Page 24 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I swallow, keeping my voice even. “I understand, Chancellor. It won’t happen again.” Though I can’t be certain that’s exactly true.

“You’re right,” she replies, her tone as aloof as the look in her eyes. “It won’t. Because as of this moment, you will be losing all phone privileges and any future letters from family members.”

Wait. What?

“Consider this a necessary consequence,” she continues, leaning back in her chair, completely composed. “Perhaps now you’ll learn that your actions here at Altair, have real repercussions.”

I wouldn’t hear Clara’s voice. I wouldn’t get her letters. And for what? Because I was set up yet again? My fingers drifted instinctively to the necklace around my neck—the one Clara made for me. How was she going to manage without me? What would she do if something happened?

I lean forward, my voice coming out sharp and low. “Chancellor, please. I get punishment, but cutting off all contact? That’s going too far.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought about the consequences before damaging university property.”

I lean in further, pushing against the words in my throat. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I was set up—”

“Enough,” Maxwell snaps, cutting me off. “The decision has already been made. There is too much evidence against you.”

I grind my teeth, my knuckles turning white against the arms of the chair. “How long?”

Maxwell looks me dead in the eyes, her voice firm and unwavering. “Until I decide it’s appropriate for you to have that luxury back. And given your history, that might be a while.”

“Is that all, Chancellor?” I ask, my voice tight.

She regards me for a moment, a flicker of sympathy in her gaze before it hardens again. “For now, yes. But consider this your final warning. One more incident like this, and you could be facing expulsion. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” I reply, standing up.

As I turn to leave, Chancellor Maxwell’s voice halts me. “Oh, and Miss Prescott? I expect you to report to Groundskeeper Simmon’s office immediately after this meeting. He has some…concerns he’d like to discuss with you.”

I choke down my exhale. “Where?”

Maxwell doesn’t even bother looking up from checking the time on her watch, clearly done with the conversation. She peeks over the top of her glasses, her tone flat. “It’s just north of the art building. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”

My face burns with a mix of fresh anger and humiliation. The art building. Of course, she had to bring that up. Like I needed another reminder of why I’m stuck in this mess.

I storm out of her office. The walk to the groundskeeper’s office feels like a punishment in itself, each step heavier than the last. My mind spins with what else she’s lined up for me. By the time I reach the small, rundown building, my palms are slick with sweat. Could this morning get any worse?

I raise my hand to knock. “Come in,” a gruff voice calls from inside.

As I enter the room, the air is thick with the scent of dirt and something pungent I can’t quite place. Groundskeeper Simmons sits hunched over his cluttered desk, his gnarled hands rifling through papers. His face is weathered and permanently set in a scowl, as if the years have etched irritation into every wrinkle. When I enter, he doesn’t greet me—just glances up, his eyes narrowing like he’s sizing me up for a fight. And given how my last few days have gone, he wouldn’t be entirely wrong.

“So you’re the one responsible for dying the water in the fountains red?” His voice is gruff, and his gaze doesn’t soften. “Maxwell mentioned you’d be stopping by.”

No. “Yes.”

Simmons leans back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight. “Well, well. Looks like we’ve got ourselves a rebel on our hands.”

I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to defend myself. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. I just lost contact with the person I care about most, so what did it even matter?

“You know how long it’s gonna take to clean those fountains?” he asks, his voice gruff. “Days. And that’s not counting the damage you caused to the pumps.”

I remain silent so this can be over that much sooner.

“The Chancellor says you’re to help with the cleanup,” Simmons continues. “I’ll expect you here every day after classes until the job’s done. And believe me, it ain’t gonna be pretty.”

My lungs feel as if they could collapse in on themselves. As if losing contact with Clara wasn’t bad enough, now I’ll be spending my evenings elbow-deep in red-dyed water.

I nod, resigned to my fate. “When do we start?”

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