Page 116 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I take a steadying breath, forcing myself to focus on the situation at hand.

“Okay, good,” I say, feeling some relief, but my twin doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he’s just not acknowledging it. His attention is already focused on our parents, who are pushing their way through the crowd toward us.

Our parents arrive, their sharp eyes scanning the chaotic scene before landing on us. My mother, always poised, takes in the disaster with the kind of detached professionalism she’s known for. Her gaze lands on me first, narrowing slightly as if she’s evaluating whether I’m truly okay or just shaken up by the situation.

“Sutton,” she says, her voice clipped and cool.

It’s more of an assessment, as if she’s already checked me off her mental list of things to do. There’s no softness to it, just a sense of practicality.

“You’re not hurt?” My father’s voice is low and sharp, the kind that doesn’t offer any reassurance. It’s more of an inspection, a demand for answers.

“I’m fine,” I reply quickly, glancing at Sly, who looks just as fine.

“Good,” my mom says, her eyes briefly scanning me again before moving to my twin. She inspects him in much the same way, only having a bit more warmth, making sure there’s no visible damage.

Then, without another word, she shifts her attention to the scene unfolding around us. Fire trucks have finally arrived, and the flames are mostly under control, but the devastation is still palpable.

But my mind can’t focus on the chaos. It keeps going back to the wire. If I’d seen it earlier—the exposed cable near our booth, the one that led to our power source…Maybe if I had…

I swallow hard, trying to push the thought aside, but it lingers, gnawing at me.What if the fire started because of that? What if it was my fault?

I barely register the sounds around me until I hear Chancellor Maxwell’s voice nearby. She’s speaking with a firefighter, and my attention snaps toward them.

“We have one person for sure,” the firefighter says, his voice tired but authoritative. “We’re still searching for others. We’re going through the debris, trying to make sure no one else is trapped. There was a lot of power running through this area tonight.”

I freeze, my stomach dropping at the mention of possible casualties.People could be trapped?The guilt sinks deep, and my thoughts start spiraling.What if it’s my fault?

My father, ever the pragmatic one, turns toward my mother, his face hardening as he overhears the conversation.

“This is exactly why we never wanted you involved in these…artistic pursuits.” My father’s words strike like a fist. The sharpness of his voice, the harshness of his tone—it’s not just an accusation, it’s condemnation. “If you hadn’t insisted on being wrapped up in all of this—whatever thisartnonsense is—we wouldn’t be here right now, watching this mess.”

The words hang in the air, and my stomach twists.Art. I had always known they didn’t understand my passion for it, but hearing them blame it now, so coldly, as if it was the root of all the destruction—it stings in a way I hadn’t expected. My father doesn’t even look at me; his focus is on the bigger picture, the chaos.

My mother finally speaks, her expression tight and clinical as she surveys the scene. She doesn’t even need to look directly at me before she adds her own damning words.

“Your father’s right,” she says flatly, her tone so clipped that it feels like a slap. “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t insisted on getting involved in all these... creative endeavors. You’ve always been reckless, Sutton. Always thinking you can handle it, but look where it’s gotten us.”

The guilt hits me like a physical blow, pressing the air from my lungs. My chest tightens as her words settle in. It’s all my fault.Ipushed for the installation, for the booth, for something bigger. I wanted it to be perfect, to prove that I wasn’t just a Legacy—I wanted to be more. But now it’s gone horribly wrong, and I can’t escape the suffocating thought that if I hadn’t been so persistent, none of this would have happened. If I had just listened. If I had just been more like them—more compliant.

I feel my shoulders sag, feel myself slipping into that old role—the role I’ve always played so well. The one where I just comply, just let things unfold as they’re expected. The role where I swallow my own thoughts, my own voice, and let the world tell me what’s right.This is my fault, I think again, the thought circling like a song stuck on repeat.

I open my mouth to say something—to explain, to argue, topush back—but nothing comes out. My mind goes blank. The words I want to say, the rebuttal I could have given, seem to disappear in the wake of my guilt. What’s the point of speaking when, deep down, I wonder if they’re right? Maybe if I had just stayed out of it, maybe if I had listened to them when they told me not to get involved, maybe…maybe none of this would have happened.

Sly catches my eye, his expression caught somewhere between concern and helplessness, but he doesn’t say anything. Notthat it would really matter. The blame is already mine, and no amount of explanation can change their opinion on that.

I feel myself folding again, because what’s the point? In the end, I’ll always just give in.

My father steps forward, his face a mask of disappointment. “Sutton, we’ve been patient. We’ve allowed you to pursue this…hobby. But it’s time to face reality. You have responsibilities as a Legacy.”

The surge of defiance I feel is nothing but a fleeting spark, wilting instantly under the weight of his gaze. It’s a brief, futile rebellion that crumbles in the face of his piercing scrutiny.

“Have you finally come to your senses?” he asks, his voice dripping with disdain, the superiority in his tone suffocating.

I stand there, crushed by their expectations, the pressure to conform, to fit the perfect mold of the Legacy they’ve always wanted. It threatens to drown me, and I do nothing to stop it.

“Yes,” I say quietly, my eyes moving over the wreckage around me, the chaos, the burning remnants of what I thought could be something real. “I’ll give it up.”

My mother’s face softens for a split second, a rare moment of relief washing over her. “You’ve made the right decision. We’ll get you back on track. Don’t worry.”

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