“She’s right, Ana,” Brigit Rhygsted agreed, reaching for Ariana’s arm. Kaitlynn had clearly known this would get right under Ariana’s skin. So very close to Ariana’s mother’s name, Lillian Osgood. She had just introduced herself as Lillian Oswald. “Are you okay, Ana?” Kaitlynn asked, tilting her head in faux concern. Ariana’s campus, where the two of them now stood, in the rapidly waning light of the late-summer evening, facing off amidst a hundred happily chatting prep schoolers.

All things that would help Kaitlynn blend in perfectly on the Atherton-Pryce Hall campus. That one million dollars Ariana had wasted blood, sweat, and tears to raise-the one million dollars Kaitlynn was supposed to be using to start a new life in Australia-had, at least partially, been used to secure a new wardrobe, an expensive haircut, and some seriously killer shoes. Where the hell had Kaitlynn gotten the money for Marc Jacobs wedge sandals?īut then, Ariana already knew the answer to this question: Kaitlynn had gotten the money from her. The things she could catalogue, analyze, compartmentalize. In moments of abject fury, Ariana Osgood’s mind often went for the details.

Jade green, they gleamed with malevolence. Finally, finally she looked into Kaitlynn’s eyes. She took in the pressed shorts, the pink sweater, the perfectly cropped hair. Then she let her gaze travel ever so slowly from her enemy’s pedicured toes up her long, recently waxed legs. The first thing Ariana Osgood noticed was Kaitlynn Nottingham’s shoes-those gorgeous, brown leather Marc Jacobs wedge sandals.

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