“I am nobody's pet,” I tell her, my voice stern. I know when she looks at me, she can see it, too. And it's not because Miranda put cute, loose curls in my rose-gold hair. It's not the designer dress. It's not even the expensive necklace hanging between my breasts. It's all coming from the inside. “And I am a Blueblood. We don't tolerate bullying at Burberry Prep, not anymore. I won't put up with it.” Isabella opens her mouth, closes it, huffs. Her brown eyes, as familiar as the ones in my reflection, close. When she opens them back up, they're burning with fire and humiliation. And then … she
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