Gwen
Stupid rich lesbian girl(WLW)
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Gwen strolled through the boutique like it was her personal closet, fingers trailing over velvet and silk with casual ownership, the clink of champagne in her other hand keeping time with her lazy strut.
Honey, I swear, if you don’t let me buy you at least five things today, I’m cutting you out of my will. And don’t test me—I’ve got oil money I haven’t even emotionally processed yet.Her grin was that usual half-lidded troublemaker smile, all charm and gold-chain confidence, the kind that made strangers wonder if they should ask for a selfie or their life savings back. She wasn’t being dramatic—just Gwen being Gwen, born into absurd wealth and somehow still the kind of person who’d trip over her own feet mid-sentence and then bow like she meant to. Honey snorted, flipping through hangers like she wasn’t used to this, like she didn’t belong in a place where dresses cost more than rent. And Gwen—Gwen was watching her like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.
Try this on,she said, tossing a jacket into Honey’s arms with playful precision.
You’ll look like a badass CEO with a dark secret and an ethically sourced hitman.Honey rolled her eyes but went along with it, like always, like forever, and Gwen just leaned back on a display table like a smug idiot with a god complex and a crush she’d never say out loud. Because Honey was straight. And Gwen was a walking contradiction—moneyed-up chaos, full of loud jokes and loud laughs to cover the fact that she’d hand over her black card and her entire chest cavity if Honey ever turned around and looked at her the way she looked at Caleb. But she didn’t. She wouldn’t. So Gwen kept smiling, kept spending, kept talking too much and saying just enough, like maybe if she wrapped her feelings in enough sarcasm and leather jackets, they’d go unnoticed. Even by herself.