Page 25 of The Ruthless Rivalry

“Tomorrow,” Simmons grunts. “Five o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”

As I turn to leave, he adds, his voice low and gravelly, “And bring clothes you don’t care about. That dye? It’ll stain your skin for days. You’ll be lucky if you get it out at all.”

I force myself to nod again, my teeth clenched so tightly I can feel the ache in my jaw.

As I step out of Simmons’ office, the weight of it all crashes down on me—Clara, the punishment, the humiliation. I was stuck.

Not because I couldn’t leave. I could. I could pack up, vanish.

But I wouldn’t.

Because that’s exactly what they wanted.

The Legacies wanted me gone. They wanted me to snap, to disappear, to prove I never belonged here in the first place. And maybe I didn’t—but I’d be damned if I gave them the satisfaction.

So yeah, I was stuck. Out of spite. Out of pure, petty, white-hot spite.

And I could feel the rage simmering just below the surface, knowing I’d be spending my days covered in dye and my weekends unable to reach the only person who actually mattered.

I hate everything about this stupid school.

Chapter 6

Alex

“Alright, that’s enough for tonight.” Groundskeeper Simmons grunts in my direction.

I straighten up slowly, my back aching from hours of scrubbing. At this rate my bruises were going to have bruises.

The sun has long since set, and the only light comes from the harsh fluorescents illuminating the fountain area. My hands are pruned and raw, stained a faint pink, despite the thick rubber gloves I’m wearing.

“Same time tomorrow,” Simmons adds, already turning away. “And don’t forget to lock up the supply closet.”

I watch him trudge off into the darkness, waiting until he’s out of sight before letting out a frustrated groan. Two days of this, and we’ve barely made a dent in the cleanup. At this rate, I’ll be here until graduation.

“And to think, I didn’t believe you could get any dirtier,” Ophelia’s voice slices through the evening air.

Just what I needed on top of an already disastrous night. I still had to get back to my room, wash off the dye, and somehow find enough energy to meet Alfie at Club Bedlam. As if I didn’t already feel like I’d been through the wringer.

“My scrubbing abilities must be as impressive as your ability to pick a fight with anyone who crosses your path.” With a forced smile, I pull off my gloves. Truthfully, I’m not in the mood for this. Her snarky comments are the cherry on top of a very unpleasant sundae.

Ophelia glares, her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a tight line. “At least I have people who care about me. What’s your excuse? Too busy playing janitor to have anyone in your life who’d do anything for you?”

I hold my tongue, reminding myself that giving in to her would only make it worse. Instead, I focus on gathering up the cleaning supplies, my muscles protesting with every movement.

“You know,” she continues, her tone oozing false sweetness, “if you just learned your place, things would be so much easier for you here.”

Ugh. She’s like a headache wrapped in a designer label.

I can’t help the scoff that escapes me. “And where exactly is my place, Ophelia? Just below your ego, right?”

Her smirk widens. “Don’t you get it? You’re already there.”

The urge to throw the bucket of dirty water at her is strong, but I swallow it down. I’ve gotten in enough trouble already. Thanks to her boyfriend Bishop and the other Legacies.

I take a deep breath, reminding myself to stay cool. “You’re right. I am beneath you. So far beneath you that I can actually see just how empty and pathetic your little world is. And honestly? I’ve got better things to do with my life than waste another second on someone who thinks cruelty is a personality trait.”

“At least I’m not the one stuck scrubbing fountains after hours,” she sneers.

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