Chapter 4: Get Your Hands Off My Girlfriend

ELARA.

“That bastard.” Iris stood up from the edge of my bed so fast the mattress bounced beneath me.

She was already reaching for her jacket, movements sharp like she was about to go pick a fight.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, still sitting on the bed with my arms wrapped around my knees.

“I’m going to pay that freaking pervert a visit.” She said, without even sparing a glance at me.

I had just finished telling her everything—Mason and Bianca, the laptop full of videos, the car, the loan sharks, the doubled debt, the blurred video already circulating on Gossip Hub. 

Iris had listened without interrupting, her face growing darker with every detail. 

“It’s not worth it,” I said quietly.

She spun around, jacket half-on, eyes flashing. “I don’t give a shit if it is.” Her voice rose on the last word. “He has to wipe out those videos and return the car.”

“Would he even be able to, though?” My voice came out thinner than I wanted. I stared at a loose thread on the blanket. “I mean… I put it up for sale myself.”

“Yes,” Iris said, and the word was sharp enough to cut. “When you were drunk.”

I let out a heavy breath and pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Why is this happening to me, Iris?” My throat tightened. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes before I could stop them. “I did everything right, I loved him. I worked myself half to death for that stupid car. And he just—”

“Hey. No.” Iris’s voice softened instantly. She sat back down hard enough to make the bed shift and pulled me into a tight hug, one hand cradling the back of my head. “Don’t cry. Everything is going to be okay.” She spoke against my hair, firm and steady. “You see… this is exactly why I don’t do dicks. But you should have accepted the hockey captain’s offer, though.”

I let out a watery, humorless sound against her shoulder. “They’re all the same.”

She hugged me tighter, rocking us slightly. “You know what? I’ve got the right idea to make you feel better.”

I pulled back just enough to look at her face. Her expression had already shifted into something determined. “And what’s that?”

“There’s a party going on at the Buckingham estate.” She said, her lips stretching into a mischievous smirk. “We’re going to put on our sluttiest dresses and go.”

“I don’t think I’m up for that.” I said flatly. I already felt exhausted just thinking about being around people.

“Come on.” She stood and dragged me up by both hands, not giving me the option to stay seated. “We’re definitely going. Sitting here spiraling isn’t going to fix anything. You need to get out of this room and remember you still exist outside of him.”

“Fine..fine.” I finally agreed. I didn’t have the energy to fight her.

We took turns in the bathroom. By the time I came out of the bedroom in a towel, a dress was already laid out on Iris’s bed.

I stopped short.

It was black, short, and structured in a way that left very little to the imagination—deep neckline, open back, the kind of fabric that clung and then stopped high on the thighs.

“Wow,” I said, staring at it. “You really took the whole ‘slutty’ concept personally.”

Iris was at the mirror, applying mascara. She glanced at me through the reflection. “Nice dress you got there.”

I pointed at it. “That’s not—”

“Ohhh, that’s your dress,” she said without missing a beat, and kept working on her lashes.

“There’s no way I’m wearing that.”

She turned fully this time, mascara wand still in hand, and pointed it at me like a weapon. “Loosen up, babe. You’re fresh out of a relationship. You don’t want to go to a party looking like a nun.”

I laughed softly and the fight drained out of me. “Fine.”

I put it on and the dress did exactly what it was designed to do. 

It pushed up my boobs, followed the curve of my hips, and made me feel both exposed and strangely armored at the same time. 

Iris looked just as slutty in hers.

We took an Uber to the Buckingham estate. 

The house was already overflowing when we arrived—music thumping hard enough to feel in my ribs, bodies packed into every room. 

We danced near the center of the main room. Iris kept me moving, kept one hand on my arm, kept making sure I stayed present. 

I didn’t drink, at least not at first. I let the bass vibrate through my bones and tried to pretend the last forty-eight hours hadn't actually happened.

Then my eyes caught the corner near the bar.

My stomach dropped so hard I felt it in my knees.

Mason and Bianca were tangled against the wall. His hands were on her waist, fingers splayed possessively. Her mouth was on his and they looked completely unbothered, like the rest of the world—and especially me—had never existed. 

Mason pulled back just long enough to spin a set of keys around one finger. The silver glinted under the lights.

My Benz keys.

Something hot and sharp tore through my chest. I reached for the nearest shot glass on a passing server’s tray, downed it without tasting it, and walked straight toward them. 

“Have you no shame, you bastard?”

I didn’t realize how loud I had said it until the people closest to us stopped talking. Several heads turned. The music still played, but the air around us suddenly felt thinner.

Mason’s eyes found mine, Bianca's did too and for a second no one moved.

I kept going, voice rising with every word. “You cheat on me with my stepsister and now you’re flaunting her everywhere?”

Bianca opened her mouth, one hand still resting on Mason’s chest. “Elara—”

“Shut your bitch ass up.” I cut her off without looking fully at her. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

We had been stepsisters for years and barely spoken. 

Mason’s expression darkened. He stepped forward, putting Bianca slightly behind him, shoulders squaring like he was about to handle a problem. “You won’t address my woman like that.”

I let out a short, disbelieving scoff and tilted my head. “Your woman. So what was I then?”

He looked at me for a long moment, his face contracting into a frown. “You were just another puck bunny I liked to fuck.”

The words landed like a physical blow. For half a second the entire room seemed to go quiet.

My hand connected with his cheek hard enough that the sound cracked through the music. 

Shocked gasps filled the room, everyone focusing on us.

Mason’s head snapped to the side. When he turned back, pure rage had replaced everything else. His hand shot out and locked around my wrist, gripping tight enough to hurt, fingers digging in.

“Get your hands off my girlfriend.”

The voice cut through the noise making every one turn in the direction it was coming from.

Kyle stood a few feet away, taller than most of the crowd, expression cold and completely unreadable except for the fury in his eyes.