Page 54 of The Ruthless Rivalry

At my comment, Bishop flicks the cigarette butt to the side, that all-too-familiar smirk on his face. “Relax, troublemaker. It’s not like that.”

I laugh bitterly. “Really? ’Cause I’m starting to get a pretty clear picture of how this all works.”

The rain continues to beat down on us, but I can’t bring myself to care anymore. This whole situation was a set up, and I’m done pretending it’s anything but. It doesn’t matter what Bishop or Ophelia think they’re getting from this. I’m over it. Overhim.

Bishop lets out a low chuckle, clearly savoring every second of my irritation. His steps are slow and deliberate, as if he’s relishing the discomfort he’s causing. “You don’t have to worryabout me keeping you here long. I know how you feel about water.”

Is he serious? Is he actually enjoying this? Is this all just some kind of entertainment for him?

I can’t tell if I’m irritated by the situation, or if it’s the fact that he looks so amused with himself.

“Just thought you might want to see this.” He waves a hand dismissively in Ophelia’s direction, his tone dripping with nonchalance, like this entire thing is beneath him. A wicked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Then, as if to add insult to injury, he winks at me.

Is he openly flirting with me right now? Or is he just seeing how far he can push me?

I shift my weight, not even trying to hide my indifference. “And why exactly would I care about any of this?”

His smirk widens, and I can see the cold, calculating gleam in his eyes, his gaze still locked on me as though I’m the only thing worth his attention. The words drop from his lips like a careless afterthought. “We’re breaking up, Ophelia.” He says it like he’s ordering a coffee, blunt and uncaring.

Time seems to stretch, and for a brief moment, I watch Ophelia freeze. She doesn’t react right away, her lips parting slightly as if the words haven’t quite registered. The silence hangs there, suffocating, while I too, process what just happened. It’s as if the whole scene suddenly goes in slow motion, everything else around us blurring in comparison.

I snort under my breath, feeling like an unwanted guest at some twisted dinner party, forced into the corner while everyone else continues on with their lives.

I feel it before Ophelia does—the tension in the air, the weight of what just happened. I don’t need to process it; I know exactly what Bishop is capable of. His cruelty is second nature by now.But that doesn’t stop the sting, especially not when he’s so blatant about it.

And then it hits me. It’s like a gut punch, and suddenly, everything clicks into place. This…this is his turn in this fucked-up game of foreplay we’ve been playing. He’s not just breaking up with her. He’s making a show of it—right in front of me. He’s actually flirting with me, in front of her, and he doesn’t give a damn. He’s enjoying this, every last second of it.

I can feel the heat of his gaze, the possessiveness, the arrogance in his posture, like he’s daring me to react, knowing full well that nothing I do will change anything. It’s a game to him, and the fact that I’m caught in the middle of it only adds to the thrill.

Does he expect me to get sucked into this mess?

I can feel the weight of his stare on me, like he’s waiting for me to break, to react the way he wants—like he’s already calculating the exact moment when I’ll give him what he’s looking for. It’s a sick game to him, and somehow, I’m still playing.

I should be disgusted. I should be furious, maybe even feel something more than this twisted mix of annoyance and…something else. There’s a flicker of heat crawling beneath my skin, the kind that makes my stomach turn and my chest tighten.

I’m not supposed to feel this way. I should be appalled by what just happened, but somehow, I feel drawn to it. Or worse, tohim. That sharp, possessive glint in his eyes is enough to make my pulse race, and I hate myself for even noticing it.

I can feel him watching me, studying me, waiting to gauge my next move, like he’s somehow in control. And fuck, maybe he is.

Does he think he’s won already? Does he think I’m going to react to this mess the way he expects? Or is it something else he’s hoping for?

I swallow hard, pushing down the flicker of heat that refuses to die. I want to despise him, Ishoulddespise him. He’s abully. He’s cruel, manipulative, and treats people like pawns in a game he gets off on. But damn it, there’s something about him, something about howeffortlesslyhe commands a room that pulls at something deep in me.

I won’t let him see that, even though Iknowbetter, even though Ishouldbe disgusted by everything about him, there’s this twisted part of me that’s just…not.

Does he want me to beg him to stop? To ask for his attention? To get sucked into his pathetic little drama and show I care?

No.

I’m not that weak. I won’t let him break me. Even if his words and his gaze—that goddamn look in his eyes—make it so hard to stay indifferent.

I can’t even wrap my head around what just happened. He’s literally just broken up with Ophelia right in front of me. Right here. Right now. He’s not even trying to hide the fact that this is messed up. His cruelty doesn’t seem to bother him at all. And Ophelia? She’s standing there, silent, not fully processing what he’s just done. Howshe’sthe actual pawn in this stupid back-and-forth between us, not me.

Ophelia is paralyzed, Bishop’s face unreadable, and me, stuck somewhere between disbelief and indifference. I can almost hear her thoughts screaming, trying to piece together how she’s been caught in this messed-up triangle.

Ophelia stands frozen for a long moment, her lips trembling as she tries to process the words Bishop just delivered. Her eyes dart between him and me, and it’s almost like a switch flips in her head. For a brief second, there’s a flicker of disbelief, then her face hardens, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and hurt. A sharp, bitter laugh escapes her lips, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You think this is funny, Bishop?” she spits, her voice shaking with barely contained rage. “You think it’s a fucking joke tohumiliate me in front of—” She cuts herself off, her eyes darting over to me with a dangerous glint. “In front ofmudslide?”

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