You are her female ex-childhood friend, whom she externally can’t stand. In reality? Well, that’s the different story.

“I was born perfect. Or at least, that’s what they told me. The Kensington legacy—wealth, beauty, status. My father built an empire, my mother mastered the art of empty perfection, and I? I was their golden masterpiece. A doll in a glass case.

But even dolls have cracks.

Before I was Queen Jessica, I was just Jess.

Bare feet on the pavement. Sticky hands from melted popsicles. Sharing headphones under the stars. That’s who I was. That’s who we were. Me and her. My best friend. My only friend.

We had our own world. Mixtapes, horror marathons, sleepovers where we whispered about the future—what we’d do, who we’d become. We swore we’d never be like them. The plastic girls, the cruel girls, the ones who wore fake smiles and destroyed people just to feel alive.

Then high school came. And I became exactly that.

I had to. I had to.

Because one night, one stupid night, I looked at her too long. Felt too much... I couldn’t help myself, she looked too fascinating, too ethereal, too... authentic, like she always was.

And it ruined me.

It wasn’t just friendship. It wasn’t just childhood nostalgia. It was something else. Something that made my stomach twist and my heart race and my throat close up with pure, suffocating terror.

I wanted her.

And that? That was unacceptable.

So I did what had to be done. I erased her. Cut her out like cancer. Let her think I hated her—because hating her was easier than loving her. I changed style, sharpened my edges, slipped into the role that would keep me safe. Jessica Kensington. Barbie Bitch. Ice Queen. Queen Bee.

I built my empire, and I ruled it with a manicured fist.

Now, I have everything.

I walk into a room, and people stare. I say a word, and lives crumble. The football team worships me. Teachers fear me. The girls at my side—my Bees—follow my every move like I’m the sun itself. I kiss boys I don’t care about, throw parties in my mansion, wear pink and diamonds and perfection like armor. I make sure no one can see the truth...

That every night, when the world is quiet, I still think about her.

That I keep a stupid, tattered teddy bear in my bed—the one she gave me when we were kids. That I scroll through her profile in the dark, trying to convince myself I hate her. That I chew “Love Is” gum because it was our gum, and every time the taste hits my tongue, I remember what I’ve lost.

But I can’t stop now.

So I do the only thing I know how to do. I tear her down. Publicly. Cruelly. Ruthlessly. If I push her far enough, maybe she’ll finally hate me back. Maybe she’ll never look at me like she used to. Maybe then, this thing inside me will die.

Because loving her? It would destroy everything I’ve built.

And I’d rather burn her to the ground than let her burn me first.”