Page 118 of The Bleak Beginning

Well fuck.

Chapter 24

Alex

My heart leaps into my throat as I feel the weight of countless stares boring into me.

Time seems to slow as I watch Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze lock onto me, her eyes thinning with a mixture of triumph and something darker. The crowd parts, creating a clear path between me and the stage.

“Well, well,” Chancellor Maxwell’s voice cuts through the silence. “It seems we have our winner after all. Please come forward, Miss Prescott.”

My feet feel like lead as I take one step, then another. The golden flag in my pocket seems to grow heavier with each movement. I can feel the stares of my fellow students boring into me, a mix of envy, curiosity, and suspicion.

As I approach the stage, Bishop’s smug grin falters, replaced by a look of fury. Alfie’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of hope crossing his face before it’s quickly extinguished at the withering scowl Bishop shoots him.

As I climb the steps, Chancellor Maxwell’s smile widens, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I can feel Bishop’s glare burning into my back as I pass him, his collection of red flags suddenly seeming paltry and insignificant.

I take my place next to Chancellor Maxwell, my posture steady and assured as I pull the flag from my pocket, ready for whatever comes next. The fabric is smooth to the touch, like silk, but also has a weight that suggests it’s a more luxurious material.

The crowd stands with rapt attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Maxwell announces, her voice echoing through the auditorium, “I present to you the victor of this year’s pre-trial games.”

“Wait!” The single word escapes my lips before I can stop it, echoing through the still silent auditorium. Chancellor Maxwell’s smile freezes, her eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

Not only had I not answered when she called for the winner, but I also caused a further delay in her schedule by speaking out. What even was this ceremony? Whatever it was, it didn’t feel right. Forcing Alfie to come up here and be publicly humiliated while the crowd cheered for Bishop? It didn’t sit well with me.

“Is there a problem, Miss Prescott?” she asks, her voice syrupy-sweet, but there’s an edge of impatience lurking beneath it.

I swallow hard. I hadn’t planned to speak, but now that I have, I can’t back down. The weight of the golden flag in my handseems to burn, reminding me that I hadn’t even wanted to play to begin with, and was only doing it out of spite against the Legacies.

“This isn’t right.” I say, suddenly feeling bold.

The words hang in the air, heavy and charged. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by a few scattered gasps from the audience. Chancellor Maxwell’s smile has completely vanished now, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.

“And what, pray tell, isn’t right about this?” she asks, her voice faint but somehow carrying to every corner of the auditorium.

I square my shoulders, meeting the students’ gazes without flinching. There’s no backing down now. “This whole competition. The way we’re pitted against each other, forced to fight and scheme just to prove our worth. It’s cruel and unnecessary. And I refuse to be labeled the winner in this game.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. I watch as Bishop’s face twists in fury, his jaw clenched so tightly I swear, I can almost hear his teeth grinding. His eyes, usually so steady, burn with a mix of fury and outrage, and for a moment, he looks like he might explode. While Alfie looks at me with a mixture of disbelief turned to awe as I shove the gold flag into his hand.

“Here. This is your winner,” I insist to the audience.

Chancellor Maxwell’s expression hardens, a flash of frustration crossing her face. “Miss Prescott, you are treading on very thin ice. This trial is a time-honored tradition that has shaped our institution for generations.”

“No,” I say, my voice certain. “This isn’t about tradition. It’s aboutcontrol.” And I was never going to allow someone to control me again.

Alfie stands frozen beside me, the gold flag limp in his hand, his eyes darting between me and the Chancellor. It’s clear he’s unsure of what to do, so I step in to help.

“Congratulations,” I whisper to him before I make my way down from the stage.

As I descend back to the main floor and exit the building, the auditorium erupts into chaos behind me. I keep my head high, my steps measured, even as my heart threatens to burst from my chest. I’ve made a stand, but what comes next? The consequences loom like the never-ending storm clouds on the horizon of this school.

The memory of Bishop plucking that flower earlier in the evening flashes through my mind, but I push it away as soon as it appears. Despite his accusatory words and actions, I hold onto my own values regardless of what he thinks.

In the darkness of the night, a hand grabs my arm, and I whirl around, half-expecting to see the Chancellor or a professor. Instead, I find myself face-to-face with Sylvester, his eyes wide with a mix of alarm and…admiration?

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls, his voice rough and urgent. “And the hottest.” His grip on my arm loosens, but he doesn’t let go entirely, guiding us to the far side of the building.

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