Page 57 of The Ruthless Rivalry

“Watch where you’re going!” she says with a sneer, pushing past us.

Aubrey whistles lowly. “Wow, what’s got her so hostile this morning? Did the chef slip some decaf into her coffee?”

“Actually, I think it has more to do with Bishop breaking up with her last night,” I say matter-of-factly, not trying to defend her behavior but simply stating the truth.

Aubrey’s eyes go wide, and she grabs my arm in shock. “Wait, why is this the first I’m hearing of this? You’rekiddingme?”

“It’s still early on a Saturday. And I’d still be in bed if I had my way,” I say, shooting her a pointed look.

Aubrey shrugs, unfazed. “I mean, you agreed to help, didn’t you?”

I glare at her. “I was arm-deep in a fountain, Aubrey. I would’ve agreed toanythingif it meant a break from that punishment.”

She waves her hand dismissively. “Okay, okay, I get it. But seriously, what’s this about Bishop and Ophelia? How do you know all this?” She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Wait…howdoyou know?”

I point ahead, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Let’s go this way. I think the billboard is near the back by the lounge seating.”

Aubrey doesn’t let up, falling sharply behind me. “Oh no, we’re not dropping this. Come on, spill.”

I sigh, but keep walking. My mind is still trying to wrap around what happened last night. The same way I’m trying to figure out these conflicting feelings I have for Bishop. It’s easier to just ignore it for now.

We weave through tables and chairs until we reach the far corner of the dining hall. The space beneath the Legacies' private mezzanine is cozy, with plush sofas and chairs arranged around small tables, lamps casting a soft, golden light. The lone piano sits off to the side. It’s a common area meant for students to relax, socialize, or study.

As we walk, I glance around, wondering if any of the Legacies have fallen from the chairs I loosened the screws on after a brief moment of weakness the other day—when I almost sat down to play the piano for the first time in years. Nothing looks broken or out of place, so I assume not—at least, not yet. That’s underwhelming.

I pass by the piano quickly, barely sparing it a glance, but Aubrey doesn’t seem to notice. She’s fully focused now, her voice low and insistent. “Okay, seriously—how do you know about Bishop and Ophelia?”

I glance at her, the words already weighing on my tongue. “I was there when they broke up.”

Aubrey stops in her tracks. “What?”

I keep moving, trying to focus on the path ahead, trying to brush it off. “Bishop had Ophelia convince me to come down to the shoreline last night. He dumped her right in front of me. No warning. Just…done. It was cold. Like he had no feelings at all.”

Aubrey’s expression flickers between disbelief and curiosity. “Wait, hold on. You were there while Bishop broke up with her?”

I nod, keeping my eyes fixed ahead. “Yeah, and it was brutal. He barely even cared.” I hold out my hand. “Poster.”

She hands it over eagerly, wanting to hear more. “And then what happened? Did Ophelia cry and claw his eyes out?” Her shoulders square. “Did she try to clawyoureyes out? I mean, you look okay, so maybe not.”

I sigh, ignoring her theatrics as I tack the paper onto the corkboard.

Her voice softens as she watches me, clearly waiting for more details, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it all. What Bishop did wasn’t nice—no, it was the complete opposite. It was cold, calculated, and cruel. The more I think about it, the more I can’t shake the image of his green eyes, so indifferent, sodismissive. He didn’t even flinch when he did it. No hesitation. No remorse. Just pure, raw power.

And then there’s that twisted part of me that…likedit. The way he just took control, the way he didn’t even care how it affected anyone else. He did it without a second thought, like it was nothing. There was something about it—something dark, something sharp—that stirred something inside me, something I wasn’t ready to face.

I shouldn’t feel like this. It was wrong. Sowrong.

And yet, the feeling lingers.

Aubrey seems to notice my hesitation, watching me closely. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

I take a deep breath, forcing a smile and waving off her concern. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just—” My eyes dart around the dining hall, searching for something to latch onto. “We should hit the natatorium next.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “The natatorium? Really?”

I nod, still avoiding her gaze. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As we make our way toward the door, my mind drifts back to what I’d done last night. The prank. Sylvester had been the target, but it wasn’t just about messing with him. It was about the distraction. I needed something—anything—to focus on other than what happened with Bishop.

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