What Caused The Slap Bracelet To Be Banned In Some Schools?

“You don't belong here, pest,” Alessandro spits, his grip on my hand tightening. I bit my bottom lip, trying not to wince. Trying to suppress the pain shooting up my arm and spreading to the rest of my body. Tears prickled my eyes, but I'll rather eat mud than let them fall. “You're a poor, stinky menace! And I will make life a living hell for you, so long as you still show your face around!” — When eighteen-year-old Cora Williams saves spoilt, rich, arrogant, and bratty Alessandro Beckham's life, she doesn't count on getting rewarded for her heroics. To show his gratitude to her for saving his son's life, Alessandro's father enrolls her in the notorious Royal Elite Academy, the top high school in the country, exclusive to the wealthy and snobby kids of the elite. Although Cora is sad to let go of her old life, and friends, she's coerced by her parents to accept the offer. She knows the rich and the poor don't mix, and intends to lay low until she scales through senior year. But Alessandro Beckham is the king of Royal Elite Academy, and he's made it his personal mission to make her life a living hell for reasons best known to him. Cora has never been a pushover. And she won't start now. She wouldn't let Alessandro belittle her whichever way he pleases. She would fight. But fighting Alessandro might cost her something. Her heart.

During an argument with my fiancé, he lost his temper and slapped me across the face in front of the entire family and guests. That same day, I called off the engagement and blocked him on every last platform so that he could not reach me. No one could believe it. After all, we grew up together. Everyone knew I had been in love with him since we were kids, and we were supposed to get married right after college. He just stood there, looking lost. "Why, Gia? Over a slap?" I held his gaze. "Sì. Over a slap."

Near the end of the year, my best friend, Bethany Greer, and I decide to buy matching gold-plated bangles from Temu for ten dollars just to keep up appearances. The moment we open the package, we both freeze in shock. The heavy weight in our hands and the dazzling shine of pure gold practically scream luxury and authenticity. My hands tremble as I quickly snap a photo and message the seller. I text, "There seems to be something wrong with this order." The seller replies instantly, sounding incredibly arrogant. "Why did you only say something is wrong only after you received it? What were you doing earlier?" I try to send photos as proof. "No, seriously, look at what I'm holding first. I ordered fake bangles..." The seller does not even look at the pictures and immediately sends a voice message in an incredibly rude tone. "I don't care what you order! Once the package is opened, there's no seven-day return policy! Even if it rots in your hands, that's your problem! Don't try making excuses to scam stuff for free. Once the packaging is opened, it belongs to you. Not even the Almighty can help you return it! "And if you dare spread nonsense, I'll report you for posting malicious reviews!" I stare thoughtfully at the gold bangle on my wrist that is worth thousands of dollars. Well, since he insists so strongly, I guess I'll reluctantly keep it. I just hope he doesn't regret it when he realizes the real bangle is missing!

Since I can remember, I have been a liar. That is the conclusion my mother made about me. After my twin brother, Daniel Benson, and I are born, she becomes obsessed with a so-called scientific parenting method. So, she puts a lie-detecting collar on each of us. Whenever we lie, the collar lights up in red. The moment it turns red, she presses a remote and shocks me. She says it will help form muscle memory to correct the bad character in me. Daniel's collar is always green. Even when he tears my mom's favorite clothes to shreds and calmly claims a dog does it, the collar still glows green. But I am different. Even if I just say, "Mom, I’m thirsty," The collar would suddenly flash a blinding red light. Then, a current shoots through my neck and into my body, making me tremble in pain. At first, I try to explain. But my mom always says the same thing. "The machine doesn't lie. You have to feel pain to learn. I'm doing this for your own good." After being shocked thousands of times, I slowly start to believe that maybe I am truly born a liar.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

My fiancé slapped me across the face in front of the entire academy. He did it to save face for another girl. That same day, I deleted every way he could reach me and announced that our engagement was over. No one believed me. Orion Draven and I grew up together. From the age of six to eighteen, I followed him like a shadow for twelve whole years. Everyone knew I loved him. Everyone knew I would forgive him. Even Orion thought so. On the day I left Ironhold Academy, he stopped me at the gate. For the first time, there was panic in his voice. “Why? Just because I hit you?” I looked him straight in the eye and said each word clearly. “Yes. Because you hit me.”