Twenty Should We F?

After the tumultuous events of the pageant, my mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. I had asked for space from Harry, a term that was essentially a softer way of saying 'let's break up.'

Despite my lingering love for him, the betrayal was too sharp, too recent to ignore. My demon, my protector, had revealed itself, showing me the wisdom behind my mother's warnings about vampires. She had always pushed for me to associate with wolves, citing a long-standing beneficial relationship between wolves and witches that traced back to the times of Queen Jezebel I and Queen Lilly I, about ten generations ago. Yet, my heart had always leaned towards vampires, until now, when the veil of romance was torn, revealing their true nature - cheats, betrayers, embodiments of darkness. But then, the wolves weren't saints either, with James being a prime example of their less honorable side.

This left me contemplating a future with witches, but who among them could capture my heart? The pageant had been a public display of my power, not just in beauty but in magic and heritage. After my demon had manifested in front of Harry, his reaction was not one of fear but of arousal, which only served to disgust me further. He had the audacity to attempt intimacy with me in that form, not understanding the danger he was in, both from my potential for violence and from the raw power of my heritage.

The ancestors, sensing my anger, had amplified it, reflecting their own through me. Harry, shameless as ever, tried to woo me even after his betrayals, complimenting my demon form at the pageant in Pinewood, right in front of his mother, the Queen, and his lover, James.

"Wow, you are the Queen indeed. What you just did today shall be marked in history, who knew you had another outfit, and that too you dressed like an omega? To defeat an omega, you had to dress like one. You are an inspiration to everyone; they want to be like you. Where did you get this sexy outfit?" His flattery was transparent, trying to win back my favor in the most public of settings.

"My pleasure," I responded with a slight bow, playing the part of the gracious queen. But then, leaning in close, I whispered, "Drop the act, I know you are sad because your lover just lost to me, in his own party." My words were a dagger, dipped in the venom of truth.

"But you are my kind; we stick together, the power of vampires," he attempted to pivot, trying to reconnect with what he thought was our shared identity. "I'm not a vampire, I am a witch. Mom had warned me about you, now I will stick to my kind, the witches and the wolves are our allies," I said, maintaining a smile for the crowd, but my voice was sharp, a clear dismissal of his advances.

"Oh, you want to be one when it fits!" He teased, attempting to lighten the mood. "Remember you called me vampy'er, where did you learn that term. You transformed into this hot sexy thing, a wolf can never become, you turned me on that day, I wanted to smash you." His whisper was low, meant for my ears only, but it was too late; his words only confirmed my resolve to distance myself.

"Well, I will only smash your balls with just my fist!" I retorted, my smile never faltering, yet my eyes conveyed my disdain. His smile in return was that of a man who didn't understand the gravity of his situation.

"Idiot..." I rolled my eyes, "I'm going to smash my new man." As if on cue, Bruce, looking particularly enticing in his tight pants, approached us. "Oopsie... My man is here, I guess this conversation is over." Taking Bruce's hand, we left Harry behind, his jealousy palpable. On the dance floor, with Bruce, the attention shifted from the confrontation to celebration. James was nowhere to be seen, likely licking his wounds from his public defeat.

The cameras, which had captured every moment of the drama, now focused on us, the queen and her new consort, dancing. My reign was long and my authority clear, not because of who I married but because of who I was born to be. I had never needed to bully to gain respect; I had earned it through fairness and justice throughout my high school years.

"Do you mind taking me to the bathroom?" I asked Bruce, my voice playful yet with an undercurrent of intent. He paused, a knowing look in his eyes, perhaps waiting for this very moment. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Bruce asked, his dance moves turning even more suggestive, his voice thick with innuendo. Whether he had overheard my conversation with Harry or was simply following his desires, the result was the same.

"Maybe or maybe not," I grinned, giving him a playful look. Bruce took my hand, leading the way to what promised to be an escape from the night's earlier tensions. As we moved through the crowd, the whispers of the guests followed us, but they were whispers of admiration, of intrigue, not of scandal. This was my moment to redefine myself, away from the shadows of betrayal and into the light of new possibilities. With Bruce, I was not just moving on from Harry; I was stepping into a new chapter of my story, one where I was in control, where my desires and choices were my own, untainted by the expectations or betrayals of others.