Triple Obsession of the Elite
Language: en
It happened again. Lexi Beaumont, the girl who ruled our campus with a designer-clad fist, had me cornered in the cramped, bleach-scented restroom. She’d spent the last ten minutes mocking my thrift-store sweater and the way I smelled like the industrial fryer from my night shift. She took a burst of photos of my humiliated face and tapped away at her phone, sending them to her online "situationships." "These three guys are such pathetic posers, Sophie," Lexi sneered, waving her iPhone 15 in my face. "One claims he’s a Manhattan billionaire’s heir. Another says his dad owns half of Silicon…