Page 118 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I let out a small, pained chuckle at that, trying to lighten the moment, though it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s hard to laugh when all I can think about is how I wasn’t there when he needed me most.

I glance down at the top hat in my hands. Alfie’s hat. It’s missing the ribbon that usually wrapped around the brim, and the edges are singed, remnants of the fire still clinging to it. I’d fought to keep it with me when the paramedics rushed him away, determined not to leave a piece of him behind.

I extend the hat toward them, my hands trembling slightly. “This belonged to Alfie,” I say quietly, my voice breaking ever so slightly. “I thought he might want it back when he wakes up.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald takes it from my hands with delicate care, her fingers brushing over the scorched fabric, lingering on the places where the flames had kissed it. “Thank you,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes glistening with tears she’strying so desperately to hold back. “He loves this hat. It’s his lucky charm.”

The wordluckyfeels like a punch to the gut.Luckydoesn’t seem to fit Alfie’s situation right now. I can’t help but feel guilty. Maybe if I’d been there—maybe if I hadn’t been so caught up in everything else, I could’ve helped.

I clear my throat, fighting the lump in my chest. “I’ll let you have some family time,” I say, stepping back slowly, giving them space.

We exchange a few awkward, strained goodbyes, and I turn to go back to my dorm, but something tugs at me. I can’t shake the thought that I need to go back to the tent.I need to find the ribbon,I think suddenly, the desire to make it right, to make up for the distance I’d kept earlier, gnawing at me. I know it’s a small thing, but it feels like the least I can do.

The charred remnants of the tent flap weakly in the night breeze, the acrid smell of smoke still clinging to the air. What was once a grand structure, vibrant with life, now stands as a blackened skeleton against the night sky. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the faint rustling of burnt fabric and the occasional crackle of something shifting in the wreckage. Caution tape marks the area, a futile boundary to keep people away from the destruction. But I slip under it without hesitation. There’s no one else around. No one else who would understand why I’m here, why I feel the need to find something—anything.

I scan the debris, the once-pristine carnival grounds now reduced to jagged edges and ashen remains. The heat of the fire lingers in my skin, but I force myself to keep going.

It doesn’t matter how pointless this is, it’s something. It’s something to keep my mind from spiraling, from returning to the crushing guilt.

The ground beneath me is littered with fragments of broken glass, burnt scraps of fabric, and splintered wood. Each step Itake sends a quiet crunch through the rubble, the sound too loud in the eerie silence. Moonlight filters through the blackened canopy, casting long, ghostly shadows that stretch and writhe like tendrils, reminding me of how everything once seemed alive—alive with laughter, excitement, and…Alfie. Now it’s just a shell.

I crouch down, my eyes scanning the ground, hoping to find something familiar in the ruin. I spot a glint of metal in the dirt, barely visible through the layer of soot. A small brass button, its intricate design untouched by the flames, sits among the debris. I reach for it, my fingers brushing over its smooth surface, marveling at how something so delicate managed to survive the inferno.

I pick it up and hold it in my palm for a moment, its cold weight grounding me. I toss it back at first, thinking it’s useless, but then I hesitate. Something about it feels too significant, too much like Alfie to leave behind. He’d have kept it. He was always collecting things others dismissed as unimportant, little trinkets that told stories only he could understand.

I slip the button into my pocket and rise to my feet, my eyes still scanning the remnants of the tent. There’s no sign of the ribbon—the one thing I came for. Of course it’s gone. It was small, insignificant in the grand scheme of things, I remind myself, but a part of me still hopes. I don’t even know why I’m here anymore. This task feels almost pointless, but it’s the only thing keeping me from being swallowed up by the weight of everything that’s happened.

I take a few more steps forward, my shoes crunching over the ashes, the ground beneath me uneven and fragile. The silence presses down on me, suffocating in its emptiness. The remnants of the carnival feel like a ghost town—empty, lifeless, but full of memories I can’t escape.

Then, something catches my eye. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. A piece of fabric, small and fluttering, caught in the breeze. I step closer. Maybe it’s the ribbon after all.

I stretch my hand out, reaching for it, but the wind shifts again, and the fabric slips from my grasp. I watch helplessly as it flutters away, carried by the breeze, too far for me to reach. It drifts across the charred ground before landing atop an object sitting in the center of the tent’s ruins, where the main area used to be, now just a hollowed-out shell.

I stare at it, disbelief washing over me. No. It can’t be. But even in the dark, I know what I see. It’s too familiar. My stomach drops as I take a step forward.It’s my botany notebook.

The one Bishop had stolen, the one he’d bargained with me over just tonight. The one thing I’ve wanted back, the one thing I’d never expected to find here, in the wreckage of everything.

I don’t think, I just move. I kneel, my hands shaking as I pick it up, feeling the weight of it in my palms. Rage bubbles up inside me, hot and sharp, like acid crawling through my veins. I flip it open, desperate to confirm what I already know is inside.

The pages are torn, jagged, clearly ripped out. A cold, suffocating knot tightens in my chest, and my breath catches. The familiar pain of betrayal sinks into my bones.

I feel my pulse pounding, my fingers gripping the torn edges so tight I’m sure I’ll tear the charred paper completely in half. Anger bubbles up inside me, sharp and raw, like acid crawling through my veins.

I should’ve known.

It’s been like this with him from the beginning. Bishop had played with me, twisted my mind, turned me inside out. Confused me, made me doubt myself, made me believe I was the problem. Every time I stood up to him, he made me feel like I was losing.

No more.

I should’ve known better. He’s always crossed the line, always taken whatever he wanted without care for anyone else. But this—this was different. He crossed a line I can’t forgive. I don’tknowfor certain it was him—but I might as well. The notebook was here, in the ashes, ripped apart and half-burned. And Bishop? He’s the only one who’s ever had a reason to hurt me like this. Whether he set the fire on purpose, or torched my notebook in a fit of rage and let the flames take the tent by accident—it doesn’t matter. He destroyed something that mattered to me, and he did it knowing exactly what it would cost.

The rage inside me intensifies, pulsing through my chest with every breath. I want to scream, want to destroy something, but I hold it in, keep it contained. The last thing I need is to completely lose control. But god, it feels like I’m teetering on the edge.

I push myself to my feet, my legs unsteady with the force of the anger churning in my gut. Without thinking, I start moving, pushing through the charred remnants of the tent, my footsteps purposeful, faster now. I don’t even know where I’m going—I just need to find him. I need to confront him.

I’ll make it right.

I don’t care what happens next. The notebook clenched tightly in my hand is the only thing grounding me, a reminder of what he’s done and everything I’m about to do in return. It’s the only thing I can think about now—making himpayfor what he’s done, for everything he’s ruined.

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