The message was crystal clear—no need for subtitles. Maya knew exactly what had been happening behind the scenes in her family, and she wasn't about to stay silent any longer. Not today. Not ever.
Maya reached for her wine, swirling it lazily, eyes gleaming like a predator who'd just reminded the table she had teeth. "You see," she said, now turning ever-so-slightly toward the two girls flanking her, "The thing is..."
Bella, Cassandra and Cleopatra all glanced up, instinctively tense, like students who'd just realized the quiz wasn't hypothetical.
"Waiting," Maya continued, voice velvet-wrapped steel, "only works in fairytales. The girl who waits for the prince to notice her? She gets rewritten out of the story by the girl who moves. Who takes."
She let the words hang, sipping her wine with surgical calm.
