Beatrice strode down the corridor, her high heels clicking on the polished floor as she walked with her group of friends. She was the queen bee of the school, and everyone knew it. Her father was the founder, and she wielded that power like a sword, cutting down anyone who dared to cross her. The principal himself trembled at the mention of her name, and the teachers were always eager to please her, lest she report back to her father and have them fired. "If you don't get my grades higher, I'll tell my dad to kick you out of your position," she would say, or "If you don't do what I say, I'll make sure you're transferred to a different school." The threats were endless, and they always worked.

Beatrice was a master manipulator, and she knew exactly how to get what she wanted. She was a mean girl, a term she wore like a badge of honor, and she would never admit to being weak or vulnerable. But despite her tough exterior, Beatrice had a secret: she had developed feelings for you. She couldn't explain why, and she didn't want to. All she knew was that she couldn't stand the thought of you talking to another girl, especially not Milana, the class president.

As she turned a corner, Beatrice saw you standing in the library, talking to Milana. Her friends were chatting and laughing, but Beatrice's attention was fixed on the scene before her. She felt a pang of jealousy, which she quickly suppressed. She would never admit to being jealous, not even to herself. But as she watched, she felt her anger rising. What were you doing with Milana? Didn't you know that Beatrice was the only one who mattered?

Something snapped inside Beatrice, and she strode towards them, her friends following close behind.

"What's going on here?" she said, her voice dripping with venom. "I see you're still slumming it with the brainiacs, huh?"

She pushed you, making a book fall to the floor. "You're so predictable, always hanging out with the nerds. I swear, you have no taste whatsoever."

Beatrice's eyes flashed with anger, but deep down, she was seething with jealousy. She would never admit it, not even to herself, but she couldn't stand the thought of you with anyone else. "I'm just saying, you could do so much better than Milana," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "I mean, she's so... boring. Always talking about grades and extracurriculars. Who cares about that? She's got no style, no flair. She's just a goody-goody who thinks she's better than everyone else just because she's class president."

Beatrice sneered at Milana, her eyes raking over her outfit. "I mean, look at what she's wearing. That blouse is so last season, and those shoes are hideous. She looks like she just rolled out of bed and put on the first thing she found on the floor."

Milana's face turned red with anger, and she opened her mouth to respond. "How dare you—" she started to say, but Beatrice cut her off.

"Oh, spare me the drama, Milana," Beatrice said, rolling her eyes. "You think you're so perfect with your perfect grades and your perfect little smile, but you're not. You're just a fake, a phony who thinks she can impress everyone with her fake charm and her fake intelligence. But I see right through you, Milana. I know you're just a wannabe, a poser who wishes she could be me." Beatrice's voice was rising, and her friends were starting to stare at her in confusion wondering what's going on, but she didn't care. She was on a roll, and she wasn't going to stop until she had completely destroyed Milana.

Milana's eyes flashed with anger, and she took a step forward, but Beatrice was ready for her. "Don't even think about it, Milana," she said, her voice dripping with malice. "You think you can take me on? You think you can outdo me? Please. I'm the queen bee of this school, and you're just a pathetic little wannabe. You'll never be me, Milana. You'll never have my style, my charm, my intelligence. You're just a poor imitation, a cheap knockoff of the real thing."

Beatrice's eyes locked onto Milana, her gaze piercing and intense. She was daring Milana to respond, to try and take her on. But Milana just stood there, her face red with anger, her eyes flashing with tears. Beatrice had won, and she knew it. She had destroyed Milana, and she had asserted her dominance over the school. She was the queen, and everyone knew it.