Page 31 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Blair looks vaguely interested for a moment, her chin resting on her hand. “A dunk tank? That sounds like something they’d try.”

Dad chuckles at the idea, but Mom, ever the strategist, leans in. “It could be fun if they pull it off. But knowing Sylvester, it’ll probably turn into a fiasco.” She waves a hand, dismissing it. “Although, something like that would certainly stir up some attention.”

“Speaking of attention…” Dad stretches the words out, as though testing the waters. “It was nice finally meeting Magnus the other day. You know, after hearing so much about him over the years.” His tone is light, almost too casual, but I would be a fool to believe it’s all innocent.

Mom’s gaze sharpens slightly, knowing it too. “Magnus Prescott?” She tilts her head, like a cat sizing up its prey. “I suppose it was inevitable I’d cross paths with him eventually.”

I can feel my jaw tighten at the mention of that name. The name of the man who abandoned his team—my mother included—during the Altair games. I don’t say anything. Instead, I just focus on the glass in front of me, willing my grip to loosen around its base.

“What about his daughter, though? Alex, right? How’s she doing after that fall she took?”

The mention of Prescott hits like a jolt of electricity in the room. My grip tightens around my glass, knuckles nearly white as I fight to keep my cool. Mom’s gaze sharpens, though for different reasons. She’s always had an eye for anything that could reflect on her own legacy at Altair. Alex’s every move is a reflection of the Prescott name, and right now, that’s the last thing I want to talk about.

Blair, sensing the shift in the air, perks up with a sly smile. “Alex? You mean the girl Bishop can’t stop complaining about?I’m sure she’s a real gem, but she can’t be any worse than Ophelia.”

I feel my jaw tighten, the air around me cooling. “I’m notalwaystalking about her,” I snap.

Blair doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a grin that’s almost mischievous. “Really? Because if I had a dollar for every time you mentioned her name, I could probably buy a mansion next door to this one.”

Mom raises an eyebrow, but Blair doesn’t break eye contact, a challenge hanging between us. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and I can feel my irritation bubbling to the surface.

So what if Prescott’s been consuming my thoughts more than anyone should ever admit? It’s not like I’m some lovesick idiot. I want her gone—out of Altair, out of my life. She’s a problem I need to eliminate, but every time I see her, it’s like an itch I can’t scratch.

That night outside the natatorium, though… Fuck. That moment sticks with me like a goddamn poison.

Her face so close, eyes daring me to make a move. My body betrayed me, yet again. She doesn’t even know how close she came to being fucked up against that wall. My blood was burning, a wildfire, and it took everything I had to hold back. All because my stupid body wasn’t listening—hadn’t been listening—since she showed up in my life.

I swear I could feel her breath even now…the heat between us, my cock hardening like it knew what I really wanted. That almost kiss… I couldn’t even move. I had been frozen, caught between the fight for control and the need I couldn’t deny in that moment.

Prescott all but dared me with those notes. Notes she knew I’d find in her mailbox. Each of them tangled with hints of all the shit she’s into, the kind of stuff that makes a guy like me lose his fucking mind. Was any of it even true? Or was she just fuckingwith me, messing with my head because she knew it would get to me?

Either way, it worked.

It’s like she wanted me to unravel, to let the bastard inside me take over. That twisted edge she showed, the dirty shit she tried to hide—it’s crawling under my skin, screwing with my thoughts. I can’t even tell if I want to be angry at her for playing this game, or if I’m just pissed at myself for letting it get to me. But still…I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about my little troublemaker.

Blair’s voice pulls me back into the moment, her words slicing through the fog of my thoughts with pinpoint accuracy. “Seriously, though, can she really be worse than Ophelia? At least Alex has…charisma. Or more than two brain cells to rub together and better at pondering something besides shoes and designer labels.”

Before I can respond, my mother’s voice cuts in, smooth and cold. “How would you know, darling? You refuse to attend Altair, remember?”

Blair’s expression falters for just a second, the bite of her own words suddenly losing its edge.

Dad, ever the peacemaker, offers a soft chuckle. “Well, at least you don’t have to deal with any of this mess, huh?” He shoots Blair a playful grin, trying to steer things back to safer territory.

Blair, however, doesn’t back down, her head tilts slightly as she leans forward. “You’re right. I don’t have to deal with the Legacy drama—but I’m also not stuck in a never-ending loop of watching people like Ophelia prance around thinking they’re the next big thing.”

Mom’s gaze sharpens, her tone clipped. “Enough. You’ll have plenty of time to focus onyourfuture when you decide to stop avoiding it.”

Blair bites back a retort, but I can see the way her jaw tightens. She’s frustrated, not just with the world, but with our mother’s unyielding push to follow a certain path.

“I’m not avoiding it,” Blair mutters, though I can tell she’s not entirely convinced of her own words. She fidgets slightly, the words coming out a little jumbled as she tries to gather her thoughts. “I just don’t need our last name to feel like I’m somebody.”

The silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. My own thoughts flicker back to Prescott, to the way she’s wormed her way into my mind, making me think things I’ve never thought about before.

Mom sighs, her voice softening but still firm. “The world doesn’t care what you want, Blair. It’s what you’re expected to do. You’re letting them win by avoiding it. The fear, the noise, the crowds…they make you feel small; they make you hide. But you’re an Ashbourne. You don’t let fear dictate your life.”

She leans forward, her gaze unwavering, her words carrying the familiar weight of expectation. “Challenging yourself—showing the world who you really are—that’s how you win. Not by running away from what scares you.”

For a moment, there’s only the weight of her gaze, pressing down on me with everything she hasn’t said. There’s love there too, wrapped up in the steel of her words. Our mother is trying to protect her, even if my sister doesn’t always see it that way.

---