She sauntered over with two of her friends, drink in hand, designer gown shimmering under the lights.
“Wow,” Chloe said loudly enough for nearby groups to hear. “This is honestly pathetic.”
The music seemed to dip. Conversations around them quieted.
Wren stood perfectly still, holding her small clutch.
“You seriously built your entire personality around a dead cop?” Chloe continued, voice dripping with mock pity. “I mean, look at you. Recycling your daddy’s old uniform like some kind of charity case. It’s actually sad.”
Wren’s hand moved instinctively to the badge over her heart.
Chloe leaned in closer, her smile sharp. “You know what’s even worse? He’s probably up there watching you right now… and he’s embarrassed.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Phones started coming out.
Then Chloe raised her cup of bright red punch.
“Let’s fix this,” she said sweetly.
She dumped the entire contents across Wren’s chest.
The red liquid soaked into the navy fabric instantly, dripping down over the badge, staining the careful stitching Wren had labored over for months. Some of it splashed onto the floor like blood.
Wren didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She just stood there, hands shaking as she tried to wipe the badge clean with her fingers, smearing red across the silver.
The entire gym had gone deathly silent.
And then—a sharp, piercing screech of microphone feedback cut through the air.
Chloe’s mother, Vanessa Harrington, had shoved her way onto the stage and grabbed the mic from the DJ. Her hands were trembling. Her perfectly made-up face was pale with something between rage and horror.
She looked directly at her daughter standing below the stage.
“Do you even know who that police officer is to you?” Vanessa’s voice cracked through the speakers, raw and unsteady.
The gym was so quiet you could hear the balloons gently bumping against the rafters.
