Page 83 of Gilded Fake

“You were never queen at all,” she says. “You’re nothing, Gloria Walton. Nothing but a cheap knock-off. And now you’re trying to come in here and steal my man, and you think I’m just going to let you?”

“I didn’t steal anyone,” I say. “I don’t have to trap a man to keep him around. Colt is a free man. He can make his own decisions, and he chose me. That’s all.”

She snorts. “You really think Colt cares about you? He’s so fucked up he won’t even remember this tomorrow. He didn’t choose you, Gloria. The pills did.”

“You mean the pills you give him when you want him to agree with you?” I ask, even though my heart is twisting inside my chest.

Her eyes widen just a fraction as she glances at Colt, but then she returns her attention to me. “As soon as he’s sober, he’ll come back to his senses, and he’ll come crawling back to me the way he always does. Our love is real. Yours is a sham.”

“You’re delusional,” I say, standing from his lap and facing her squarely. “He broke up with you, Dixie. He doesn’t love you anymore. Move on.”

“You think you won because you convinced a feeble-minded addict to pick you?” she asks. “You’re the one who’s delusional. He’s too messed up to see that you’re a gold-digging liar. You built everything on a foundation that can’t last, just like your reign as queen. What happens when he sobers up?”

“Then I’ll love him just as much.”

I remember him swallowing those pills the night he interrupted me with Maverick. How, afterwards, he wanted to spend time with me. She’s right. They do make him sweet. It makes me sick to know that, to realize I did exactly the same thing she does. I enjoyed how loving he was, how he couldn’t get enough of me. Is that how he acts with her after a few pills? And if he does, is she right? Maybe none of it was real. Not the love confessions, not the promises to take me to see the stars again.

For a moment, we stand facing each other across the table. Our eyes meet, and I can see an understanding there—this is it. It was always going to come down to this, to us. We both know it. We both know what we’re fighting for, and that the other is an equal opponent. She knows what to say, the blows that don’t just sting but crawl inside and fester, sowing doubts that won’t be uprooted easily.

I hold my head high despite the devastating ways she’s exposed my darkest shames to be judged and ridiculed—the fact that my own mother sold my underwear to creeps was used to make me look dirty and desperate; the fact that the Dolces forced me to perform sexual acts on other girls was used to make me look like a nympho who would fuck anyone; the fact that they shared me with their friends against my will was painted as me letting them run trains on me.

“Why are you doing this?” she asks now, her lip trembling as she starts in on her usual victim routine, as if anyone’s ever done or said anything remotely unkind to her. In truth, that’s probably why no girls flirt with Colt—they’re terrified she’ll destroy them like she did me. They don’t throw themselves on him in front of her the way they did Royal when I was with him, as if daring me to stop them. They always sensed that I had no real power. Dixie has more than an illusion bestowed upon her by her masters. She has real power—more than she knows what to do with. Instead of glutting herself and getting drunk on it as she tries to get her fill, the way Duke does, she wields with deadly precision, as calculated and dangerous as Baron.

“Because you did it to me,” I say simply.

Her eyes widen, and then she turns to Colt, trying another angle. “Why are you with her? Whatever she said, it’s a lie! She’s just trying to get back at me for telling the truth about her.”

“She didn’t say anything,” Colt says. “But you’ve said plenty. And not just today. I heard what you said at prom before you got me so drunk I blacked out. I know you’re not looking out for anyone but yourself, Dixie. I should have seen it all along.”

“What are you talking about?” she cries, her gaze moving around in panic as she sees all the silent faces waiting for the truth about her to be exposed at last. Even the elite are listening.

“I’m talking about you telling Lo you’d rather have Royal kill me than let me go,” he says. “I’m not your puppet, Dixie. I’m not your anything. I’m with Lo now.”

Her furious gaze swings back to me. “You—homewrecker!” she hisses. “This is all your fault.”

“I’m just giving you a taste of your own medicine,” I say. “You should know by now, Dixie. Everyone loves to see the fall of a queen.”

I gesture around to the crowd that’s forming around us, a circle of eager faces who couldn’t quite hear us from the corners of the café so they tossed their trash and came closer, ready for a fight.

“What did I ever do to you?” she cries, a tear spilling down her cheek.

“Besides making my senior year a living hell?” I ask.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says, checking the crowd from the corner of her eye as she wipes at her crocodile tears. “I just wanted people to like me.”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You wanted to hurt me. I don’t even take it personally. I know you’re a sadistic narcissist. You probably would have delighted in ruining anyone’s life. I was just an easy target, being in the spotlight. And convenient, since you could put yourself in my place and get all the fame your greedy little heart desires.”

“That’s not fair,” Dixie cries. “You of all people should understand, Lo. We both wanted the same things—to be popular, to win prom, to get the crown. Even Colt.”

“Don’t call me Lo,” I grit out. “And don’t pretend you’re anything like me.”

“I am,” she cries. “Except you have it easy because you’re pretty and blonde and skinny. You were, anyway.”

“We are not the same,” I grit out. “You wanted all that. I was forced into it.”

“What difference does it make?” she asks. “We both capitalized on our status when we could. That’s what smart girls do. Using our assets to our advantage to get what we want.”

“I didn’t want it,” I say again. “And I didn’t destroy anyone to get where I was.”

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