Chapter 3 - Jealous Wench Energy

VALEMOUNT UNIVERSITY — 8:14 AM

Melrose Wexley entered like she owned the damn school.

And maybe she did — if you asked her.

Every stride was a headline. Her four-inch heels clicked against marble floors with purpose. Students parted like she had her own gravitational pull. 

A few dared to glance at her outfit: a designer fur-trimmed blazer over a micro-skirt and custom tights that spelled ICON down the back of her legs.

Behind her, whispers bloomed like poison ivy.

"She's wearing Prada to a lecture?"

"She posted Olivia's comment and clapped back hard."

"She's dangerous and I love her."

But Olivia Brown, leaning back in her seat with a smirk and an espresso the color of her soul, didn't flinch.

Her nails — matte black and shaped like daggers — tapped her notebook rhythmically as Melrose walked past her.

"Look who finally bought a full-length mirror," Olivia said coolly.

Melrose didn't break stride. "Look who still doesn't own an identity."

The air between them went sharp. Frozen. Radiating tension like broken glass on a dance floor.

Rayna whispered to Cleo, "They're going to kill each other before Homecoming."

Cleo replied, "Melrose will have someone do it for her. Less mess."

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ETHICS & JOURNALISM CLASS — 8:30 AM

Dr. Trent entered late, as usual. He always looked like he hadn't slept and didn't plan to start anytime soon — wild curls, dark circles, rolled-up sleeves revealing tattoos that probably had stories no one dared ask about.

He dropped his bag and leaned against the desk.

"Alright," he said without preamble. "Let's talk about Investigative Journalism. The kind that uncovers what people want hidden — what gets you sued, blacklisted, or shot."

That woke the class up.

"You want to know what makes a real story? Blood. Secrets. People pretending to be saints while hiding skeletons in their Louis Vuitton closets."

His gaze cut across the room. "Sometimes the truth is too dangerous. But other times… not telling it? That's what gets people killed."

He turned to the whiteboard and scrawled one word in all caps:

> INTENTION

"Everything starts with it," he continued. "Your angle. Your bias. Your obsession. It's what drives you to dig. And sometimes, it's what ruins you."

"Some stories don't need a reporter. They need a confession."

The class stayed silent.

Dr. Trent smiled like he was in on some cosmic joke. "Open your notebooks. I want you to write down a secret. One you've never told anyone. Don't sign it. Just write it."

Students exchanged looks.

"Trust me," he added, "it'll come in handy one day."

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AFTER CLASS — 10:03 AM

The air outside the lecture hall was colder — not because of the weather, but because Olivia and Melrose hadn't left yet.

Olivia leaned against the wall, waiting.

Melrose emerged slowly, adjusting her sunglasses despite being indoors.

"You love this, don't you?" Olivia said, voice like silk and steel. 

"The attention. The rumors. The idea that everyone thinks you're the victim."

Melrose paused. "And you love pretending you're above it."

"You're plastic wrapped in insecurity," Olivia said, stepping closer. "You should've stayed quiet, but no. You posted that shit like you were trying to get someone killed."

Melrose smirked. "And yet, here you are — threatening me in a hallway. Who's the real psycho again?"

Olivia's jaw tightened. "I could kill you and go scot-free."

A beat.

Melrose leaned in, lips brushing Olivia's ear.

"You'd miss me too much."

"No," Olivia said coldly, "but I'd love to watch your followers rip you apart when the mask slips."

Melrose's smile faltered — just for a second.

Then she turned, walking away without a word.

WEXLEY ESTATE — 1:05pm 

Melrose slammed her bedroom door shut, fury painted across her face.

"Ugh, she thinks she's scary?" she muttered, kicking off her heels. "I've survived backstabbing influencers, cancel campaigns, and three facials gone wrong. Olivia Brown is nothing."

She paced in her room, scrolling through hate comments and DMs. Then she switched apps and started filming.

Instagram Story — @MelroseWexley

> "Imagine threatening someone in class just because they outshine you. Jealousy is ugly, Liv. Just like that knockoff bag you carried today."

Minutes later, the internet exploded.

COMMENT SECTION CHAOS

#Olivia_Brown# – Jealous wench. You've always wanted to be me. But you'll never measure up.

#lexi_chanel# – Melrose is so extra I can't even.

#drama_king69# – Wait… did Olivia really threaten her?

#bee_bae# – Melrose needs security. This is getting crazy.

#liz_zy# – Maybe you really deserved whatever she threatened you for 

_________________________________________________

THE BROWN'S MANOR— 1:12 PM

Olivia stormed into her family's mansion, her boots echoing off the marble like gunshots. The scent of imported roses and control issues filled the air.

Her mother, Dr. Cecilia Brown — socialite, philanthropist, nightmare in Louboutin heels — waited in the sunroom with a glass of red wine and an expression carved from disapproval.

"Sit."

"I'm not a dog," Olivia said, tossing her bag on a couch.

"No," her mother replied, "you're something worse. You're a scandal waiting to explode."

"Funny, coming from the woman who faked a robbery to dodge taxes."

Dr. Brown's eyes narrowed. "End whatever it is you have going on with Melrose Wexley. I don't care who started it."

"She posted lies about me—"

"I don't care." Her voice was sharp. Final. "If you keep this nonsense going, I'll pull your funding, freeze your cards, and ship you to a retreat in Switzerland where Wi-Fi is a myth and the only followers you'll have are goats."

Olivia stood, rage burning behind her eyes. "So you're on her side?"

"I'm on the side that doesn't end in jail time or trending hashtags," her mother snapped. "Clean it up, Olivia. Or I will."

---

OLIVIA'S PENTHOUSE — 2:44 PM

The elevator dinged. Olivia stomped inside, nearly tripping over a delivery box. She kicked it aside and pulled out her phone.

Dialing: Miles 

He picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, babe," he said sleepily.

"Don't hey babe me. My mom just threatened to deport me over Melrose."

"She what—?"

"She said Switzerland, Miles. Switzerland. Do I look like I drink goat milk and journal in the Alps?"

He laughed. "You'd make it fashionable."

"I'm serious. This isn't funny anymore. I'm going to that party tonight, and I swear, if she tries me—"

"Liv—"

"I'm not backing down. Not this time. If she wants war, she's got it."

Her voice shook.

But her hands didn't.

MELROSE'S FINAL POST — 6:05 PM

> "To my fans, haters, and Olivia Brown: Dress to kill, babes. The rooftop's waiting. #BloodMoonBash"

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