Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
From the top-floor balcony of Constance, Monet de Haan leaned against the cold marble balustrade, hands gripping the edge like it could anchor her to something—anything—that hadn't already slipped away.
Below, through the massive arched windows of the library, she could see Adelaide.
Laughing.
With Audrey. With Julien. With Max and Zoya.
With everyone but her.
Monet didn't need Gossip Girl to tell her what was happening. She could feel it in her chest like an old wound, reopening every time Adelaide smiled without looking for her approval.
Adelaide looked... radiant. Alive. She was dressed down, for her, in wide-leg cream trousers and a navy cashmere top—simple, elegant, untouchably soft. Her hair was clipped back, just loosely enough that a few strands danced around her cheek. She tucked one behind her ear and said something that made Zoya grin and Julien roll her eyes with mock exhaustion.
Monet swallowed hard.
It wasn't jealousy. Not quite. It was absence. The space where Adelaide used to be—curled under Monet's arm, head resting on her shoulder, always there, always soft—was now a hollow that echoed too loudly when the world went quiet.
She'd thought power would be enough. She'd told herself that love made her weak. That if she could just win, if she could be queen, Adelaide would come back. Adelaide would understand.
But Adelaide didn't want a throne. She never had.
And Monet... Monet was left with a crown that felt too heavy and a silence that no amount of strategy could fill.
"Miss de Haan?" came a voice behind her—one of the younger minions, Bianca maybe, it didn't matter. "You're needed in Student Council."
Monet didn't move.
Her eyes remained fixed on Adelaide, whose arms were now thrown around Max's shoulders in a teasing hug.
A laugh rose from her chest. It wasn't bitter. Just... small.
"She's not coming back," Monet said, more to herself than anyone else.
Bianca hesitated, unsure. "Do you want me to tell them you'll be late?"
Monet finally turned away from the window. "No," she said quietly. "Tell them I'm coming."
But even as she walked down the polished hallway, heels clicking like punctuation, the image of Adelaide—free, glowing, untethered—remained.
And for the first time in her life, Monet felt like she had no idea how to win.
----
Spring had finally come to the city, and with it, a softness in the air that reminded Adelaide what it felt like to simply be. Not to pose, or perform, or protect herself from a love that once scorched her—just exist. She laughed a little too easily now, leaned into conversations like she hadn't in months, and her eyes didn't dart to her phone anymore waiting for a text that never came.
