Eat Your Heart Out

EAT YOUR HEART OUT COURT LEGACY: BOOK 5 EDEN O’NEILL Books By Eden O’Neill Court High They The Pretty Stars Illusions That May Court Kept We The Pretty Stars Court University Brutal Heir Kingpin Beautiful Brute Lover Court Legacy Dirty Wicked Prince Savage Little Lies Tiny Dark Deeds Eat You Alive Eat Your Heart Out EAT YOUR HEART OUT: Court Legacy Book 5 Copyright © 2023 by Eden O’Neill All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events, or occurrences, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Cover Art (People Cover): RBA Designs Photography Credit: Lindee Robinson Photography Cover Art (Discreet Edition): Ever After Cover Design Editing: Straight on till Morningside Proofreading: Judy’s Proofreading CONTENTS Content Warnings: Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Epilogue Acknowledgments CONTENT WARNINGS: EAT YOUR HEART OUT is a dark new adult college romance recommended for readers 18+. Please see the author’s website at www.edenoneill.com for all the book’s content warnings. PROLOGUE Bru – age 15 Cissy Armstrong had blonde hair. Cissy Armstrong liked to sway when she walked, and Cissy Armstrong wore heels when she was like fifteen. She also sported a full face of makeup and showed way too many teeth when she looked at me. Like now. She had a grin for days, and when she swayed, she made her blonde ponytail move intentionally. Cissy Armstrong didn’t actually sway. She just wanted to make her ponytail move. She wanted to be cute. Apparently, she wanted to be cute for me. “So, this is the lunchroom,” she exclaimed, again, showing teeth. She had so many they nearly didn’t fit in her face. She bounced. “And anyone who’s anyone sits over there.” She directed her finger to a table full of jocks and cheerleaders and was basically the opposite of any table I ever sat at. The scrawny poor kid whose dad was fucked up didn’t sit at the popular table. But this was a new school. There were always new schools, but this was the first I’d ever been hugged up on by, who was clearly, the head chick at the school. Something happened the summer I turned fifteen. I looked different and actually filled out the clothes my sister, Sloane, got us from the secondhand clothing stores. My dad wasn’t the one to buy us clothes. My dad didn’t do anything. Of course, Cissy invited me to sit at her table and pointed out everything along the way. We had the Model UN kids who were basically future politicians and influential figures, and if one didn’t happen to get a seat at the table with the it kids, the Model UN table was a close second. They weren’t as popular as the popular kids today, but they would be one day because they were projected to rule the world. And yes, she actually said that. We also had the chess kids, the mathletes, and anyone else who could be considered smart or would, I don’t know, actually change the world one day without bullshitting their way through it with words and politics. This was the table I’d normally be sitting at, but I was never under any circumstances allowed to sit there. According to Cissy. Cissy wanted me close. Cissy grabbed my arm, and Cissy waved at her other cheerleader friends when we got to her table. I didn’t want to sit at the table with Cissy. Sure, popularity would be a nice break after being treated like a social reject for most of my life, but Cissy Armstrong kind of freaked me the fuck out. It was like my psycho flag went flying. I started to sit with Cissy, not really given much of a choice, but feet away, I noticed another table. A girl sat there, and I noticed her because, well, she was the only one sitting there. All the other tables had people in them. Not hers. A redhead, she sat staring out of the window. It’d started to snow in New York City, and she stared at it from a table that had no lunch. She just stared. Cissy immediately noticed me staring at the table, and when she did, she smirked. In fact, she’d gone from sugary sweet to full demon in the face. And so, my psycho radar was wrong. I actually got chills when she stopped full stop before our table, her arms crossed, her grin evil. She tipped her chin. “Oh, and we definitely don’t sit with her. She’s a fucking freak.” I nearly cringed, but all Cissy did was bump a short laugh. “Hopeless,” she exclaimed, unprompted. “Her dad died, and like, it’s sad but she’s gone full zombie since it happened.” She tsked her tongue, actually tsked it like she hadn’t said that girl’s dad died and she had the audacity to be sad about the fact. “She’s also, like, a total burnout,” Cissy continued. “So, no, we don’t sit with her.” We don’t sit with her. Like this was some fucked-up lunchroom hierarchy and she called the shots. I supposed she thought she did. And with that, I eased my arm away. Needless to say, I’d seen