Page 36 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Sylvester takes a deep breath, the slight twitch of his lip giving away the crack in his calm demeanor. He takes a moment, clearly weighing his response.

“You think it’s that simple, huh?” His tone drops slightly. “I’m trying to help you pass, so O’Donnelly doesn’t come in and make thisworsefor both of us.”

I tilt my head, flashing him a smirk. “Worse forbothof us?”

He leans back in a huff. “You don’t get it. I’m just trying to keep this from being worse than it has to be.”

I pause, eyes narrowing slightly as I study him, noticing the tension in his shoulders. For a split second, I almost feel bad. Almost. Then I remember how I still wince sometimes when I sit down or how my back knots up if I move too quickly. A twelve-foot fall onto my back wasn’t exactly easy to shake off. Hell, I’m lucky it wasn’t worse.

“Guess I didn’t realize you were soselfless,Sylvester,” I say, my tone laced with a touch of reluctant sympathy that even surprises me. There was no way I was feeling sorry for this guy, right? Right.

I glance at him, watching as his expression flickers as if he’s holding something back.

I let out a quiet exhale, already sure I was going to regret this. “The main building of Altair was originally designed by a group of scholars in the late 1800s to house both the university’s administrative offices and its central library. Later, the library was moved to a separate building, and the main structure was converted to classrooms, giving it a more academic feel. The architecture combines both Neo-Gothic and Romanesque elements, clearly visible in the high vaulted ceilings and the intricate stonework at the entrance.”

I gesture toward the image in the textbook. “And if you look at the foundation, you’ll see that it was deliberately built on a higher elevation—some say to symbolize the intellectual rise of those who would study here. Even the front steps were meant to represent the journey one must take to gain knowledge.”

I pause for a second, then give him a wry smile. “So yeah, I’ve been paying attention.”

I glance at Sylvester, noticing a hint of approval in his gaze?

“Impressive,” O’Donnelly’s voice suddenly rings out from behind us.

We both turn, and my gaze lands on the professor standing in the doorway. There’s a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes, but something else too. Suspicion, maybe? She steps forward with that same purposeful stride, as if every move is calculated to take control of the room.

“I overheard your lesson, Miss Prescott,” O’Donnelly says, her smile curling with something that almost resembles amusement, but there’s a sharper edge to it. “Not bad at all. But then again I always knew you weresmart, Mr. Oliveri,” she adds, her gaze lingering on him a bit too long.

Okay,weird.

Her eyes flick over to me, and I can feel the air shift. Sylvester looks…nervous? Grossed out? Fidgety? All of the above. “But of course, I’m sure you know just how bright Sylvester is.”

What is going on right now?

O’Donnelly gives a small, casual wave of her hand. “Alex, go ahead and grab me a chair, would you?”

Sylvester opens his mouth immediately, rising from his seat. “You can have mine, Professor.”

O’Donnelly raises an eyebrow at him, a flicker of irritation flashing in her eyes before her smile tightens. “No need for that, Sylvester,” she purrs, her voice both sweet and cold. “Just a chair for me, please, Alex.”

I rise from my seat and grab another chair from behind the curtain and then sit back down.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say O’Donnelly’s acting like a jealous girlfriend, then immediately remind myself howridiculous that sounds. The only other person I’ve seen act possessively like that is Ophelia whenever Bishop’s around.

Bishop.

I catch myself clenching my jaw. I can’t stand him—every little thing about him disgusts me. I want him to suffer, to feel the weight of everything he’s done to me. No, I don’t just want that—I want to destroy him. Completely. Make him regret ever crossing me. But wanting it isn’t enough. I need to figure outhowto hurt him—really hurt him.

“Do you not know the answer?” Professor O’Donnelly asks, snapping me from my thoughts.

I blink, looking up at her. “Uh, could you repeat that?” I ask.

She quirks a smile and repeats the question without hesitation. This time, the answer comes to me almost immediately, and I respond without missing a beat.

“Correct,” she says, her smile still faint but laced with something subtle, like a touch of approval that feels almost patronizing. “Very good, Sylvester’s tutelage seems to have paid off,” she adds, her voice sweet but with a definite undercurrent of something else. “You must have learned well from him, hmmm?”

Her praise, though directed at Sylvester, makes my stomach churn. I knew these things from my own study, not because of him. But then, as she speaks, I suddenly feel something—a soft brush of skin against my bare ankle. I hadn’t bothered to change out of my pajama shorts when I stormed out of my dorm room, so my legs are still exposed. At first, it’s subtle, almost like an accident, but the longer it continues, the more unsettling it becomes.

At first, I try to ignore it, focusing on her next question. But every time she speaks, the sensation lingers, slow but deliberate. I glance over at Sylvester, but he’s engrossed in his textbook,flipping through pages to confirm my answer. He doesn’t give the slightest indication that anything unusual is happening.

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