Preparing for a night out at The Bar Room, even for a casual one, requires some hardcore pampering due to the nature in which the clientele of the quiet speakeasy operates. Tucked away beneath The Beekman's nine-story Victorian era atrium, the Bar Room allows you to rub elbows with the serious-money crowd over canapes and cocktails.

This is why I'm getting my hair professionally blown out and done thanks to the on-demand app, Priv. Whenever a professional gets his hands on me, the results are unreal. My golden, over-bleached hair shines, my skin gleams and my cheeks glow healthily and my slinky Bec & Bridge dress hug my body in all the right places, accentuating my full lips, the curve of my back and my toned, graceful legs.

I'm scrolling through my email, sipping on a black coffee as the makeup artist dust specks of gold onto my cheeks. I managed to get a reply from the Clerk of the court, who quickly links me to the case I've requested last night. I hesitate as my finger hovers over the link, not sure if I am ready to open this emotional can of worms.

Get over it, a voice says in my head,. I steel my nerves as I inhale sharply and click on it. The years past have liquified the initial feelings of anger and hurt, causing the fiery hatred to simmer down into a cooler, colder detached frame. Especially with all the new information and speculation that surfaced, causing an uneasiness to bubble up in my stomach as I stare at the link.

Here goes nothing, I tell myself as I open the link. My eyes skip over the opening statements, flipping through pages of unimportant lawyer talk and go straight to the evidence presented and discoursed about in court. One of the most damning pieces of evidence, the one that made me so angry and hopped up on revenge, is the medical record found by the prosecutors showing how Orson's intoxication levels to be at a BAC level of 0.212%. That level of intoxication is enough to render a person unconscious so the fact that he got into the car with his whole entire squad of friends and convinced the limo driver to let him take the keys off him was negligent to the point of criminal. It was for that insane level of gross incompetence and callousness and the fact that he and his whole group of friends escaped the sentence is what boils my blood. But as I read over the medical record and pour over the details with a less emotional lens, something struck me as odd.

No police report was ever submitted as evidence.

It never occurred to me before as odd- mostly because I was too honed in on the medical record, the defences from Orson's lawyer claiming how his life "shouldn't be ruined because of a mistake", the court's ruling, the fact that Orson got away with it. But now it does. Especially with all the new information that surfaced- Orson's real parentage, the fact that Orson's supposed father, now half-brother, and his 'grandmother' most likely put out a hit on Orson's mother.

My mind is turning, tossing at the possibilities but I'm n0t sure. I need to be sure, I tell myself. The situation is so twisted now; the hatred in my mind is slipping, losing grip. The reality I've come to know and accept feels manufactured; like the game-controllers of this world have suddenly done a 180 and changed the rules. The games I thought I was good at playing turns out to be a completely different game this whole time. At first, I think my family, my life, the livelihood of my parents and brothers have been at the behest of Orson and their lack of care for those around them. Now, it feels there is something more sinister at play here- but instead of my family and I as the pawns, everyone- including Orson- are just objects moved across a chessboard with someone pulling the strings behind the scene.

I excuse myself from the makeup chair and tell them I need to use the bathroom. Then, I use my phone to make an extremely important phone call.

-

I rock up to The Bar Room, way too glammed for a Monday night but without a care in the world as the maitre-d informs me my party has already arrived.

My party? I look at him in confusion. He points me over to a table of Parker and I's favourite banquette at the Bar Room. A group of girls are clamouring around Parker; next to her are two eerily familiar girls. One of them is Bailey Conroy. The other is Melissa.

I do a double take. What the fuck? Bailey and Melissa Conroy, the two girls sentenced to juvie after the Tiffany bracelet scandal, back in New York? And sitting with Parker, no less?

I feel astonishingly slighted, like the rug has been pulled over my feet. I can feel white terror of being completely blindsided setting over me, my face getting hot, but I square my shoulders and raise my head high. Parker looks radiant in her mint-green backless Jacquemus dress I remember her buying from Saks once with her long silver blonde hair parted to the side like a '90s cover girl. She spots me walking through; she waves me over to them. Melissa looks over to me; her nose crinkles, she nudges her sister and then whispers in her ear. Bailey's head raises and her eyes meet mine from across the room.

Bailey and Madison might have gate-crashed upon a meeting that's only intended for Parker and I to have but I still have a trump card. I'm Orson Calloway's official girlfriend and my rank in the Elite is sure as hell way above theirs; I glide through the room, my presence sparkling across the gorgeous art-deco inspired bar. Ironically named The Bar Room, it is a refreshingly historic affair for ultra-modern concrete-jungle New York since it's located in The Beekman, a boutique hotel known for its antique aesthetic, nine-story atrium and pyramidal skylight. The Bar Room is perfect for a cozy lowkey vibe, which is why it's perfect for a Monday night of light cocktails, and I come to admire the dated decor- the gilded railings lining the swirling carpets and arched doorways towering above the jewel-toned bar paired along with the low lighting.

"Melissa, Bailey, oh my god! What a surprise," I exclaim as I hug the two girls.

The Conroy twins are still stunning but they've swapped out their trademarked honey blonde hair for a more natural strawberry blonde colour. Bailey's cutesy but pretty babyface no longer has that roundish, plumpness to it. For a girl who's usually pretty au naturale, Bailey looks almost brand-new- all glittering and shimmering and sweet and sexy. It's funny how makeup can change an entire person's aura- and for diminutive baby-face Bailey, all it takes is a sharp flick of the eyeliner and some red lipstick.

Melissa's red-blonde curls cascades down her back and frames her heart-shaped face with very little makeup. Unlike Bailey, Melissa's features are naturally more slanted and fox-like- to accompany her shrewder sense of self so she doesn't need darker, edgy makeup to make her look grown up. Regardless, both are wearing matching Bottega Venetta fishnet shoes and Badgley Mischka aubergine dresses that makes them both look like an unpicked garden vegetable.

"What are you guys doing back here?" I ask them as we are seated and start browsing through the leather bound menus.

Bailey leans forward on her elbows, "We got let out early on good behaviour," she explains, "and we were allowed to come back. We were just browsing around the city when we ran into Parker on her way here."

Right, like that's any realistic, my brain says to me scathingly but Parker nods at me, "I thought it would be great for them to join us!" Parker effuses, seemingly innocent, but the way she clutches her bag with tension tells me otherwise. "So we could all catch up and celebrate together."

"Yes, Parker just told us about Yale," Melissa puts in.

"How exciting for her, huh," I smile blandly at Parker, not appreciating the lack of warning from her. After all, the reason why Melissa and Bailey got kicked out of Kensington and shipped away is due to my initiation and it was my idea to persuade them into shoplifting, only to have them caught for it afterwards.

The dinner is supposed to be just Parker and I- for me to cull her favour back into me. It's been intensely hard to get her to stay on my sidelines, unsuspecting and fooled, especially with everything that's happened with Luciana lately. And I can't imagine me being away the whole weekend in England, tied up and tangled in the cords with Orson's family, has helped my case. Overthinking, anxiety and suspicion has been building up in Parker's mind ever since Luciana started ghosting her and the rest of the Elite. I know it could've aroused doubt from Parker's side but I can't risk that little brat yapping her trap to them.

Parker doesn't trust me anymore. Who could blame her? She knows of Luciana's dislike for me. Luciana expresses her discontent with me to her and all of the sudden, poof, she's gone. And not just holed away in boarding school after a HIV scandal, gone as in blocking every one of her friends who has been there for her since kindergarten, ghosting the people she's known her whole life and moving away to a different country, all with a vague explanation after she's been poisoned. Even though Phineas has been named the perpetrator and she can't get Luciana's confirmation for good, her trust in me is wavering. So when I asked her to meet me for drinks, I had planned to use her crush on me as a way to win her back. Instead, she plays me with another move. She brings Bailey and Melissa, who are now out of juvie and in New York, to our spot, our table, because she wants witnesses or a blockade put between me and her.

She's too far gone.

I have to do something quick. I feel like the threads of my own lies suffocating me. I have so much to do- I have to find the real police report filed during the crash of the night, I have to deal with Delia Calloway and that ticking time bomb and now I have to deal with Parker, who's no longer wearing the uniforms of my battlefield. My whole mind is unravelling; trying to focus on each loose end at all times.

But then I remember the pendant; the little Cartier necklace hanging on my neck, and how far I've come. Just six months ago, I was just some girl Orson was trying to bed. Now, he's asking me to go travel the world with him.

I still have Orson. And somehow, this thought relaxes me and eases the tension in my neck. I send Parker a mean smile, "So Parker, you want to tell Melissa and Bailey about this new boy you're seeing."

"You're seeing someone?" Melissa gushes while Bailey squeals, "Oh my God, who?"

"I-I-" Parker looks flustered as I peek from the leatherbound menu and open my mouth again.

"Yeah no, Parker was telling her mom about this boy from Dalton," I carry on, "And I keep asking her to introduce him to us! After all, I think it'll be so cute to double-date with Parker and her new boy."

That gets a trout-like rise out of the twins; synchronised slight skyward movement of the eyes. "You're dating someone?" Melissa questions.

I nod and tug onto my pendant, bringing their attention to the Cartier zodiac necklace. "It's been going steady for a while with Orson."

"Orson?" Bailey squawks. I smirk at Parker; the furious expression on her face and she could tell by my smirk I am punishing her for bringing Melissa and Bailey on an outing that I've specifically organised for us.

"Yeah, I also have some news on my own," I announce, "Instead of college next year, Orson invited me to come on his sailboat and travel with him for his gap year. But before that, his grandmother actually invited us to his summer house in France for the summer. I can't wait."

Melissa's eyebrows raise towards her curly amber-toned bangs. "Wow- so that rumour about Orson leaving Georgina Carlton for you is...true?"

I throw a wink at them, "Well, it is but Parker and I might have something to do with that. Anyway, should we order?"

I ordered a dozen oysters and a round of espresso martinis for us as a starter. Parker shoots me malicious looks from across the table. If she confronts me about it later on, I'll just deny and play innocent. She did talk about a "boy" she was seeing in front of me to her mom once.

"You know what, I'm going to go to the bathroom," announces Parker huffily after the waiter leaves, grabbing her satin Gucci Marmont purse. With that, Parker marches to the bathroom, her three-inch Sergio Rossi green alligator pumps clacking against the shiny walnut floor. No one follows her.

Melissa twirls a piece of auburn-coloured ringlet around her finger. "So Amory, it seems like you've got everything you wanted. Kensington, The Elite, Orson."

I gaze at her from the edge of the rim of the glass. "Yeah," I respond, my tone erring on so?

"Wonder what you did to get all that," sing-songs Bailey poisonously as she meticulously dislodges an oyster from its shell. She clasps her fingers together; her nails are painted a coral red.

"What?"

"Oh come on Amory, we know it was you who sent the tip to the police about the bracelet," Melissa snarls; her expression gets ugly all of the sudden. "And you were the one who set it up."

"Please," I roll my eyes, "Why would I do that? What do I have to gain from it? I can't believe you guys; it's so obvious who did it."

Bailey snorts and crosses her arms, "Oh yeah? If it wasn't you, then who?"

I shoot them a taut smile then get prepared to sigh. "If I tell you, well you can't tell everyone, okay? She'll kill me if she ever found out it was me who told you."

Melissa's eyebrows knit together, unsure of what I'm saying. "Kay, fine. Tell us who turned us in," she crosses her arm.

I take a deep breath. "It was Parker. She was the one who planned the whole prank," I say, "At first I didn't see it but then it seems so clear. Like I didn't know if you guys heard but Carmen is in rehab."

Bailey frowns, "Carmen, rehab?"

I nod, "Honestly, Google it. It was everywhere; she went for an eating disorder after she collapsed at her Swan Lake debut and guess who filled in for her at her recital? Parker. Who became Homecoming Queen once Carmen is out of the way at rehab, Parker. Luciana also got her HIV test results exposed on Halloween and she was sent away to boarding school. And the only person left on the original circle of the Elite so far is..."

"Parker," Melissa finishes, her lips set in a tight line of fury as she glares at Parker's empty seat. And that's when I've known I've successfully thrown Parker under the bus.

"Exactly," I tell them, "Guys, I've been barely here a year. I barely even know you guys that well, why would I do something like that?"

That's when we see Parker walking back to the table, her face newly dusted with some powdered foundation. She drops her purse onto the table and grabs her martini glass, "So did I miss anything?" she asks.

-

even when her sanity is slipping, she's still sharp!

HEY GUYS, I'm back <3