Page 4 of The Ruthless Rivalry

My father sighs heavily. “We’re just worried about you. After everything that’s happened…”

“Everything that’s happened?” I repeat, sitting up straighter despite my weakness that threatens to overwhelm me. “You mean the things you all keep insistingdidn’thappen?”

Dr. Rodriguez holds up a placating hand. “No one is trying to invalidate your experiences. But trauma can affect our memories in complex ways. It might help to talk to someone who can help you process everything.”

I laugh bitterly. “Process what, exactly? The fact that everyone seems determined to manipulate me into believing their version of events?”

The room falls silent, tension thick in the air. I can see the worry etched on my father’s face, the carefully neutral expression of Dr. Rodriguez, and the slight narrowing of Sutton’s eyes.

“Alex,” Sutton says softly, her voice laced with concern that I’m certain is fake. “We’re all on your side here. No one is trying to trick you.”

I turn to her, unable to keep the anger from my voice. “Really? Then why don’t you tell them how Ireallyended up at the bottom of that pool?”

Sutton’s eyes widen, and then she exhales sharply down her nose. “We’ve already discussed this. You lost your footing and fell. It was a complete accident.”

“An accident,” I repeat, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Right. Because I just happened to slip and fall into an abandoned pool first thing in the morning.”

“That’s enough,” my father interrupts, his voice stern. “Sutton helped you. She’s your friend.”

I laugh again, the sound hollow and bitter. “Friend?” I scoff, if only he knew the truth about our relationship.

Dr. Rodriguez steps forward. “I think you could benefit from some rest.”

“Fine,” I say, my voice flat. “I’ll sleep. But I’m telling the truth.”

I turn away from them, facing the stark white wall of the hospital room. I can feel their eyes on me, hear their worried whispers, but I tune them out. My mind is racing, piecing together fragments of memories that don’t align with their narrative.

The pool. The smell of chlorine. The impact of hitting the ground. The Legacies’ faces through the glass, locking me inside to watch as I struggled. These aren’t hallucinations or trauma-induced delusions. They’re real, vivid, and terrifying.

No. It wasn’t an accident. I’m sure of it.

As I feign sleep, I hear my father and Dr. Rodriguez step out of the room, their hushed voices fading down the hallway. But I can still sense Sutton’s presence, hovering near my bed.

“I know you’re awake,” she whispers, her breath hitting my ear.

I remain still, my eyes closed, fighting the urge to yell at her. My head pounds, but I force my breathing to remain steady.

“You can’t keep this up forever,” Sutton continues, her voice low and threatening. “Sooner or later, you’ll have to accept the truth.Ourtruth. And then you’ll leave for good.”

“The ceremony is tomorrow,” she continues. “And you’ll be there. You’ll smile, you’ll play your part, and you’ll forget all about this…unfortunate incident.”

There’s a pause, and I can almost feel her smirk.

“After all,” she adds, “accidents happen all the time. It would be a shame if another one happened to you—or someone you care about. You have a sister, right? Clara, isn’t it?”

Her words hang in the air, a thinly veiled threat that sends a chill down my spine. I want to lash out, to confront her, but I know that would only make things worse. So I lie there, motionless, as Sutton’s footsteps fade away and the door clicks shut behind her.

Only then do I allow myself to open my eyes. The ceremony tomorrow. It’s all happening so fast, and I feel utterly unprepared. But what choice do I have? Sutton’s threat wasn’t just aimed at me—she implied the person I cared about the most could be in danger too.

I push myself up, wincing at the pain that shoots through my body. Every muscle aches, a constant reminder of what they did to me. But I can’t afford to dwell on the pain now. I need to think, to plan.

I decided to try to piece together what I knew—the Legacies, the secrets, the power they wield over the school. And now, their determination to silence me, to make me doubt my own memories, and ultimately force me to leave.

I glance out the window, noting the fading light. Night is falling, and with it, my chances of escaping unnoticed grow slimmer. If I really wanted to, I could swing my legs off the bed, grab my clothes from the closet, and leave without a word. But isn’t that exactly what they want? For me to leave? No. I can’t letthem win. Not after what they did—bringing my mother into this and now threatening my sister too. No way. They’re going to pay for this. All of them.

My father steps back into the room.

“I got that therapist’s information.” He approaches the bed, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion. “I know this is hard for you. But Dr. Rodriguez thinks it would be good for you to talk to someone. A therapist who specializes in trauma and memory issues.”

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