Sorry, Ex: I Am The Real Billionaire Heiress!

n Brid

hushed whispers hit my ears. While the door had been kicked open,

my scraped arm and Dalvin and Delina walking out right

an? I heard Dalvin just

akeup covered her

craping by on work-study could keep a

sey chimed in, his voic

ed straight toward the battered canvas to

strap, a sharp, diamond-studded stiletto heel

back into her custom Chanel tweed suit and stood over me

ou carrying in this rag? It's pollu

ust and twisted the point of her

was the cheap discount sandwich I had boug

p and looked col

foot off

ll actin

ition Hermès bag, pulled out a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and

real food while you're at it. Stop walking around

right beside Delina, not only saying nothing to stop

f bending down to pick it up, I lifted my worn canvas shoe and stepped

oney to buy yourse

my voice quiet but cold enoug

dn't expected me to push back in front of an audience, and h

think you are to curs

she yanked her foot back, picked up my dusty c

you picked out has nothin

nd swept a flat, icy g

, Dalvin's expression darkened. He lunged a

better watch

looking at his outstretched fi

ch me. You

anvas strap over my bruised arm, kept my back straight, and

ed down into an awkward quiet as

rsh afternoon sunlight hit my face. I squinted against the glare,

yal. I thought I would break down once I got outs

ving an empty bank account mean anyone could

p of my canvas bag until

ver let anyone put thei

ty blocks back to my tiny, hundred-square-foot studio

or, the damp smell of mildew and ol

eight, and closed my eyes. Before I could catch my breath, my secondhand phone