Page 53 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Before I can even think, Sylvester opens his mouth, his voice dripping with annoyance as he shoots a look at her. “Ophelia, you can’t—”

I cut him off, not in the mood to hear whatever he’s about to say. I can make my own decisions. Stepping forward, I address her directly, my voice flat and matter-of-fact. “I’ll help.”

“You will?” Sylvester’s voice is thick with surprise, just as Ophelia’s expression shifts into something calculating and smug.

“I’m sure you will, won’t you? Such agoodlittle plant girl,” she says, her words dripping with forced politeness.

I squint at her, something about the way she’s speaking is too rehearsed, too insincere. It doesn’t sit right with me, but the last thing I need right now is to leave someone hanging. Even if this feels off, I can’t ignore the possibility that someone might actually need help.

My eyes tighten. “Do you need the help or not?”

Sylvester’s gaze flicks between me and Ophelia, uncertainty clearly written on his face. “Alex, are you sure you want to do this? I just came from the shoreline, and—”

Before he can finish, Ophelia steps in, her voice smoother now. “You know, it’s really good of you to be so willing to help,” she says. “I mean, who else could handle it but you, right? You wouldn’t want anything to happen to someone, especially not with that much expertise under your belt.” She lets the words hang in the air, eyes glinting with that familiar condescension.“You wouldn’t let someone suffer when you have the power to fix it.”

The pressure in her words lingers, and I force myself not to react. I know exactly what she’s doing, she’s trying to guilt-trip me into agreeing without thinking it through. But I won’t back out now, not when someone could be in real danger. That’s where we’re different.

The rest of the Legacies—especially Bishop—would cut someone down without a second thought, leaving them to sink just to prove a point. But I’m not like that. I don’t walk away when someone’s in trouble. I deal with it.

“I’ll help,” I say again, my voice steady but sharp.

Sylvester immediately steps forward. “I’ll come with you.”

“No,” I interrupt. “I can handle it myself.”

I turn back to Ophelia, who’s been watching the exchange with an almost predatory grin. Her eyes narrow just a bit, but the smile doesn’t waver. Without a word, she grabs my arm, tugging me firmly toward the edge of the awning.

I’m almost taken off guard by her sudden forcefulness, but I don’t resist. The rain is coming down in sheets now, and Ophelia seems intent on dragging me out into the downpour whether I like it or not.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, her voice clipped. “Come on, don’t want to waste time in the rain.”

Wasn’t she the one who complained and threw a fit over her shoes and blazer getting ruined by a few drops of water during our first Oceanic Reflection class? Now she couldn’t care less?

The rain soaks through my clothes almost instantly as we step out from under the awning, and I can’t help but feel a flicker of annoyance at the way she’s practically pushing me forward, as if I don’t have a choice in the matter. But I swallow it down. This is what I signed up for, after all. What I agreed to—despite the factthat it’ll probably end with me on the wrong end of some joke. The kind that never lands in my favor.

As we set off across the rain-soaked campus, the two of us no doubt make an odd procession—Ophelia leading the way with quick, purposeful strides, me trailing behind her.

“Over here,” she calls, and leads us away from the surprisingly decent crowd of students who don’t seem to mind the rain. But I guess if you’ve gone here long enough, the rain sort of becomes like a constant companion, the type that you might grow weary of at first, but over time, you learn to coexist with and even maybe find comfort in its unending presence.

Ophelia continues to guide us past a few firepits in the sand, now reduced to smoldering embers since the downpour. We continue down the shoreline until we reach a spot near the rocky water’s edge, far away from the main group.

A dense scent of cigarette smoke immediately fills my nostrils, the sharp smell is a stark contrast to the lingering scent of burning logs we had passed earlier.

As I draw in a breath, the unmistakable scent of smoldering tobacco stings my nose, and everything clicks into place. I should’ve known. Of course Bishop had a hand in this. I wasn’t fooled—I knew this was a bad idea, but I figured there was a chance someone might actually need help. But here I was, dragged out in the rain like some pawn in their little game. It’s a set-up, and I’m more frustrated at myself than I would ever admit.

I look over at Ophelia, who’s already a few steps ahead, but her smug little smile isn’t lost on me. She knows exactly what’s going on. My stomach tightens, a mix of frustration and disbelief.

“Really?” I mutter, and Ophelia catches it. She looks over her shoulder at me, a little too pleased with herself.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her tone light, as if she isn’t fully aware of the situation she’s just dragged me into. “Don’t you want to help someone who needs it?”

My eyes shift down the shoreline, looking for the figure I already know is lurking in the shadows. Sure enough, there’s Bishop standing near the rocks, his silhouette almost blending into the night, if not for the cigarette dangling lazily from his fingers.

I turn toward her, my irritation no longer bothering to stay under wraps. “This is ridiculous,” I snap. “You dragged me out here in the rain with some lame excuse about helping someone? Do you really not see that he’s just using you?”

She shrugs, the motion casual, like she couldn’t care less. The lack of concern in her expression makes my frustration flare. Of course, why would she care if Bishop manipulates her? He gets what he wants, and she’s eager to play along.

“You wanted me here, Bishop?” I say, my tone flat and unamused. “Well, you’ve got me. Hope it was worth dragging me out in the rain.” I add, not bothering to mask how annoyed I am because at this point, what’s the difference?

---