Done Hiding as Your Backup Plaything I'm Shining Golden as a Queen - Chapter 127: Chapter 127

That evening, my roommates dragged me out to Murphy's—the campus bar that was practically a second home to half of Brown.
Madison asked what I wanted to drink while scanning the cocktail menu.
I wasn't really in the mood, so I just said flatly, "Anything's fine. Just no almonds."
We'd barely ordered when voices drifted over from the booth behind us—loud enough to cut through the music.
"Yo Travis, you're getting pretty cozy with that freshman. Your childhood girlfriend's not gonna throw another jealous fit, is she?" That was definitely Jake Morrison's voice—Travis's pre-med study buddy.
My hand froze around my water glass. Maybe it was a different Travis.
Then I heard his familiar laugh, casual and dismissive. "Oh, she already is. Had another one of her dramatic breakup tantrums today."
"Jesus, how many times is that now?" Another voice—probably Ryan Chen from their study group.
Jake snorted with laughter. "What's it matter? That girl's a total attention whore. She's the one always threatening to leave, then crawling back begging. Only Travis has the patience for that level of crazy."
"So why not just dump her for good? That Camila chick seems way better—sweet, innocent, like a little angel compared to the psycho ex."
Travis's voice carried that familiar resigned tone. "Trust me, I'd love to. But it's a family thing, you know? Our parents arranged it when we were kids. I'm stuck dealing with her bullshit until I can figure out an exit strategy."
Each word hit like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs.
He was lying. Straight-up fucking lying.
Travis's parents were both surgeons who worked insane hours. Since elementary school, they'd practically dumped him at our house. We'd grown up together, but my parents had never pushed us together—if anything, they'd always worried about us dating.
They thought Travis would be too consumed with his medical career to properly take care of me or start a family. The idea of their precious daughter playing second fiddle to some guy's ambitions made them sick.
I snapped back to reality when I caught my roommates mouthing "total asshole" across the table, shaking their heads in disgusted sympathy. They were whispering about how pathetic and stupid the "childhood girlfriend" sounded.
My stomach dropped as I realized they were pitying the "psycho"—not knowing she was sitting right across from them.
I stared down at the table, trying to hide the tears burning behind my eyes.
"Here's your Mai Tai, hon."
I looked up to see Camila in a Murphy's uniform, setting down a tropical-looking cocktail in front of me. She froze when she recognized me.
I forced a fake smile. "Thanks. Looks great."
When I didn't engage further, she bit her lip and hurried away.
The drinks kept coming. I was barely paying attention, lost in my own head as I sipped the sweet, fruity cocktail on autopilot.
Until Ashley suddenly grabbed my arm. "Wait, hold up—did anyone check what's in these? This tastes like it has almond syrup or something."
My throat immediately began to constrict, the familiar tightness spreading through my chest. Panic flooded my system as my airway started closing.
My roommates noticed me gasping and went into full panic mode.
"Oh my God, what's happening?!"
I could barely wheeze out the words: "Al...lergic...almonds...hos...pital..."
Madison and Ashley jumped up to help me, but suddenly Camila burst back over, blocking our path.
"I'm so sorry! I think I mixed up your order with someone else's!"
"Get out of our way—we need to get her to the ER!" Ashley snapped.
Camila's eyes filled with tears, looking genuinely distressed. "You guys can't just leave! You haven't paid for your drinks yet, and my manager will take it out of my paycheck if you walk out."
Madison was incredulous. "You screwed up the order and nearly killed our friend, and you want us to pay?"
Camila's voice got smaller and more pathetic. "Look, I know I messed up, but I'm just a scholarship student trying to make rent. You guys can obviously afford to come out drinking—this is probably nothing to you. Please don't get me in trouble with my boss."
"I'll get fired if customers walk out on their tab."
Rage made my breathing even worse. I tugged desperately at Ashley's sleeve, trying to signal that we needed to leave now, but I couldn't form words.
Camila kept blocking us, crying about needing the money, until Travis appeared from the booth behind us. Her tears immediately turned into full-blown sobbing.
"Travis! Thank God you're here..."
He immediately stepped in front of her protectively. "Hey, it's okay. I've got this."
I looked up at him desperately, my swollen throat only allowing me to mouth his name silently.
Travis started toward me with concern, but Camila grabbed his arm.
"Travis, I think Gabriella's still mad about earlier. I accidentally gave her the wrong drink, and now she's pretending to have an allergic reaction to get me in trouble." Her voice broke with fake vulnerability. "I know I screwed up, but I already spent my meal money for the week. I can't afford to have this taken out of my pay."
Travis glanced at the Mai Tai glass, which looked perfectly normal now that I'd only had a few sips. He bought her act completely.
His expression hardened as he looked at me. "Are you fucking serious right now, Gabby? You dump me this afternoon and now you're trying to get Camila fired? Just pay for your damn drinks and stop being vindictive."
I watched the recognition dawn on my roommates' faces—I was the "psycho childhood girlfriend" they'd been laughing about. The embarrassment was immediate and crushing. They stepped back, suddenly unsure whether to believe me or not.
Everyone was staring, waiting to see if I was really having a medical emergency or just being a jealous bitch.
I tried to explain, but only managed strangled, gasping sounds.
With shaking hands, I pulled cash from my wallet and threw it on the table, then stumbled toward the exit alone.
Behind me, someone asked, "Are you sure she's faking? She looks really sick..."
"She's just pissed that her little manipulation didn't work," Travis said coldly. "Maybe this will finally teach her a lesson."
My heart didn't just break—it disintegrated. As my oxygen levels dropped, I flashed back to the first time this happened. We were nine years old, home alone when Travis offered me some almond candy. The second I swallowed it, my throat closed up. He'd cried the whole time he piggy-backed me six blocks to the urgent care clinic.
After that, he was obsessively careful. He'd check ingredients on everything I ate, memorized which restaurants were safe, even carried an EpiPen in his backpack through middle school.
He'd told his parents he wanted to become a doctor so he could take better care of me.
All of that changed when Camila Jones entered the picture.
Darkness crept in around the edges of my vision, finally putting an end to the agony in my chest.
The last thing I remembered was falling into someone's arms—strong and steady, with the clean scent of cedar and rain.