Lexi's POV
Nothing can really define what I'm feeling right now. Rage? Sure. But also… a strange kind of happiness.
Wanna know why?
Because some idiot decided to start a rumor about me.
And not just me—my whole family.
Apparently, my parents are now mafia bosses.
Cute.
Once I figure out who spread it, they're getting a personal tour of hell. And how far that trip goes? Well, that depends on how I feel when I find them.
"So, I heard your parents are mafia bosses," Merida smirked, leaning on a desk like she owned the room. Her face makes me want to vomit. She thinks she's clever.
I roll my eyes. "And who exactly spread this crap?" My voice carried across the room the moment I entered. It was early, but my patience was already gone.
"It's me, bitch. Got a problem with that?"
Of course. It's always her. Who else is dumb enough to start something they can't finish?
"Aw, thanks," I smirked. "At least I don't have to waste time finding the rat."
"So, you're confirming it now?" she pushed, hoping I'd snap.
I tilted my head, letting a smile creep across my face. "Hah. Pity you, Merida. You can't even pick a fight without dragging my family in. That's desperation, babe."
She chuckled mockingly. "So it's true, huh? I bet they've killed people."
I stepped closer, my voice dropping low. "And what if they have? Want me to have your family handled next?" I arched a brow.
Her smirk faltered. She actually gulped. She knows I don't make empty threats.
"Hah! You heard that, everyone? She admitted it! Her parents are mafia bosses!" she yelled, loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. People started crowding by the door, curious.
Pathetic.
Without a word, I pulled out my phone, cranked the volume up, and hit play.
Moans. Her moans.
Merida's eyes widened, panic flashing across her face as her own recorded voice filled the room. She lunged for my phone, but I slipped it behind my back before she could touch it.
"You scumbag!" she hissed, her spit practically spraying. Ugh. Did this girl gargle with sewer water this morning?
"Sweetie," I covered my nose dramatically, "before you call me names, maybe brush your teeth. I smell… fish."
Laughter erupted around us. Even the nosy bystanders couldn't hold it in. One sharp glare from me, though, and the hallway cleared in seconds. I run this place. Everyone knows it.
It hit me then—half the school probably heard the audio. I had my back to the door, but it doesn't take a genius to know what kind of video comes with those sounds. Honestly? If I could've hooked my phone up to the PA system, I would've.
"About the rumor, I'm sorry, okay? Someone just texted it to me, I swear! So just delete the video already!" Merida practically begged, her voice cracking.
I smirked. "Damage is done, babe."
Even if I deleted it right now, I have copies. Flash drives, laptops, cloud backups. Learned my lesson after someone smashed my iPad last year thinking they could erase their own scandal. Long story short: my parents handled it, and that student's now rotting in some no-name provincial school, begging to be relevant again.
Merida eventually grabbed my phone and deleted the video herself—even from the Recently Deleted folder—but she doesn't know me.
I don't keep just one copy.
The second she walked away, she was back to being her bratty, self-absorbed self, as if nothing happened. But I let her have her little ego trip.
Because one day soon, she'll be on her knees.
Begging.
And I'll decide if I feel merciful.