Golden Melody (Editing)

Chapter 126

Chapter 126 – “Three Identities and a Bucket of Ice”

Miexha’s POV

School again.

Same marbled halls. Same cold air. Same rich-kid perfume choking the oxygen out of my lungs.

But this time, I was living three secret lives like some overbooked teen drama heroine who missed all the orientation meetings.

First persona: ✓ Mrs. Dom — a.k.a. “wife of one of the top three hottest boys in school.”

It’s a secret. Because if the student body finds out I’m legally tied to Jayson Dom? I’ll be chained to the school gate and sacrificed before recess.

Second persona: ✓ Littlelune of Xymph — yep, the mysterious voice behind that viral bucket hat band.

Our songs play in the cafeteria now. Our debut album blew up. Yet nobody recognizes me… thanks to glasses and bangs. Apparently, that’s still enough to fool the masses.

Third persona: ✓ Lonely Girl Eating Breadsticks Alone — this one’s public. No mask required.

Balancing all three lives is thrilling. And exhausting. I seriously need a part-time assistant just to track what lie I’m living today.

Still, on the outside, nothing changed.

I sat alone at lunch.
Avoided drama.
And my husband was trying his best to dodge his long-time crush, who still acted like she was in the middle of a love triangle even though she had a boyfriend.

Ofreigha Sebastian.

Confident. Tall. Articulate. Beautiful. And her chest? Had its own gravitational pull.
She was everyone’s favorite—even mine, sometimes. But there were days I prayed she’d just… float to Mars.

So, I ignored the romantic tension across the room and focused on texting my bandmates about our upcoming summer gig. Musika said we might land a brand sponsorship.

I almost screamed.

Instead, I did a chaotic little chair shuffle and prayed nobody noticed.

I couldn’t wait for the school year to end.

But then—plot twist.

I opened my drawer.

There they were.
A pile of letters.

Perfume-scented. Glitter-drenched. Stationery-level violent.

Ten love letters... if you count "please break up with Jayson or else" as a love language.

One even called me a “wallflower parasite.”
Weirdly poetic. Deeply unhinged.

I dumped them all in the trash—
Even the one that maybe was from a secret admirer. Or a stalker. Either way, hard pass.

Then I went to pee.
Because bodily functions > mean girls.

Except… when I came out?

There they were.

The Elite Mean Girls.
Clarisse up front, like the evil queen of overpriced lip gloss.

“Stay away from Jayson!” she screamed.

I didn’t respond. Just calmly washed my hands and summoned every inner monk I could find not to throw soap in someone’s eyeball.

But Clarisse wasn’t done.

She grabbed my shoulder.
Yanked my hair.
Then—

SPLASH.

A whole bucket of ice water.