Chapter 5: Queen Without a Crown (Yet) Chapter 6:“You Call It Drama,

⚔️ Chapter 5: Queen Without a Crown (Yet)

A week later, the school forum lit up again.

But this time?

Shen Zhi: Bully or Queen Bee?

Poll: Who’s more fake – Yiran or the new Zhi?

Oh, they were talking now.

And the best part?

Half the votes were in my favor.

Progress.

I was invited to a student council meeting—an “invitation” I knew was just a polite way to say we’re watching you.

Mr. Lin, the uptight council head, stared down at me.

“You’ve stirred up quite a lot lately.”

“I’m very stirrable,” I said brightly.

Another student snorted.

Mr. Lin did not.

“Any idea who’s behind the gossip forum?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Do I look like I have time to stalk my haters?”

Silence.

“You’re dismissed,” he muttered.

As I turned to leave, someone behind me whispered, “Nice one.”

I glanced back.

A girl I didn’t know.

She winked.

Back in class, I noticed something.

Li Zeyan’s drawing had changed.

Now it was a phoenix rising from ash.

In its eye? A reflection of flames.

And a tiny heart.

Was he...?

Nah. Too early.

But still.

A slow burn never hurt anyone.

That night, another message.

Unknown:

> “I voted for you in the poll.”

Me:

> “How sweet. Want a badge?”

Unknown:

> “I want front row seats. Because when you take the crown, I’ll be the one beside you.”

I stared at the screen.

Who the hell are you?

And why did that message feel like both a threat... and a promise?

🔥 Chapter 6: “You Call It Drama, I Call It Strategy”

---

Two things happened the next morning.

One: the anonymous school forum mysteriously went down.

Two: a new account popped up on social media under the name “CrownlessQueen” — and the first post?

> “Since liars love attention, let’s give them a spotlight. Welcome to the truth club, kids. 💋 #ReceiptsOnly”

Guess who it followed?

Just one person: Yiran.

I didn’t make the account.

But I knew who did.

---

“Did you see this?!” a girl whispered loudly in homeroom.

“They posted Yiran’s real grades!”

“She failed bio?”

“And her ‘scholarship’ essay was copy-pasted!”

Gasps. Whispers. Looks.

And then, a chair scraped back.

Yiran stormed in, pale and shaking.

Her eyes found mine like a heat-seeking missile.

“You psycho,” she hissed, marching toward me. “This is all your doing!”

“Wrong,” I said calmly. “I don’t need to do everything. You’ve made enough enemies on your own.”

Her fingers clenched like claws. “You think this makes you popular? They’ll turn on you too.”

I leaned in and whispered just loud enough for nearby ears to catch:

“Maybe. But when they do… I’ll still be stronger than you ever were.”

---

She backed off.

Barely.

But she was shaking.

---

At lunch, Li Zeyan wasn’t sketching.

He was waiting.

For me.

I sat across from him, calm, casual.

My tray untouched. My eyes locked on his.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said without looking up.

“Isn’t that your specialty?” I shot back.

He didn’t smile, but his eyes held something dark. Curious.

“You weren’t always like this,” he murmured. “What changed?”

I leaned forward. “Pain. Betrayal. Maybe a little makeup.”

“You’re not scared at all?”

I met his gaze, firm. “Of Yiran? Of rumors? Of people finally seeing the real me? No.”

Silence.

Then: “Good.”

One word. One smirk.

And a tiny shift in the air between us.

Was that... approval?

---

After lunch, I found a note in my locker again.

But this time?

A single Polaroid.

It showed me leaving the student council room. Alone.

On the back:

> “Trust no one in that room.”

Chills danced down my spine.

Whoever was texting me…

was watching me closely.

---

That evening, I walked home slowly, heels clicking against the pavement like a metronome of control.

When I reached the gate, an envelope was taped to my door.

Red wax seal.

Inside? A typed note:

> “Your stepmother will be attending the charity gala next weekend. So will your father.

Just a heads-up — she still tells people you’re in therapy for ‘anger issues.’

Wear red. Burn the lies.”

No name.

No signature.

But whoever sent it knew my past.

And they were daring me to face it.

---

I stood at the mirror that night.

Lip gloss: cherry red.

Earrings: subtle daggers.

Eyes: clear, focused, sharp.

“Let them watch,” I whispered.

“They started this game…

but I’m going to finish it.”

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