no more wig for Alexia

Roxy waited until his shadow disappeared between the vendor booths before her grip tightened in Alexia’s hair, wrenching her head back with a sharp tug. "Now, where were we?" she purred, her stiletto grinding into the convention center carpet as she stepped closer, the heat of her body pressing against Alexia’s trembling back.

Roxy’s gloved fingers slid down Alexia’s spine, her nails biting hard enough to make her gasp for breath as the crowd’s murmurs thickened around them. "Since you love to pretend to be royal," Roxy purred, her free hand grabbing the blonde wig to yank it off, "let’s remind everyone what you really look like."

The wig came free with a sharp tug, exposing Alexia’s natural light brown hair—messy now, damp at the roots from sweat and humiliation. A few pins clattered to the floor, the sound swallowed by the stifled laughter of onlookers.

Roxy’s laughter curled like smoke against Alexia’s ear as she flung the wig carelessly over her shoulder, letting it land in some anonymous bystander’s hands. A fresh wave of heat crawled up Alexia’s chest as fingers—too many to count—reached out to brush against her now-exposed shoulders, her bare arms, the flushed curve of her cheek.

"Look at her," Roxy crooned, dragging her nails down the back of Alexia’s neck hard enough to leave red trails. "No crown, no wig, just a messy little loser who thought she could outshine me."

Alexia’s skin prickled under the fluorescent lights, her tan lines—sharp, mocking stripes from her bikini—now on full display. The contrast only deepened her humiliation, the pale patches beneath her breasts and hips a glaring testament to Roxy’s thorough victory. Her nipples hardened against her will as the cool convention air licked over them, the ID card swaying with every shallow breath she took.