Abigail’s POV
The moment Diana bolted off stage like a wounded doe, I felt it, sweet, sharp, like honey laced with venom. Satisfaction, hot and dizzying, bloomed in my chest.
She didn’t even try to fight it.
She shattered so beautifully.
Perfect.
Vivian had delivered it like a dagger wrapped in silk. Her silver gown caught the stage lights, glittering like starlight on snow. And that song, Diana’s song, had spilled from her mouth like it had never belonged to anyone else.
The auditorium buzzed with chatter, students trading notes on who might win. Parents adjusted in their seats, hopeful eyes scanning judges’ faces.
But all I did was smile.
This wasn’t a competition. It was a performance of my making. A symphony of sabotage.
I leaned back, legs crossed, lips curled in a slow, deli
