Page 62 of The Ruthless Rivalry

This was Bishop, after all. The same guy who had been tormenting me since I set foot at Altair. The one who’d tricked me into walking into the natatorium not that long ago. I could still remember the cold, eerie silence as the door slammed shut, trapping me inside. The isolation had gnawed at me—no one stopped to save me, not even when I pounded on the glass, yelling for help.

That was Bishop for you. Leading a twisted game where I was always the prize.

I felt the anger rise, sharp and hot, pushing back the confusing warmth that had no business being there. There was no room for weakness. Not now. Not with him.

I straightened up, my voice sharp as I regained control. “Why are you here?” I demand, my tone challenging.

Bishop didn’t seem in any rush to answer. Instead, his gaze wandered over me again, not hiding his blatant admiration. “I’m here to pick you up,” he said, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

“Pick me up?” I repeated, still a little lost at how things were suddenly taking such an odd turn.

“Yeah,” he said casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “You owe me. For yesterday, remember?” He pauses, giving me a look that made my insides tighten. “I told you I’d pick you up.”

A memory from yesterday in our Oceanic Reflection class hit me—our one-sided conversation where he claimed I owed him. For what, I was still unsure, but it didn’t really matter. He was so stubborn, always expecting things to go his way and never bothering to consider anyone else’s perspective.

I snapped out of the memory quickly, glaring at him as I crossed my arms tighter. “Can’t,” I clip out, unaffected. “I have other plans.”

Bishop’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. I caught the slight tension in his jaw and the brief flicker of his gaze.

“Other plans?” he repeated, a quiet edge in his voice.

I stepped back, opening the door wider, letting him see more of the room. “Yeah,” I said, reaching for my jacket. “Aubrey and I are heading out to a party.”

At that, Bishop’s posture eased slightly. It wasn’t much, but his shoulders dropped just enough to show he wasn’t about to push. It was probably the closest thing to relaxing he’d ever do.

Before he could say anything else, Aubrey suddenly appeared behind me, practically bursting out of my room with her usual explosion of energy. “Ready to go to Christopher’s?” she asked, her tone light, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

Bishop’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between us. “Christopher’s? To his parent’s house?”

Aubrey grinned, tapping him on the shoulder as she breezed past him. “Yep, that’s the one. Glad you know where it is. You can drive.”

To my surprise, he didn’t refuse. He simply gave a curt nod, turned on his heel, and walked toward the door without anotherword, as if the entire situation was just another task to manage, another thing to control.

As I glanced at Aubrey, she shot me a look that clearly said,That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, but…let’s go with it.She shrugged, an almost imperceptible grin playing on her lips, as though she were amused by Bishop’s sudden compliance.

I followed behind them, locking up my room, wondering if I had just agreed to something I’d regret later. For now, it felt like a small win—one that came with a side of Bishop I wasn’t used to seeing.

“Thanks for the ride,” Aubrey says, yanking me out of Bishop’s car before we’ve even fully come to a stop.

Without sparing him a second glance, we head straight for the house.

We arrive to a party already in full swing. The music blares, vibrating through my bones. It only grows louder as we approach the door, the bass making everything else feel secondary.

As we get close, a student steps in our way, blocking our path. “Take your pick, ladies,” he says, his voice a little too chipper, like he’s been doing this all night. He gestures to three bowls filled with different-colored wristbands. “Green is for those who are single and looking to mingle, yellow means things are complicated, and red indicates you’re already taken.”

Aubrey gives him a quick nod. “It’s a stoplight party,” she explains. “It makes it obvious who’s available, who’s off-limits, and who’s somewhere in between.”

I reach for a green wristband, sliding the smooth cloth over my wrist, and Aubrey does the same. We both look at Ophelia as she comes up behind us, snatching a yellow wristband and quickly putting it on without saying a word. She doesn’t make eye contact, just heads deeper inside, clearly too focused on herself to care about anyone else.

I exchange a glance with Aubrey, but she just shrugs. “Guess that’s her vibe tonight,” she mutters, and we decide not to question it. We were here to have fun, after all.

The bass reverberates through my chest as we step inside, the energy of the party immediately engulfing us. The music pulses, and the lights flash in a chaotic dance across the faces of people who are already lost in the rhythm. The air is thick with the familiar scents of perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and it’s almost overwhelming. Aubrey’s hand slips into mine, guiding me through the throng of bodies as we search for familiar faces in the crowd.

“There’s Christopher! We should go over and wish him a happy birthday,” I shout over the music, spotting our host near a makeshift bar in the corner of the living room. He catches sight of us and waves enthusiastically, his broad smile visible even in the dim light.

“Ladies! You made it!” he exclaims, pulling us into a group hug. “You both look great.”

Despite the lack of lighting, I notice Aubrey’s cheeks turning a light shade of pink at the compliment. Christopher’s gaze lingers on her for a fraction longer than it should, and I give her a sly smirk.

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