The sound of my car door slamming echoed through the hotel parking lot, stealing the attention of some of my peers in what could have been interpreted as a bout of anger.

I think I even saw one of them flinch.

But I wasn't angry. Not angry at anyone else, anyway. Maybe at myself, maybe just at the small part of me that was Elle. Kat was right. She was a fucking bitch.

More than anything, though, I was determined. Determined to make things right.

I could have died in that car with Sienna. She could have braked too late, or not at all. We could have been empty shells on the side of the road. It took a brush with death for me to wake up, to realize what truly mattered. To realize that I'd tasted revenge, and that it didn't taste like I thought it would. It hadn't satiated me.

For the first time ever, I feared that hunger. I was afraid of the lengths I would go to in order to inflict my twisted version of justice on the people who had become my friends. I'd been lost in the shadows for so long that I'd totally forgotten myself, totally forgotten why I even adopted a fake identity in the first place. Not to take on the role of a bloodthirsty queen, not to lord secrets and dirt over everyone's heads. But to make things right.

Tonight, at the Presentation Gala, I was going to make things right with Kat and Chontelle. I was going to tell Cameron everything. And then I'd tell my friends everything, too.

If I was willing to forgive, then maybe they would be. Maybe they wouldn't be. But at least we'd all be free.

I spotted the Elites immediately—it was as if my eyes were trained to find them in a crowd. They were gathered at the front of the grand hotel hosting our gala, each donning similar black dresses or suits to match the evening's all-black theme.

I caught my reflection in a car window as I passed, straightening out my own black dress—tight around the waist with a short, full skirt that bounced when I walked. My hair was still bleached, waved and pinned off my face with dark barrettes, but gone was the pastel pink color palette, the glossy magenta lips, and the obnoxious glitter that made me Elle.

I wasn't Elle. I wasn't even Ana. I was just me. I hoped that it was enough.

I recoiled suddenly, literally lurching back and stumbling on my slingback heels. I peered closer at the car I'd been assessing my reflection in—a matte black Range Rover with Irvine-green rims that just had to be custom.

Astor's Rover.

Of course Astor Black was there. Of course he was there on the night that I wanted to make things right, on the night that I needed to muster the strength to face my mistakes head-on. The mere sight of him would probably trigger me into the next dimension, summoning Elle out of whatever crevasse of my mind I'd locked her in.

No, I thought. I'm not doing that anymore. Gone were the days of blaming other people for my choices. There was only one person in the world who could control my actions. Me.

I brushed off the sight of the vehicle, approaching the striking group hovering by the door to the lobby. They were laughing at something Nate had said, some of that laughter dissipating as I joined them. 

Kat and Chontelle stared back at me silently.

"Hey, Elle." Sienna leaned in to greet me, her lips grazing my cheek with a friendly kiss. Her eyes were coated in a white glitter that made her eyes sparkle like diamonds, a mischievous force tugging her soft features and lining her red mouth in a knowing smirk.

She squeezed my arm. And, just as she told me she would that morning on the phone, she turned to the rest of our group. "Should we start heading in? Registration might take a while."

I was surprised to see that some of our group turned to me for confirmation. But the knowledge that I possessed their loyalty didn't send a proud ripple up my spine like it had the past two weeks at school. Rather, it was a harsh reminder of my manipulation.

I reached for Chontelle and Kat as they passed me to follow her, my grip around their arms stopping them in their tracks. They whirled around, a look of fear plastered on their faces.

"Can we talk?" I asked.

I expected them to say no. I expected them to hate me. I was even prepared for it. But that didn't mean that I couldn't at least try to do the right thing.

"I want to apologize," I revealed as the rest of our group moved inside. "I need to apologize."

Kat shuffled in place, peering down at the cobblestones beneath us. I couldn't read her expression.

Not like I could read Chontelle's.

She narrowed her eyes, her black liner emphasizing the dark shadows clinging to the harsh contours of her face. "For?"

I inhaled a breath of brisk air, hoping it sounded steadier than I felt. I knew that I was in for a world of pain with Chon. I deserved it. 

I peered at them meekly through my blonde waves, hoping that my sincerity pierced through my nerves. "For being the biggest bitch on the planet."

"Oh." Chontelle stared at me for a moment longer. Her dress was scandalously low cut, her curves accentuated when she crossed her arms beneath her chest. "Yes. I think you do."

Kat tried to mimic her, but she really was too sweet to ever look intimidating. Her stern glower faltered when I cast my pleading stare on her, reaching out a hand as though I could convince her of my earnestness with a single touch.

I reclaimed it. That wasn't fair. I wasn't trying to manipulate her. I was trying to change.

"I'm sorry, Kat. I was awful to you," I told her. "Truly, inexcusably awful. I was just worried. When I realized what was in that bag..." I trailed off, shaking my head to myself. Ashamed for exploding on her when, really, I had just been upset with myself. "When I realized that Cameron had been carrying it, I panicked—"

"I know," Kat interjected.

I looked back up, sensing her shuffling closer. That time, it was her hand that reached out to me, her hand that perched itself on my arm. The fierce edge to her face had dissolved, replaced with a soft sincerity that I hope mirrored mine.

"And the more that I think about it, the worse I feel. Really, Elle. I didn't think. And I can't afford not to think when I'm doing something so..." She tilted her head, her blue eyes glimmering with moisture. "I'd never want to hurt Cameron. Or you. Or anyone."

"I know that now. And I'm sorry for doubting it."

"I'm sorry for making you."

I felt my jaw tense as I swallowed, taking a sharp breath through my nose as an antique, repressed pain stirred in my chest. Kat didn't know what she was apologizing for. Not yet. But it didn't really matter. At that moment, that small acknowledgment from her meant the world.

It meant that, maybe, everything could be okay.

Hesitantly, I turned to Chontelle. Something in her expression—maybe the shadow cast over her eyes, maybe the sharp line of her jaw as she glared down at me—told me that the brazen firecracker wouldn't be so quick to let me off the hook. Sure, when Chontelle loved, she loved hard. But I'd come to learn that people who love the most hurt the easiest, too.

Besides, I couldn't really apologize to her for alluding to Briar in front of Cameron. Not in the way that I needed to. Kat was standing right there, and I didn't know how much she knew about Chontelle's situation with our teacher. If anything at all.

Chontelle and I stared at one another. For a split second, I thought I saw her scowl soften.

It was probably wishful thinking.

Still, I leaned into it. Keeping my words cryptic enough not to stir Kat's curiosity, I said, "It won't happen again."

She swallowed hard.

"Never again," I vowed. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes stayed on mine, her bare shoulders lifting in a small shrug. "Actions speak louder than words."

I knew that. And yet, there was still so much more to say.

Kat grabbed our hands, forcing us to walk side-by-side and re-join Sienna and Nate at the entrance. Just as we were about to step into the lobby, I mustered another wave of strength. I was going to need a lot more of it to get through that weekend.

I pulled my friends back once more, met with a look of surprise from Sienna and Kat. Even with one of slight amusement from Chontelle.

It was better than one of hatred.

I bit my bottom lip, rousing Elle's confidence. She may have turned me into a monster, but that didn't mean that I couldn't use what she'd taught me for good.   

"I was wondering if we could catch up tomorrow?" I asked.

Chontelle's face creased again, decorated with both caution and curiosity. "Why?"

"There's something that I want to talk to you about." I paused, conferring each of them individually. "All of you."

"Is everything okay?" Sienna questioned, still peering at me with affection—an expression that told me she cared.

A sense of likeness had been unearthed between us, sometime between me taking her side in the Kirsty debacle and her confiding in me on the side of the road. She'd bonded with me in a way that I couldn't explain. In a way that I didn't deserve. But regardless of the reason for it, at that moment, I was grateful to know that she had my back.

Even if she wouldn't tomorrow.

"No," I uttered, failing to mask my distress. "And I'm not sure whether it will be after this, either."

I exhaled—dramatically, probably—trying to push every trace of doubt and fear out my body. I didn't want to come clean. God, the thought alone sent a shiver up my spine. I was going to suffer in the aftermath of the truth. I was beyond sure of it.

But if I was done with Elle, if I was truly finished with my quest for revenge, then I couldn't pretend to be her anymore. Sooner or later, the truth would come out. And if I had any hope of maintaining even a sliver of their friendship, then it had to come from me.

It was time to take off my mask. Time to face the music. Time to end this stupid war that never really existed. 

My sigh wasn't dramatic, after all. Not after each one of my friends released one of their own.

"God," Chontelle muttered, reading my mind. "That's fucking ominous."

Sienna choked on a laugh. She stepped toward me, closing off our circle from the other guests passing by. "How about we meet at my house tomorrow night? We can order takeout, sleep in the pool house—" 

"Oh my gosh!" Kat squealed far too loudly. "Slumber party! We haven't had one of those since, like, eighth."

"Well, then. We have a lot to catch up on."

They had no idea.

While Kat was sold on the promise of takeout and mani-pedis, Chontelle was still glaring at me reluctantly. And I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Come on," Sienna nagged, poking her in the ribs until she jumped. "Don't be a party pooper. This year's been ... odd. We deserve one last hurrah, don't you think?"

Chontelle released a sigh more dramatic than mine.

But she rolled her eyes playfully, giving in with a nod.

For the first time that night, I was left wondering—were the people I'd villainized, the people I'd targeted, capable of extending a kind of forgiveness that I hadn't even been able to myself? Were they as tired of drama as I was, as tired of backstabbing, of bitches, of secrets and lies?

Maybe I couldn't afford to be hopeful. But I could try to enjoy what might have been my last night by their side.

We entered the lobby together, finding the rest of our group huddled by the entrance to the hall. The hotel was easily one of the nicest that I'd ever stepped foot into, though I got the feeling that it was the kind of place my friends frequented all the time. They barely acknowledged the glittering gold chandelier above us, or the waterfall and emerald ferns framing the wall that led to a quaint, cozy lounge playing slow jazz. The walls were as dark as our dresses and suits, the place itself infused with musk that reeked of money, power, and seduction.

There wasn't another venue on the planet more fitting for Irvine's elite.

There was one person in particular that the lobby reminded me of. A person who likely spent every other weekend slinking around the elusive establishment, a new girl hanging off his arm every time. My breath grew shallower the more that I looked for him, my eyes failing to find him amongst the expensive crowd.

"What are you looking for?" Sienna asked.

I considered lying. But I quickly remembered that I wasn't doing that anymore.

"Astor," I admitted through gritted teeth.

"Astor?" she squawked, her nose instantly scrunching up in disgust. 

"I saw his car in the lot. He's here."

"That's highly unlikely." Chontelle scoffed, waving a hand about as if ridding us of a bad smell. "His settlement isn't until next week. One of my dad's partners is working on his case, and the Black's lawyers don't want him seen in public before the paperwork's signed and sealed—"

"Mariah?"

The four of us whipped around in unison. A short, muscular concierge was making his way out from behind the check-in desk, his chiseled face alight with a childlike sort of wonder. He straightened his uniform as he continued towards us, squinted eyes firmly fixed on Chontelle.

"Mariah, hey," he greeted enthusiastically. He combed a hand through his jet-black hair to slick it back—like the copious amount of gel wasn't doing a good enough job already.

Chontelle turned to glance over her shoulder. But, no, he was definitely talking to her.

His smile faltered, some of the excitement draining from his face. He lifted a finger, pointing to his nametag. "Johnny. We met at the Christmas party last year."

Chontelle blinked again.

Undeterred, he took another step towards her, running his twinkling eyes up and down her frame. "We ... you know—"

"Girls?"

We turned in the other direction, each one of us looking more confused than the last. Though probably not looking as confused as Mr. Briar as he hovered awkwardly by the door.

"Is everything alright?" he asked slowly, his voice low and laced with concern.

With jealousy, perhaps?

Maybe that was my own bias at work.

"Fine," Chontelle quickly reassured him. She turned back to the concierge, offering a wave before leading us away. "Nice seeing you, Josh."

Kat clamped a hand to her mouth, concealing a giggle.

"You're giving out fake names now?" Sienna smirked as we edged passed our teacher and into the hall.

Chontelle swatted her. "I have no idea who that was!"

"Really? Because he seems to think that he knows you. Who the hell's Mariah?"

Chontelle took a second to think about it. "He could mean Maria? My cousin. She works at the Blackwood branch." Almost as quickly as she'd suggested it, she shook her head. "But she's twenty-three. There's no way that I could pass for twenty-three."

I struggled to choke back a playful scoff. It wasn't like Chontelle's entire relationship was based on the premise of her looking older than she was.

If the hotel itself was the epitome of sophistication, then the ballroom was the embodiment of glamor. The stage was framed by sheer black drapes, lit with warm, gold lighting and a projector beaming photos of the graduating class onto the back wall. Dozens of round tables were cloaked in black, too, decorated with glittering cutlery and rose centerpieces.

I suppose the pretentiousness of it all made a lot of sense. Our parents weren't paying outrageous tuitions just to be crammed into a dank hall in the middle of nowhere.

My parents weren't there, of course. I'd simply told them that the gala was for students only. I was coming clean, sure. But it was still too soon to involve them in what had become my web of lies.

I jumped at a featherlight touch on my shoulders, crumpling the red petal I'd been fiddling with mindlessly.

"Are you okay?"

Cameron peered down at me, his expression turning worried at the far-away look that must have been clouding my eyes.

"Fine," I assured him, rising from my seat to erase his worry with a soft kiss. "Waiting for you."

He was dressed in all-black, just like the rest of us. Crisp black shirt, black blazer, tailored slacks. But even swathed in darkness, he exuded purity. Light.

He was so good, and I'd done so much wrong. I could face the idea of losing Sienna, of losing Chontelle and Kat. It hurt to think about, but I could face it. I couldn't even think about losing Cameron.

The mere thought sent me into a state of premature mourning. I couldn't stop myself from reaching for him, wrapping my arms around his torso and burying my face in his shoulder. His arms enveloped me immediately, pressing me to him so that I could feel his heart beating on my chest, feel the warmth of his body against the numbness of mine. That tantalizing, woody scent of his cologne flipped my stomach with every breath—I knew I'd remember it forever. Just like I'd remember every speck of green in his eyes, the way they glimmered when they looked back at me regardless of where we were. Alone in the library, chatting with our friends at lunch.

He was always so proud to be with me. But I was the embodiment of everything that he resented.

"Ellie?" he murmured. His fingertips were drawing circles on the fabric of my dress, comforting me like I was an upset child. "What's the matter?"

"I—" My voice caught in my throat, a result of both the tears choking me and simply not knowing what to say. "I miss you."

I did. I ached for him. He wasn't gone yet, but I missed him already.

I felt his weight pull away from me. He still cradled me in his arms, but he jerked back an inch to peer down at me again. I could see that he was worried about me. That he cared.

That's why he had to be the first to know. The first to know everything. He deserved to hear the truth from me, not from some scorned Elite. I had to tell him, and I had to tell him before I told them.

Just in case they tried to hurt me by hurting him.

I cleared my throat, trying to wipe the sadness from my face by painting it in allure. "What would you say," I asked, "if I suggested that we stay here tonight?"

"At the hotel?"

I nodded.

His worry turned to curiosity, a sly smile creeping over his lips. "You want to get a room?"

"Only if you do."

"I mean, yeah. I don't have anything on me. Although I guess a place this nice has to have some toothpaste somewhere—"

"There's something that I need to tell you, Cameron." I pressed a hand against his chest, straightening out the collar of his blazer to avoid meeting that innocent gaze. "And I need to tell you tonight."

A different kind of light sparkled in his eyes, one that lifted his entire face as though he were concealing a secret. He bowed his head, resting it on mine. "There's something that I want to tell you, too."

My heart flopped as his cool breath hit my skin. My eyes closed all on their own, protecting the moisture that threatened to stream down my face. God, this was going to hurt.

Cameron cleared his throat, his hands trailing from my back to clutch my hands. When he spoke again, he did so less intimately. More formally. As if we had company. "There's someone that I'd like you to meet."

I pulled away, lacing my fingers through his instead.

A man was hovering next to us, seemingly unaware of the nature of the exchange he'd stumbled across. He was tall and well dressed, his cheeks rosy but his face gaunt. He was looking right at me, but I didn't know if he could see me. It was like there was a veil over his face, like he could only make out the world around him in essence without being able to pick up on the subtleties. But his mouth was lifted into a kind, meek smile, his face embellished in the memory of strong, handsome features. I knew instantly who he was just by the shade of his deep green eyes.

"Ellie, this is my dad. Dad, Elle."

I turned to lock eyes with Mr. Miller, picking up on the faint smell of whiskey obscured underneath a generous helping of sharp cologne. I knew that he was struggling in the aftermath of his wife's death. Cameron hadn't even been sure whether he'd make it to the gala at all. That he had was a big deal.

I coated my lips in a gentle, friendly smile, extending a hand to shake his. "Hi, Mr. Miller. I'm so glad to finally meet you."

"I'm nothing special, honey." He laughed softly, his grip loose on my hand. His right eye twitched into a wink, the ghost of twinkle lighting up the other one. "But I hear that you are."

Cameron ducked his head in embarrassment. My own cheeks pricked with heat. But before I could reply, Mr. Miller's hand fell from mine. It floated in the air above my wrist, a delicate frown creasing his weathered forehead.

I followed his eye line, staring down at the pink bracelet that Cameron had given me at the dance.

"Well," Mr. Miller said slowly. His voice was raspy, low and thick in his throat. "Look at that."

"I'm sorry," I found myself saying without really knowing why. I fumbled with the clasp hopelessly, my heart shattering as I tried to unlock it. "Obviously I'll give it back whenever. I can give it back right now—"

"Give it back? Are you kidding?" His eyes rose to meet mine, his hand finally landing on my wrist to pat the jewelry fondly. His lips twitched, forming something akin to a smile. "No, sweetheart. It was made for you."

For one second, that veil over his face lifted. For one second, I felt like he saw me. That he approved.

I only wished that he'd met me as Anabelle.

Johnny was hunched over the computer at the front desk when I approached, my heart doing somersaults inside of my chest. What was it about doing things simple like ordering food, making appointments, or booking a room at a hotel that made me feel so damn anxious?

Although, in all fairness, my nerves could have had something to do with the fact that I was booking a suite in order to tell someone I cared about that I'd been lying to them for months.

Probably the latter.

The lobby was quieter than it had been when we first entered. Most of our party was settled in the ballroom, and it seemed the other guests were out indulging in the local nightlife or wasting away in the casino upstairs. A mere handful of them lingered in the lounge up the corridor, sipping on whisky and wine while jazz tunes decorated their quiet chatter. I heard the elevator door close as another guest slithered inside.

But not before I caught sight of a flash of long, red hair.

I did a double-take, catching only my stunned reflection in the closed steel doors. I looked crazed—my eyes wide, my mouth agape. Terror was written all over my face.

I shook myself off. I was totally, completely paranoid. Maybe it was a result of seeing Astor's car, maybe one of spending months on end playing spy. Whatever it was, it had to stop. Nobody was after me, for goodness sake. The stupid war I started with the Elites was one I'd crafted inside of my own head. One I'd waged and fought all on my own.

The universe and I have always had a strange relationship. Call it narcissistic, but I truly do believe that it enjoys proving me wrong.

Just as Johnny called me over to his desk, as I was about to step forward and request a room for the night, my newfound resolve was sabotaged. It crumbled, turning to mush at the sound of my phone buzzing from inside my clutch.

I should have left it there. I should have allowed myself to bask in one more minute of hopeful delusion.

But I ignored Johnny's second call, pulling out my phone with a shaky hand.

Sure enough, a text lit up the screen. The number had been auto-generated from a website, just like the one that had sent me the video of Nate. My only clue as to the sender's identity was the message itself. A message that curdled my blood.

Roses are red, Panthers always score.

You may have won the battle, but we will win the war.

RED ALERT.

This. Is. Not. Good.

Who's behind the text?

What does the text mean?

What should Ana/Elle do?

I'm posting another update in a couple of hours. Stay tuned ...

Your friendly author who loves a good twist,

- Danielle x