Page 13 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I turn to head back to my seat, but Chancellor Maxwell’s voice cuts through the noise, drawing all eyes back to her.

“I’ve given you a score of six,” she begins, and I raise an eyebrow. Wait, what? No one else got an explanation. “However…” Her voice lingers on the word, almost theatrical.

However? What now?

“After much reflection,” she continues, the room falling silent as her tone takes on an unusual weight, “I find myself compelled to address a matter of utmost importance.”

Here it comes.

This is it—the moment she’s been waiting to bring up the flag and embarrass me. Great. How am I going to face my father after this?

My lungs tighten as I stand still, not sure whether to sit back down or just freeze where I am. Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze locks onto mine, pinning me in place.

“Miss Prescott,” she says, her tone colder than ever, almost as if she’s had enough of me. “Your performance throughout this evaluation has been nothing short of conflicting. Your blatant disregard for our rules. Your inability to read social cues. Your disrespect and constant mockery of authority have led my colleagues to question your place here. It’s clear you have no intention of conforming to Altair standards. You are a liability to everything we stand for.”

Her words hit me, but I don’t flinch. I just stand there, indifferent to the stares, the judgment in the air. I catch a glimpse of my father. His expression betrays nothing, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. This is his mess too.

Then, just as I start to feel the weight of all those eyes on me, Maxwell’s tone shifts.

“And yet,” she continues, the irritation fading to something oddly close to reluctant respect, “your ingenuity, resourcefulness, and sheer audacity to stand firm to your beliefs, even when it’s clear you’re going against the grain, I find irritating…and strangely admirable. While your methods are…unconventional, they’ve left an impression. One that can’t be ignored.”

She pauses for a moment, and I wonder if this is just the prelude to more punishment.

“It is with this in mind that I find myself compelled to do something I have never done before,” she says, and I stay perfectly still, unsure whether I should be bracing myself for a trap. “I will be adjusting my score.”

A collective gasp ripples through the room. The tension thickens, but I’m too distracted to really care.

Maxwell picks up her card, still showing the ‘6,’ and with deliberate slowness, she rotates it. My eyes flick from the card to her face.

“Nine,” she declares, her voice ringing out in the sudden silence. “An almost-perfect score, as there’s always room for improvement. I must say, I’m curious to see how the rest of your time here at Altair unfolds. Your final tally is 47. Congratulations, Miss Prescott. You’re officially in first place.”

She flashes me a subtle wink as she returns to her seat, and the room explodes into chaos. Whispers shift into shouts, faces go from shock, to outrage, to outright disbelief. But through thenoise, I can barely hear anything—my own thoughts roar too loudly in my head.

First. I’m rankedfirst.

I glance across the room, taking in the flurry of reactions. My father’s face is a study in shock, his eyes wide with something I haven’t seen from him in years.

Bishop.

His gaze is burning, not with the detached apathy I’ve grown used to, but with something darker—fury, perhaps, or just the shadow of the game we’ve been playing. For a moment, I almost expect him to storm across the room and throw me against the wall.

But then, as always, he masks it. His lips curve into a smile that never quite reaches his eyes.

I stand taller, the chaos of the room fading into a background hum.

Sure, I’m everything Maxwell accused me of—defiant, disrespectful, unyielding—but what’s more important now is that I’m still standing.

Still defiant.

Still in control.

Stillhere.

Bishop thinks this is some twisted game, a tit for tat between us. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m not playing. I never wanted to be part of their world. But watching him lose, after everything he’s done to me—the bruises on my back, the concussion throbbing in my skull—it’s a kind of payback I didn’t have to plan. I didn’t want to be part of these games, but in this moment? It feels damn good to know he didn’t come out on top. Even if this is just the beginning.

Chapter 4

Alex

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