Fifty Dollar Bet, Million Dollar Revenge

y to the school's golden boy. I was eighteen,

became "Fifty-Dollar Ella," the schoo

eled in my public humiliation, e

e top of Wall Street, but I died alone, fill

r understood why they

k in that classroom, moments before the bet that

Javier Mack whispered,

girl was gone. In her place was

pte

Walke

ecause I wa

had been a constant companion in my eighteenth year. My head was pillowed on my crossed arms, my cheek pressed against

eyes closed, letting my

he classroom flu

f a pencil against p

he wh

l the time. Must be exh

ifty bucks, I'd b

m. In another life, a life that ended just hours ago in a plush, soundproofed Manhattan penthouse, these voices

right behind

Mack?" another voice asked,

he's Ella Walker. She's pretty, but she's

Mack, the school' s golden boy quarterback, to get a compromising photo of me. In the

over," som

ect picture of vulnerability. But behind my closed eyelids, my mind was a razor-sharp machine, whi

g close. I waited. Years of high-stakes negotiations had taught

Tap

my desk. Lig

much-needed nap. I lifted my head slowly, blinking my eyes as if they w

er M

r was perfectly tousled, his smile was a practiced, charming thing, but his eyes... his eyes

id, his voic

voice raspy, just as a girl wh

expensive cologne and something uniquely his, somethin

id, not a question, but a com

rvously rubbed against his index finger. He was putting on a show for hi

y girl anymore. The prey was a 28-y

almost impercept

ement. He' d probably expected a fi

raightening up. He shot a smug, victorio

ed away, a king in hi

o low, appreciative chuckles. They thou

sleeve a grounding reality. The gnawing hunger was still there, a c

el cosmic joke, had sent me back. Back to

al mistake. They sent m

me, the gam