My high school bully invited me to the reunion, demanding I wear a maid’s uniform to “know my place.” I served her drinks for hours while she mocked me. Then, a royal helicopter landed on the lawn. My bodyguards ripped off my apron, revealing a gown of liquid gold and the crown jewels. “You wanted a uniform,” I smiled, “but you forgot to ask who I really am.”
They called me the Scholar of Starch. In the hallways of St. Jude’s Academy, where the air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne
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