“w*****g bitch.” Madison cursed under her breath as she watched the male and Ava walk away hand-in-hand.
It was ridiculous how much attention Ava got, especially from someone as refined as Dylan Miller. What did that pasty, stick-think nobody have that she didn’t? Rickets? Consumption? Some other old timey disease that only affected whisper thin orphans on the streets of Charles Dickens novels.
She was a shameless slut, just like the rest of Sutton’s ‘court’. Unlike everyone else, though, Ava didn’t even bother to pay her dues. Madison had been shilling drinks in a miniskirt in the godforsaken place since her freshman year – with a fake ID, of course. It had taken her *years* to earn a spot catering on the VIP floor.
But three months of scrubbing toilets and suddenly Ava’s pick
