Page 39 of The Ruthless Rivalry

“Hey, Victoria?” I call out, keeping my voice neutral.

She sighs loudly and turns, hands already on her hips. “What now?”

I lie. “My room’s had this… smell lately. Like something’s crawling through the vents and died.” I gesture vaguely toward the ceiling. “Is there a way to access the pipes or grates? Like, to clean them out or whatever?”

Victoria scoffs, clearly annoyed. “You’re welcome to try. Maintenance barely touches anything in our building, so if you wanna scrub grime out of decade-old ducts, knock yourself out.” She starts walking away again, but pauses long enough to add, “Just don’t break anything. I’m not dealing with the paperwork and I’ll have to write you up.”

I raise an eyebrow, keeping my tone casual, but pushing just a little. “Yeah, of course. But, like, what’s the best way to get to the grates without causing too much damage? You know, so I don’t make more work for you?”

She shoots me a side-eye, but begrudgingly answers. “You just twist the edges of the grates—no big deal. As for the main pipe system… you’ll find the access hatch in the basement. Don’t expect it to be clean though. It’s a maze down there.”

“Got it,” I say, giving her a nod as she walks off, clearly done with the conversation.

I let the silence settle around me again.

Sylvester’s words echo in my mind.Sometimes we have to make compromises… let things slide if it means we get things in return.

I had. I let the fountain incident slide—not for them, but because it had affected my friend too. And I wasn't about to let her suffer just so I could make a point. That was my compromise. But that didn’t mean I was giving in. Not the way Sylvester had. Not the way the Legacies do.

The professors, the system—they’re all in on it. They look the other way, give passes, and in return, they get access—grades, resources, control. And they let the rest of us play along, scraping by just to stay in the game.

I tell myself I’m exhausted—and maybe I am. Maybe I should crawl into bed and pretend tomorrow might be better. But something about Victoria’s flippant little dismissal sparks something in me.

A different kind of energy surges beneath my skin. Cold. Focused. Familiar.

I tug my hoodie up over my ears and head back outside, the door clicking shut behind me with a quiet finality.

Across the courtyard, the Legacy dorm buildings sit like monuments in the dark—polished on the outside, rotting at the core.

My eyes drift over each one, slow and deliberate. And then I smile.

Let’s see how they like the smell of compromise.

Chapter 9

Alex

As the clouds hung heavy in the overcast sky on this gloomy Friday morning, I’m almost to the shoreline, waiting for Atlas to arrive and begin our Oceanic Reflection class. The sooner it starts, the sooner I can finish the last of my punishment. I’m certain today will be the final day of the tedious task. The stone basins, weathered and rough to the touch, have absorbed hours of scrubbing over the past week. Its coarse surface seems to mock me with every stroke, and after days of cleaning their jagged edges, I can honestly say I never want to touch another fountain again in my life.

A yawn slips out before I can stop it, the kind that clings to your bones after a long night. Even after a hot shower, I swear I can still smell the faint, chemical tang of rust and something sharper—like whatever clung to the vents had decided to cling to me, too. Luckily, the rancid stench didn’t linger—though considering the cocktail I crammed into those ducts, it’s honestly a miracle. I raided the dining hall for anything that wouldn’t survive the night without refrigeration—milk, eggs, some blue cheese, that weird seafood medley no one ever touches. And just to be petty, I added a bottle of stagnant water from one of the fountains. If I had to suffer scrubbing it, they could breathe it in.

The air’s already starting to turn crisp in the mornings, which means the dorms will be cranking up the heat any day now. When that happens—when the warm air kicks through the vents and pushes that rot into every corner—they’re really going to notice.

It was payback. But also… not. Not really.

Because compared to what they did to me—what theylethappen—this barely even counts.

It wasn’tthemove. It wasn’t the endgame. Just a placeholder. Something to fill the space while I worked through what real justice would look like. Something to remind them I’m still here, still breathing, still not giving up.

This wasn’t forgiveness. This was a warning.

As I approach, something shifts in the air. Conversations stop mid-sentence, and it’s like the entire class collectively holds its breath. The usual hushed whispers fall into complete silence.

I don’t think much of it at first. After all, I’m used to this by now. I’m not exactly well-liked here. But something feels different this time. What stands out, though, is the smug smirk plastered across Ophelia’s face.

My eyes narrow in suspicion. Something’s off.

“What’s going on?” I demand, cutting straight to the point as I stop in the center of the group.

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