, and as always, check back here to see what Drops of Tea I spill along the way!

Gloria Walton

“I can just walk around out there?” I ask, balking at the door.

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