Page 102 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Then I see it. Camden’s new bright pink hair—impossible to miss, like a flaming beacon in the sea of drab university colors. The kind of color that’s not just bold, but clearly against university policy.

And that’s when I hear it. Chancellor Maxwell’s voice booming from the bottom of the stairs, sharp and disapproving. “Mr. Whitlock, is that…pink?”

The room goes silent, and all eyes are drawn to the mezzanine. I can already feel the tension in the air, but no one dares to speak as Chancellor Maxwell’s voice echoes through the dining hall.

Camden looks frozen for a moment, his usual confidence faltering. He’s trying to keep his composure, but I can see the slight tremor in his hand as he reaches up to tug at a lock of the offending pink hair, as if hoping to make it disappear.

“I don’t know what happened. Must’ve been a bad batch of shampoo,” Camden stammers, but the defensive tone in his voice does nothing to lessen the sting of his embarrassment.

Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze hardens, and I feel a tiny thrill run through me. This is the moment. Camden is getting what’s coming to him.

“It’s not justbad,” Maxwell says, her voice rising as she takes a step forward. “It’s a direct breach of Altair University’s dress code, which clearly states thatanyunnatural hair color isprohibited for students who wish to maintain in good standing. You’ve done more than just draw attention, you’ve disrupted the standard we expect here.”

A murmur of approval sweeps through the crowd, and I catch a glimpse of Sutton’s expression—a composed mask, though I can see the faintest glint of annoyance in her eyes. She doesn’t speak, but I know she’s not thrilled with how this is playing out. Still, she’s not about to show weakness. She’s a Legacy, just like Camden.

The tension in the room is palpable.

Maxwell crosses her arms, staring Camden down. “You’ll be reporting to my office immediately, and your hair will be returned to a natural color by the end of the day—no excuses. This is your first and final warning, Mr. Whitlock. After this, you will face disciplinary action if you cannot respect the basic expectations of the university.”

I can’t help it. A small, satisfied smile tugs at my lips as I watch Camden shift uncomfortably under the Chancellor’s gaze. He wants to argue, opening his mouth to defend himself, but Maxwell cuts him off before he can get a word out.

“I’ve already wasted enough of my time this morning,” Chancellor Maxwell’s voice sharpens. “And now I have to squeeze in this little fiasco on top of it? If this rebellion continues, I might just have to reconsider your participation in the upcoming games.”

Just before they reach the stairs, Sutton pipes up, her tone cool but firm. “Chancellor, did you get my report about my missing watch?”

Chancellor Maxwell glances at her, a flicker of irritation passing through her expression. “Yes, I received it, Miss Oliveri. But right now, I have more pressing matters to attend to than a misplaced accessory.”

Sutton doesn’t flinch at the dismissal. With a sharp nod, she follows Camden, and the moment they start to shuffle toward the stairs, I feel a slight buzz of excitement ripple through the crowd.

I make my way to the coffee station, the rich aroma instantly filling my nostrils, grounding me for a moment. I add a splash of cream and take a sip, savoring the warmth as it slides down my throat.

Coffee in hand, I head toward my class, pausing by the shoreline near the boathouse. The air nips at my skin, but the warmth from the cup in my hands is enough to stave off the chill. A handful of other students are already gathered here, waiting for further instruction.

The wind picks up, catching my hair in its grasp. I push it out of my face, just in time for Ophelia to walk by. She bumps into me, sending hot coffee spilling across the front of my blazer. The liquid soaks through, making it impossible to ignore.

“Whoops,” she mutters, not even breaking stride. The nerve.

I bite back the urge to yell and instead flash a smile, sweet as poison. “It’s fine, Ophelia. I’ve always wanted to wear a coffee stain as a fashion statement.”

Ophelia doesn’t bother looking back, her eyes fixed ahead, but I can feel the smugness radiating off her. I watch her walk off, and as the sting of the moment settles in, I examine the damage. The stain’s already spreading, and I’m sure I won’t be able to salvage it.

I sigh, pulling off the blazer and trying to rub the stain with my sleeve, hoping it’ll be fine. I’m about to resign myself to the fact that I’m probably going to freeze in just my striped button-down when I feel a sudden warmth settle across my shoulders.

Bishop appears behind me, his rowing team jacket draping over my shoulders. His hands brush against my skin in theprocess, and I freeze for a second before turning to shoot him a glare.

I frown, pulling at the sleeves. “I don’t need your help,” I snap, trying to yank the jacket off, but it’s already snug around me.

He doesn’t move, just watching me with that irritatingly smug look. “I know you don’t,” he says, his tone annoyingly calm. “That’s exactly why I’m doing it.”

“So you’re doing it just to annoy me?”

Bishop’s smirk doesn’t fade. “You’re welcome,” he replies smoothly, the words dripping with satisfaction.

I shoot him a pointed look, but I can’t deny the warmth I feel beneath the fabric. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe,” he says with a half-smile, his tone just a little too smooth for my liking. “But you’re not making it easy.”

I scowl, trying to ignore the flutter that his words cause in my chest. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for your help,” I shoot back, my hands still trying to tug at the jacket, but it’s useless.

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