Glitter… Gunpowder

The announcer’s voice finally cracked the silence, hoarse and over-rehearsed.

“L… Ladies and gentlemen…” Evelyn’s hand trembled as she clutched the mic.

Her carefully rehearsed poise had shattered, just like the illusion of the evening. “This concludes the final segment of tonight’s pageant. Let’s give all our contestants a round of applause.”

The audience clapped, stiffly at first… some half-hearted, some overly enthusiastic, as though noise could mask their confusion.

But the energy in the room was warped, volatile. A storm barely held back by velvet ropes and champagne flutes.

I stepped away from the spotlight, letting it fall on the next girl, trying to fade into the wings.

But the curtain didn’t close.

Not yet.

I heard hurried whispers behind me. The judges, still in a tight circle, debated urgently. One of them was on the phone. Another kept pointing at me.

I kept walking.

Then…

“Wait!” Evelyn blurted, her voice cracking over the mic. “W… we’ve just received the final decision from the judges.”

I turned around slowly, a knot twisting in my chest. All the contestants froze in place.

“There has been… an update.”

A spotlight snapped on, harsh and blinding. It landed on me. The crowd tensed. Hundreds held their breath in a single inhale.

“The judges have completed their deliberation,” she said, voice steadier now. “And despite the unexpected… turn of events, the results remain unchanged.”

She looked directly at me.

“And so… by unanimous decision… our new Miss X is… Cecilia Moreau.”

Gasps erupted.

This time, for me.

A thunderclap of cheers followed… confused, chaotic, passionate. Some stood. Others remained stunned. Phones rose like a sea of flashing stars.

Marissa Hannah , last year’s queen, carried the crown forward, her smile unreadable beneath flawless makeup.

“Congratulations,” she said softly, placing the crown on my head with trembling hands.

It settled there like a question mark.

Confetti rained.

A triumphant anthem played, pre-recorded and tone-deaf to the tension in the air. I stood center stage, victorious and completely alone.

My refusal had not cost me the title. It had won it. Somewhere offstage, Liam stood still, phone in hand.

The smile I gave to the cameras was flawless. But inside, I was unraveling. This wasn’t the end. This was the spark.

Behind me, the applause faltered. Just as I turned to step off stage…

“Stop the music!”

The sound screeched to a halt.

Gasps. Confusion.

From the crowd, Miss New York…Savannah King…stepped forward in heels that struck the stage like daggers.

Was she not escorted out of the venue…? Who brought her and her awkward team back again? Oh my gosh…

“This is a joke!” she shouted. “She refuses the crown, then you hand it to her like she earned it?”

Miss Atlanta, Tiana Gray, joined her, pointing at me. “Is this what we’re doing now? Rewarding drama? Or was it always rigged?”

Miss California, Jada Liu, appeared at their side, slow-clapping, venom in her smirk. “You might as well crown her for best actress.”

The crowd gasped again.

Security rushed toward them, but not before Tiana’s voice pierced the air one last time. “Tell us, Cici, how long were you sleeping with Adrian before the pageant started?”

And just like that, chaos snapped loose.

Liam appeared, storming forward. “You shut your mouth!”

Adrian followed, face red with rage. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

Liam turned, furious. “You have the nerve to defend her now? After what you did?”

Adrian shoved him.

Liam didn’t hesitate.

A fist flew.

Gasps became screams. Judges scrambled. Cameras turned. Security leapt into action, tearing the two men apart. Adrian’s suit jacket was torn. Liam’s lip was bleeding.

All around them, contestants shrieked, audience members shouted, and lights swiveled in every direction.

“Get her out of here!” someone yelled.

Faye appeared at my side, grabbing my arm. “Come on, Cici.”

“I…”

“No time. Move.”

She pulled me through the curtain, heels pounding the hallway. Behind us, Adrian shouted my name.

“Cici…! Cici…!

But I didn’t turn back.

I couldn’t.

We reached the dressing room. Faye shut the door and locked it behind us. I collapsed into the velvet chair, the crown still on my head, shaking with adrenaline.

“What now?” I whispered.

Faye looked at me in the mirror.

“Now,” she said, breathless, “we prepare for war.”

A knock rattled the dressing room door… sharp, angry, insistent.

Faye stiffened.

“Don’t,” she warned, raising a hand when I moved to stand. “Let security handle it.”

The muffled sound of Adrian’s voice filtered through the door. “Cici. Please. Just let me explain.”

I stood anyway, my body still humming with the chaos I’d walked through. I touched the crown lightly, feeling the weight of it, the falseness of its glitter. “There’s nothing left to explain.”

Faye stepped between me and the door. “If you open that, you’re walking into his version of the story. Not yours.”

The knob jiggled violently.

Security shouted from down the hall. “Sir, step away from the door!”

Then another voice joined in. Liam’s. “She doesn’t want to see you. So why don’t you back off before I make you?”

“You don’t speak for her!” Adrian barked.

“You don’t own her!” Liam roared back.

A loud thump. Something hit the wall. Faye turned to me, eyes wide. “They’re going to kill each other.”

A moment later, the hallway went eerily silent.

Then… a single knock. Calm. Rhythmic. Faye frowned and opened the door an inch. A woman stood there.

Tall. Elegant. Dark lipstick, pearls, and an envelope in hand.

“Delivery for Miss X… Moreau,” she said.

Faye narrowed her eyes. “From whom?”

“Her former friend,” she replied, and slipped the envelope inside before disappearing into the chaos.

Faye shut the door, locked it, then handed the envelope to me.

My fingers trembled as I opened it.

Inside, a single sheet of paper. Typed. Crisp. Cold.

Cecilia,

Congratulations on your crown.

The words blinked at me on the screen like a quiet warning.

Consider this a formal invitation to speak… privately… before the media finds out what you’ve truly won.

… A.H.

I read it three times, each time feeling the weight of those cryptic words sink deeper into my chest. The calm after the storm… only it wasn’t calm at all.

It was a storm brewing just beneath the surface, a secret lurking in the shadows, threatening to unravel everything I had fought for.

Who was A.H.? Adrian Carlisle’s initials, maybe? Or someone else entirely? The message wasn’t just a threat; it was a challenge, wrapped in honeyed words that made my skin prickle with unease.

I swallowed hard, fingers trembling slightly as I locked my phone and slipped it back into my clutch. The crown on my head suddenly felt heavier, the glitter on my skin colder.

What had I truly won?

And how long before the world found out?