Birthday Box Raided

I recorded every second of Louisa's ranting—the taunts, the singing, all of it.

Right as she was getting louder, a video call from my mom popped up. I answered.

"Mal, happy birthday! I sent you a big package. Did you get it?" My mom's gentle voice flowed through the speaker.

Louisa's singing froze instantly.

I smiled at the screen. "Not yet, Mom. It should arrive soon."

"Good. Your birthday gift is in there, and some snacks too. Share them with your roommates, alright?" She added softly, "Be good while you're away from home. Get along with your classmates."

I gave a quiet hum and hung up, and Louisa immediately snorted. "Keep pretending. Mom? Really? Bet that was your sugar daddy!"

She was just about to start blasting music again when someone knocked on the door. A deliveryman stood outside holding a box nearly half his height. "Package for Mallory Leighton."

Louisa's eyes lit up. Before I could react, she rushed forward and snatched the box from his arms. "I'll take it for her."

With that, she bolted down the stairs.

"Stop right there!" My expression turned grim, and I sprinted after her.

Downstairs, she dumped the huge box onto the ground. Rage lit through me. I rushed forward to take it back, but she shoved me aside, then pulled out a mini megaphone from her pocket.

She turned it on and shouted, "Come one, come all! Mallory, our lovely sugar baby, finally felt guilty! She's sharing her sugar daddy's gifts with everyone. Don't miss out!"

Her shouting drew students from every direction. Within moments, a crowd had formed.

Louisa sliced the box open and flung out handfuls of beautifully wrapped chocolates like confetti. "Taste the sweetness of rich men's love!"

People squealed, laughed, and scrambled to grab whatever they could.

My eyes burned. My mom had made all of those by hand.

Next came skincare gift sets. Louisa tossed them carelessly. "No clue what brand this is. Use it on your heels or something."

The crowd grew rowdier, nearly breaking into fights over a single box. I was trapped behind a few girls who were watching the spectacle, unable to move as everything spiraled out of control.

And then she pulled out a neatly folded cream-colored scarf from the bottom of the box. My mom had knit it herself—her first attempt at cashmere—and embroidered my initials on the edge.

"Ha! This ugly thing's worthless." She flicked it to the ground.

A boy picked it up, shook it open, and spread it across the stone steps. Then, he sat on it. "Soft enough. Good cushion."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I shoved past the girls blocking me and rushed forward. "Give it back."

The boy stared at me blankly. "Who are you? She didn't want it."

I reached for the scarf, but Louisa yanked me back. She and a few other onlookers boxed me in.

"What's wrong, Mallory?" she purred. "Feeling sentimental? I thought you were rich. Why cry over cheap junk?"

She reached back into the box and pulled out a limited-edition handbag—my birthday gift, the one my mom had asked a friend in Lutetia to buy for me.

She dropped it on the ground and stomped on it with her mud-speckled sneakers.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Fresh leather turned into dirt-streaked scars.

Still unsatisfied, she gave the six-figure handbag a hard kick and sent it skidding to my feet like a piece of trash. "There. I cleaned up this filthy trash for you. No need to thank me."

Then she jabbed a finger at me and shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. "See that? That's what happens to gold-digging girls like her!"

Laughter and jeers burst from the crowd.

"Serves her right."

"Seriously, girls like that deserve it."

I lowered my head and stared at the disaster around me—the mess scattered across the ground, the scarf now used as a cushion, the purse stomped out of shape.

Then, I took out my phone and dialed a number.