FATAL TROUBLE (REVERSE HAREM)

Part 95

The penthouse was drenched in golden city lights, but inside, a storm raged.

A girl—puffy-eyed, disheveled, barefoot—stormed across the marble floors, her furious steps echoing through the grand space. She was spiraling, her hands tearing at her own things, her breath ragged as she screamed.

"Everything! Everything I deserve—Ella gets!" she shrieked, knocking over a crystal vase, sending shards flying.

Across the room, sprawled lazily on a velvet couch, a boy watched her with half-lidded eyes. A cigarette dangled between his fingers, smoke curling lazily in the air as he exhaled. He didn't flinch at the destruction—hell, he barely reacted at all.

"She gets everything! Every single thing! Not one, not two, but all seven of them!" The girl's voice cracked, raw with envy, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "How?! How?! Seven men, seven, and every damn one of them is head over heels for her!"

The boy took another slow drag, his lips twitching in amusement. He knew exactly why she was unraveling—knew the truth behind every curse she spat.

"They worship her like she's some damn goddess, their queen" the girl seethed, voice dripping with venom. "Like she's untouchable, irreplaceable. They breathe for her! They would die for her! And what does she do? Nothing! She just exists, and they fall at her feet like pathetic fools!"

She grabbed a bottle from the bar, hurling it at the wall. It shattered, amber liquid bleeding down the pristine white walls. "I should be the one in her place! I should be the one he loves! But no—no, no, no! It's always Ella! Always—"

"Enough."

His voice cut through her madness, sharp and low. The girl snapped her head towards him, chest heaving, eyes wild.

He rolled onto his side, resting his head on his hand, his cigarette still burning between his fingers. "You're giving me a headache," he muttered, flicking the ashes into a tray. "Stop screaming."

"Shut up!" she howled. "You—you know how unfair this is! You know she doesn't deserve—"

"Deserve?" He let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head. "Nah. She doesn't need to deserve anything. That's the difference between you and her."

The girl's lips trembled, rage twisting her features. She took a step forward, her hands clenched into fists. "You think this is funny? You think watching me suffer is—"

"I think you're pathetic," he cut her off coolly, taking another slow drag, the embers glowing in the dim light. "And I think you know that, too."

She let out a guttural scream, grabbing the nearest glass and smashing it against the floor. But the boy—unbothered, unaffected—just exhaled another cloud of smoke, watching her through the haze.

"Keep throwing your tantrum," he murmured, voice laced with amusement. "It won't change a damn thing."

The girl was trembling, her chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. Her voice, raw from screaming, still carried the weight of her venom.

"Ella—Ella," she spat the name like poison. "She's nothing but a pretty little illusion they've all fallen for. A fraud. A manipulative, perfect little act that has them wrapped around her damn finger."

Her fingers dug into her scalp as she let out a humorless, broken laugh. "Do you even know what she is? She's a curse. A sickness. They all think she's this angel, but she's not." Her bloodshot eyes flickered towards the boy on the couch. "You know it too, don't you? That she doesn't deserve even one of them—let alone all seven."