Priceless: The Lapdog Bites Back

Click. The deadbolt slid into place. My knees gave out.

I collapsed onto the freezing bathroom floor, the dirty puddles soaking right through my custom haute couture gown and ruining the thousands of Swarovski crystals handstitched into the fabric.

Standing on the other side of that door was the boy I had loved for eighteen years. Right before he slammed it shut, I saw the hard lines of his jaw.

The raw, naked disgust in his eyes. "You actually thought you were a princess?" He smacked his palm against the heavy wood. "Did you honestly think someone like you belonged in our circle?" Deafening laughter smashed against the door.

The voices blended together—every single person I had grown up with. My lifelong "best friends." My lungs seized. I dug my nails into my palms until the skin broke.

I was never one of them. To this elite crowd, I wasn't a friend. I was just a pathetic clown they kept around for their own sick entertainment.

Chapter 1 Today was my eighteenth birthday. My mom had spent three whole months planning this.

She rented out the entire penthouse ballroom of the most exclusive fivestar hotel downtown and invited the heirs of every single elite family in our zip code. "Stella, you're the most beautiful princess tonight." Mom smoothed out the tulle of my gown, her eyes shining with pride.

I stared at my reflection.

Between the pale pink ballgown and the flawless makeup, I really did look like I'd stepped straight out of a fairy tale. "Are Weston and the others here yet?" I asked. "They got here ages ago.

They're all downstairs waiting for you," Mom beamed. "Especially Weston. He's been saying he's going to marry you since you were little.

I bet he has a massive surprise for you today." My pulse picked up speed. Weston was my childhood best friend. We'd been inseparable since kindergarten.

He was six months older than me and always had my back. He just got back from studying abroad last month, and he'd been dropping hints about a special birthday present.

I stepped into the ballroom, my stomach fluttering with anticipation.

Under the massive crystal chandeliers, guys in sharp tuxedos and girls in designer gowns were chatting and laughing. The second I walked in, all eyes turned to me.

I smiled at the crowd, but my eyes immediately started scanning the room for one specific person. Weston stood by the floortoceiling windows.

The custom black suit made him look older, broader.

He turned around and walked straight toward me. "Happy birthday, princess." He held out his hand. "May I have this dance?" Heat rushed to my cheeks. I placed my hand in his.

The orchestra started playing, and we glided across the floor.

It was a scene I had dreamed about a million times. "Stella," Weston murmured, leaning in close so his breath brushed my ear. "I have a present for you." "What is it?" I asked, a huge smile breaking across my face. "Come with me and find out." He tugged my hand, leading me off the dance floor.

I thought he was going to take me out to the balcony, or maybe the hotel gardens. Instead, we stopped right in front of the restrooms. "Here?" I frowned. "Yeah.

Go in and wait." A muscle ticked in Weston's jaw. "I'll be right there." I pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped inside.

It was a luxury powder room, all marble counters and gold fixtures. But why would he give me my present in a bathroom? Before I could figure it out, the door swung open again.

Weston walked in, but he wasn't alone. Victoria, Avery, and a few others from our tightknit friend group filed in behind him.

Every single one of them wore the same twisted, mocking smirk. "Weston?" The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. "What's going on?" "Stella," Victoria sneered, stepping to the front.

She was the queen bee of our circle, old money from a mining empire, and she had never bothered to hide her dislike for me. "Did you really think you were a princess?" "What does that mean?" A cold weight dropped into my stomach. "It means exactly what it sounds like." Avery stepped up, her eyes flashing with pure malice. "Your family is nothing but new money trash.

What gave you the right to think you could ever sit at our table?" "Wearing a dress like that… it makes me sick." "Seriously.

Stop playing dressup." I whipped my head toward Weston, desperately waiting for him to shut them down, to defend me like he always did. But he just stood there.

He looked at me with dead, icecold eyes. "Weston, say something." My voice cracked.

He stepped into my space, looking down at me with zero emotion. "Stella, did you honestly believe I could ever like you?" Chapter 2 The words hit me like a freight train.

All the air vanished from the room. "You thought growing up together meant I actually cared about you?" Weston's voice was absolute ice. "Newsflash, Stella.

I never considered you a friend." "To us, you're just a sidekick.

A pathetic clown we kept around for laughs." "No." I shook my head frantically, my breathing turning shallow. "You're lying.

You said you were going to marry me." "That was kid stuff." Weston scoffed, his lip curling in disgust. "Don't tell me you actually bought that?" Victoria shoved my shoulder hard enough to make me stumble back. "Wake up, Stella.

Do you really think you belong in our tax bracket?" "Your dad is nothing but a filthyrich redneck who still reeks of wet dirt, and your mom used to sling plates at a bottomtier diner." Avery crossed her arms, stepping into my space with eyes full of pure disgust. "With that kind of cheap blood running through your veins, slapping on haute couture can't cover up your trailerpark stench.

And you actually hallucinated you could squeeze into our inner circle?" The marble floor tilted beneath my feet. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision.

How could the people I'd spent my entire life with spit out something so venomous? "I need to get out." I lunged for the door, but Weston blocked my path, his broad chest forming an immovable wall. "Hold on.

You haven't gotten your present yet." Weston pulled out his phone, the screen casting a harsh glow over his cruel features. "Your comingofage gift is showing everyone exactly what you are." His thumb hit record. "Hey everyone, we prepared a very special birthday surprise for Stella today.

Let's show the world what a desperate tryhard looks like." "Stop it!" I swiped at his phone, but multiple hands grabbed my arms, pinning me back against the cold wall. "Shut up and take it, Stella," Victoria hissed, her manicured nails digging into my skin. "You earned this." Hot tears spilled over my lashes, stinging my cheeks and ruining my expensive makeup. "Why are you doing this to me?

I thought we were friends!" "Friends?" Weston let out a bark of cruel laughter. "You don't qualify to breathe the same air as us, let alone be our friend." He backed toward the door, his eyes dead. "Stay in here and reflect on reality, Stella.

We'll let you out when you finally remember your place." They filed out, leaving me in the sudden, suffocating silence. Click. The deadbolt slid shut.

I threw myself against the heavy wood, slamming my fists against it. "Weston! Open the door! Let me out!" Muffled, hyenalike laughter echoed from the hallway.

I could hear the rapidfire snapsnap of camera shutters. My knees gave out. I collapsed, my ridiculously expensive tulle skirt pooling around me on the freezing marble.

My chest heaved as I gasped for air, digging my nails into my own thighs. Why? Why was the boy I trusted more than anything in the world ripping me to shreds?

I sat on that bathroom floor for two hours.

The muffled thumping of the bass, the bursts of laughter, the clinking of crystal champagne flutes—it all bled through the door, an agonizing reminder that my own birthday party was raging on without me.

And I was locked in a bathroom like a caged animal. Finally, the lock clicked. The door creaked open to reveal a hotel maid in a crisp uniform. "Miss?

What are you doing in here?" She stared at me, her brow furrowed in confusion. I scrambled to my feet, frantically smoothing down the crumpled silk of my dress. "I'm fine.

I was just leaving." I stepped out of the restroom. The blinding glare of the ballroom chandeliers hit me like a physical assault.

Hundreds of guests were mingling and laughing, oblivious. It was as if the brutal execution I'd just survived had never even happened. Across the room, I spotted Weston.

He was holding a flute of champagne, laughing smoothly with Victoria.

She had herself plastered against his chest, her fingers possessively stroking the lapel of his tailored suit jacket in a blatant display of ownership.

Before I could look away, they caught my eye and exchanged a mocking, conspiratorial glance. "Stella?" Mom walked up to me, a glass of wine in her hand. "Where have you been?

Everyone's been looking for you." I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.

My throat felt like it was coated in crushed glass. "I… I was in the restroom." "For that long?" Mom's smile faltered, a line of worry appearing between her brows. "Are you feeling sick?" I forced myself to shake my head. "I'm fine." "Oh, thank goodness." She let out a relieved breath and gently pushed my shoulder. "Go mingle with your friends.

Weston was just asking where you disappeared to." Chapter 3 Weston was asking about me? I instinctively looked up, my eyes locking onto his across the room. He flashed me a smile.

It was bright, warm, entirely identical to the one he'd given me for eighteen years.

As if the monster who had just locked me in a bathroom didn't even exist. "Stella!" Victoria marched over and linked her arm tightly through mine, practically purring. "Where did you run off to?

We've been looking everywhere for you." "Yeah, I was just about to come chat with you," Avery chimed in, stretching her lips into a sicklysweet, plastic smile.

I stared at them, the taste of battery acid rising in the back of my throat. Half an hour ago, they were ripping me to shreds. Now, they were playing house. "What's wrong?

You look pale," Weston asked, stepping into my space with perfectly manufactured concern. I stared at his face.

The features I had memorized over the last eighteen years looked like a stranger's mask. "I'm fine." I pushed the corners of my mouth up. "Good." Weston held out his hand. "Come on.

Let's finish our dance." I looked at his outstretched palm. The exact same hand that had held a camera up to film my humiliation. A fresh wave of nausea twisted my gut. "I'll pass.

I'm tired." I took a step back. A microexpression of irritation flickered across Weston's face, but he smoothed it out instantly. "Take a breather, then.

I'll grab you a drink." He spun on his heel and walked off. As soon as his back was turned, I caught Victoria whispering to Avery. "Look at her face.

You think she's holding a grudge?" "So what if she is? Is she going to tell on us?" Avery let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Who would even believe her?" "Exactly.

It's our word against hers. She's completely useless." Every word hit the nail on the head. They were right. I was entirely outnumbered.

How was I supposed to go up against their combined net worth? If I spilled everything, not a single person in this ballroom would take my side.

To the outside world, Weston was the golden boy of high society. Victoria and her crew were polished, charitable socialites. And I was just the tacky newmoney girl.

The party dragged on. I shifted into autopilot, mechanically nodding through the endless rounds of toasts and polite small talk.

Guests praised my beauty, my custom gown, how perfect Weston and I looked together. It was all a cheap, hollow performance. I wasn't the star of the night. I was the punchline.

At 10:00 PM, the ballroom finally started to empty.

As the last few guests headed for the elevators, Weston walked up to me. "Stella, did you have a good time tonight?" I looked him dead in the eye.

A hysterical laugh threatened to claw its way out of my throat. "I did," I said, my voice deadpan. "I had the time of my life." "Glad to hear it." Weston didn't catch a single ounce of the heavy sarcasm dripping from my words. "Let's catch a movie tomorrow.

Just the two of us, to celebrate your birthday properly." "Sure." I gave a stiff nod. "See you tomorrow." Weston flashed me a satisfied, arrogant grin and walked away.

I stood alone in the center of the massive ballroom. Deflated metallic balloons and crushed confetti littered the scuffed hardwood floor. A bitter taste coated my tongue.

This was my eighteenth birthday.

The day the blinders finally came off. "Stella, let's head home." Mom walked up, gently rubbing my arm. "You must be exhausted." I nodded and followed her out to the valet.

The entire ride back, Mom buzzed with adrenaline, bragging about how perfectly the night went and how many compliments I'd racked up. "Weston is such a gentleman.

He was looking out for you all night," she sighed happily. "You know, I think that boy is genuinely in love with you." I didn't say a single word.

I just kept my eyes glued to the blurring city lights outside the tinted window.

The second I got to my room, I stripped off that suffocating sixfigure dress and scrubbed myself in the shower until my skin turned raw.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, water dripping from my hair, and stared at my reflection. Eighteenyearold Stella was officially an adult.

And for the very first time, she saw exactly where she stood in the food chain. Chapter 4 I pulled out my phone and tapped open Weston's Instagram.

He had just posted a new photo of us from the party. The caption read: Happy 18th birthday to my little princess. You'll always be the most beautiful girl in my world.

The comment section was flooded with likes and replies, everyone in our circle gushing over how perfect and sweet we were together.

I stared at the screen, a dark, hollow laugh vibrating in my chest. If they knew the sick truth, what would those polished faces look like?

I locked my screen and let the phone drop onto the mattress. I stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I was going to make a decision.

One that would rip my life apart and build it back up again. Saturday rolled around. I dragged myself out to meet Weston just like we planned.

He picked a highend AMC theater downtown. I got there thirty minutes early, sitting rigid in the adjoining cafe. "Stella!" Weston's voice called out from behind me.

I turned around.

He was flashing that trademark goldenretriever smile, holding a massive bouquet of pink roses. "For you." He pushed the flowers into my hands. "Things got so crazy last night, I didn't get a chance to give them to you." I took the bouquet, my fingers brushing the velvet petals. "Thanks." "Glad you like them." He dropped into the seat across from me. "You look a little pale today.

Did the party wear you out?" I stared at his perfectly arranged features, the absolute picture of a doting boyfriend.

If I hadn't been locked in that freezing bathroom myself, I never would have believed what he was capable of. "I'm fine," I said flatly. "Good." Weston checked his Rolex. "Movie starts in ten.

Let's head in." We walked into the VIP theater.

He effortlessly carried the popcorn and sodas, playing the role of the attentive, perfect guy flawlessly. "So?" Weston asked the second the credits started rolling and the lights flickered on. "Pretty moving, right?" "Sure." I gave a stiff nod. "I think the guy was brave for putting himself out there." Weston suddenly reached over and covered my hand with his. "Stella, actually, I…" "Weston." I yanked my hand back. "Where's the video you took in the bathroom last night?" The goldenboy smile froze and shattered off his face.

His hand dropped back to his lap. "What video?" he asked, playing dumb. "The one you filmed right before you and your little crew locked me in the powder room." I locked eyes with him, refusing to blink. "What are you planning to do with it?" Weston's expression darkened.

He shot a quick look around the empty theater rows before leaning in, dropping his voice to a low warning. "What the hell are you talking about?

I don't know anything about a video." "Really?" I scoffed. "Let me jog your memory, then." "Yesterday, in the ShangriLa restroom.

You looked down at me and said, 'Did you honestly believe I could ever like you?' Then you shoved your camera in my face, bragging about how you were going to show everyone what a tryhard I was." All the color drained from his face. "Stella, you've got it all wrong…" He scrambled to backtrack. "Yesterday, I—" "Wrong?" I stood up, looking down at him. "We've known each other for eighteen years, Weston.

Do you seriously think I hallucinated the whole thing?" The last few stragglers filed out of the theater, leaving us alone in the dim room. "Fine." Weston's posture instantly shifted.

He leaned back, crossing his arms, the panicked act dropping away completely. "If you already know, there's no point in putting on a show." There he was. The real Weston. Cold.

Arrogant. Disgusted.

Chapter 5 "I have the video, yeah." He leaned back in his leather seat. "But Stella, what makes you think you have the leverage to negotiate with me?" "I'm not negotiating." I kept my eyes locked on his. "I just need to confirm one thing." "Which is?" "Was everything you said yesterday the truth?" My voice came out flat, completely dead. "Did you really never see me as a friend?" Weston paused, his arrogant smirk slipping for a fraction of a second. "You want the brutal truth?" "Obviously." "Fine.

Let me spell it out for you." Weston stood up, towering over me. "Since we were kids, you've been nothing but a lapdog. If I told you to jump, you didn't even ask how high.

Having someone that blindly obedient is a massive ego boost.

That's the only reason I kept you around." My fingernails dug so hard into my palms that I felt the warm slide of blood. "As for actually liking you?" Weston let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Stella, look in a mirror." "I can have literally anyone I want.

Why the hell would I ever settle for some tacky newmoney trash?" "Then why did you treat me so well?" I asked. Weston sneered.

He snatched that fake, hypocritical bouquet of roses and slammed it into the nearby trash can.

The delicate pink petals instantly shattered and scattered across the floor, looking exactly like the pathetic, stupid fantasies I'd clung to for eighteen years. "Because it was fun." The smile that stretched across his face was pure sadism. "Watching you act like an idiot, totally convinced I was in love with you… watching you curve other guys just for a scrap of my attention?

It was the ultimate power trip." There it was. The absolute, undeniable truth. Eighteen years of growing up together was just a sick, twisted game.

And I was nothing but a cheap, disposable toy. "Do you get it now?" Weston patted my shoulder like I was a dog. "So be a good girl and stop trying to play out of your league.

You could never go against us, because you don't even qualify." I gave a single, stiff nod. "I get it." "Good." Just like that, his mask slipped back on, replacing the monster with the polished golden boy. "Come on.

I'll drive you home." "Don't bother." I stepped out of his reach. "I'll call an Uber." "Suit yourself." Weston shrugged, unbothered. "It's Victoria's birthday tomorrow.

Don't forget to show up." I didn't say a word. I turned my back and walked out of the theater. Stepping out into the blinding streetlights, my chest felt incredibly hollow.

It wasn't relief. It was the absolute, permanent death of hope. The emotional cord had been sliced clean through.

From this second forward, I was officially done being their punching bag. I was leaving.

I was going to pack my life into a suitcase, wipe my digital footprint, and disappear to a place where their filthy trust funds could never reach me.

When I unlocked the front door, Mom was lounging on the living room sofa, watching TV. "Stella!

How was your date with Weston?" she asked, her eyes lighting up. "It was fine," I brushed her off, sliding off my shoes. "When are you bringing him over for dinner?

I'll cook up a feast for you two." I stared at the desperate, eager hope in her eyes, and a heavy knot of guilt settled in my stomach.

She had completely drained her bank account to throw me that lavish comingofage party, desperately hoping I could crack into that elite social circle and live out her upperclass fantasies.

She had no idea that those people viewed our very existence as a punchline. "Mom," I cut in, my voice deadpan. "I'm applying to colleges out of state." Chapter 6 "Out of state?" Mom's face fell. "Why would you want to leave?

The universities here are some of the best in the country, and Weston is right here." "I need to breathe, Mom.

I want to see what else is out there." I kept my voice steady, hiding the tremor in my chest. "But…" Mom bit her lip, hesitation clouding her eyes. "A girl living that far away on her own?

We won't be able to sleep at night." "Mom, I'm an adult now." I looked her dead in the eye. "I need to stand on my own two feet." The silence stretched between us until she finally gave a slow, reluctant nod. "Fine.

But you better pick a school with a decent reputation." "I will." The second I got to my room, I flipped open my laptop and started scanning applications.

My grades were toptier; I could basically go anywhere I wanted. I scrolled past the local ivy leagues and clicked on a university deep in the South.

It was over a thousand miles away. A twohour flight. It was far enough. Far enough that even if they wanted to hunt me down, they wouldn't know where to start.

I hit 'submit' on the application and started packing. Everything I owned was spread across the bed—the things worth taking, the things that needed to be burned.

I was stripping my life down to the studs. I was never going to let these people touch me again. Victoria's birthday bash was tonight at her family's massive estate. I didn't go.

Instead, I spent the evening sealing boxes and clearing out my closet. At 9:00 PM, my phone buzzed.

It was Weston. "Stella, why the hell aren't you here?" His voice was a jagged blade of irritation. "I'm not feeling well," I said, my voice flat. "Not feeling well?" Weston let out a sharp, mocking scoff. "Or are you just throwing a pathetic little tantrum?" I didn't give him the satisfaction of an answer. "Stella, I'm warning you.

Don't think for a second that your little speech yesterday rattled me." His tone turned dark, dangerous. "You better fall in line, or that video—" "Post it.

Go ahead." I cut him off midthreat.

The line went dead silent for a few heartbeats. "What did you just say?" He sounded like he'd been slapped. "I said, post it." My pulse was steady, my skin cold. "I don't care.

Do your worst." "Stella, have you lost your mind?" Weston's voice jumped an octave. "Do you have any idea what happens if that video leaks?" "You'll be a social pariah.

Everyone will look down on you!" "So what?" I countered. "You already look down on me.

What's the difference?" "I…" He stammered, his arrogance finally hitting a wall. "I'm done, Weston," I continued, my voice calm and hollow. "Since I was never really your friend anyway, why should I give a damn what you think?

Post the video. It means nothing to me." I swiped the screen and ended the call. Seconds later, my phone started detonating with notifications.

The group chat was going nuclear. [ Victoria: Stella didn't show tonight.

I guess she thinks she's too good for us now? ] [ Avery: Maybe she thinks turning eighteen makes her some kind of VIP. ] [ Weston: Just a lowclass toy who doesn't know her place.

She's definitely getting ahead of herself. ] Then came the flood of insults. They called me a fake, a loser, a desperate clinger who finally snapped.

I scrolled through the messages with zero emotion. It was like reading a script for a movie I wasn't even in. Suddenly, a video file appeared in the chat.

It was the recording from the restroom. There I was, in my ruined pink gown, huddled on the floor and sobbing while they circled me like sharks. [ Check it out, guys.

This is the real Stella. She actually thought she was a princess. Hilarious. ] Chapter 7 The group chat went nuclear.

Mocking memes and toxic comments flooded the screen in a relentless, jagged stream. [ Hahaha, this is gold! ] [ Look at her face.

She looks like a total clown. ] [ I've been waiting for her to get taken down a notch. Stop acting like you're one of us. ] [ So this is what she's really like?

She got exactly what she deserved. ] I watched those toxic comments jumping across the screen like a bunch of clowns.

I let out a cold, hollow laugh, left the group, and permanently blacklisted Weston and everyone else involved.

Before hitting block on Weston's contact, I fired off one final message: "You people are repulsive.

Have fun rotting in your own putrid little circle." I tossed my phone onto the bed and went back to my suitcase. Let them laugh. It didn't matter.

In twentyfour hours, I'd be a ghost to them. By the next morning, my notifications had reached double digits. Texts from classmates, teachers, even people I barely knew.

The video had gone viral. It was the new favorite piece of gossip for the town's elite. I didn't open a single one. I simply wiped my digital footprint and kept moving.

When Mom came downstairs, she found me in the middle of the living room, surrounded by boxes. "Stella?

What on earth are you doing?" "Packing," I said, not looking up from the tape dispenser. "Packing for what?" She walked over, her brow furrowing. "Are you going on a trip?" I finally looked at her, my expression carefully neutral. "Mom, I want to head down to the university early." "Now?" She blinked, startled. "Orientation doesn't even start for weeks." "I want to get a head start.

Get familiar with the campus, maybe find a parttime job." I had the lie ready, polished and smooth. "A job?" Mom looked even more confused. "We're not exactly hurting for money.

Why would you want to work?" "I want to prove I can handle myself." I stood up, my joints popping. "I'm eighteen now, Mom.

I can't live under your wing forever." She went quiet for a long moment, eventually giving a slow nod. "I suppose you're right.

It's time you gained some independence." "I'm leaving tomorrow," I said. "So soon?" Her voice softened with a hint of sadness. "Are you sure about this?" "I've already made up my mind." She saw the steel in my eyes and finally stopped arguing.

That afternoon, she drove me to the mall to pick up a new trunk and some essentials.

We moved through the aisles in a comfortable silence until she suddenly turned to me near the housewares section. "Stella, did you and Weston have a falling out?" I stiffened, the muscles in my neck locking up. "Why do you ask?" "He called me a little while ago.

Said you weren't picking up his calls and asked if you were sick." Worry etched deep lines into her face. "You two grew up together.

If there's a misunderstanding, you should just talk it out