Chapter 3: Girl Code Breaker

Princess Hall was a private group Taylor set up just for the girls from our team.

Right now, seven or eight people were blowing up the chat:

"You really want to play with her for a couple skins? Stabbing your sisters in the back?"

"Gold-digger, what did we tell you yesterday?"

"Hurry up and delete your message, we’ll pretend we didn’t see it. Otherwise, don’t blame us for kicking you out."

I rolled my eyes at my phone screen.

"JessieCan’tWakeUp" had just joined the team not long ago.

Our team was ranked second in the country.

Girls who could join this team were either insane at the game or filthy rich.

Jessie was the latter.

She’d just joined and immediately dropped a $300 Venmo into the group chat.

There were more guys than girls in the team, most were broke students or between jobs.

Of course they went all out to flatter a rich girl.

The other girls? Not so thrilled.

Taylor and her clique acted like they were above it all.

In the private group, they roasted her non-stop, leading all the girls to freeze her out.

They wanted her to get bored and quit on her own.

In my previous life, just to avoid trouble, I kept my head down and went along with Taylor.

But at that in-person meetup—

She flirted with the vice-captain, got caught by his wife, and dumped the blame on me.

I got taken out by the vice-captain’s wife with a flower vase.

Taylor grabbed the hush money, went home, bought herself a house and a car.

My parents begged her to testify.

She rolled her eyes and said:

"Your daughter seduced a married man and got herself killed. What’s that got to do with me?"

Thinking about how my parents aged overnight after my death—

I couldn’t be bothered to argue anymore.

This time, I decisively left the group chat.

As I hovered over the "leave group" button, the words on the screen blurred a little. It felt coldly satisfying this time—no more keeping my head down just to avoid drama. I left with my head high, half hoping someone was watching the notification pop up and feeling a twinge of guilt. Not that they’d ever admit it.