Page 66 of The Ruthless Rivalry

He chuckles, shaking his head, but there’s something in his eyes that shifts—like he’s trying to figure me out. “You think I’m that transparent, huh?” His voice drops a bit, a quiet challenge in his words.

“I’m just saying. You’re prettygreento me.” I laugh at my own joke, probably too hard.

Bishop smiles again, the playful edge still there, but now there’s something else beneath it. “Bold of you to make assumptions about me. Maybe I’d pick yellow.”

“Yellow? But that’s for complicated people!” I frown, trying to process it. “Why would you pick yellow? Are you complicated?”

He shrugs, a nonchalant expression taking over. “Maybe I like to keep things interesting. Keep people guessing.”

I squint up at him, drunk and confused. “Interesting? You think being complicated is interesting? Well, maybe I’m justtoosimple for you.” I wave a hand around, like it’s the biggest revelation of the night.

Bishop grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Simple? You, Prescott, are the furthest thing from simple,” he says, voice soft and teasing. “You’re a troublemaker. The least uncomplicated person I know.”

I blink at him, something heavy suddenly sinking in. A little too much reality for me to process in this foggy state. I look down, the weight of his words hitting me in a strange, unexpected way.

Bishop notices the shift in my expression, his teasing grin fading slightly as he tugs off the glasses. “What’s wrong?”

I snort, my head spinning slightly as I try to brush it off. “Nothing. Just…my mom would probably disagree with you,” I say, a sharp edge to my voice, more disgusted with the thought than she deserves.

“What do you mean?”

I shrug, my words slurring as I fight through the fog, but the ache in my chest feels clear. “I used to play the piano…or, well, they used to say I was kind of a piano prodigy. The papers, the critics, the college that gave me a full ride…they all thought that. They were all soimpressed.” I bite my lip, the words tasting bitter, but I push forward. “But it wasn’t for me, you know? It was always for her. What she wanted. Her expectations, her dreams—not mine.”

I wince, my voice a little quieter now, the drunken bravado slipping away as the weight of it presses down on me. “I guess I’m just not as complicated as you think I am. Or maybe I’m not complicated enough for anyone to actually see me.” I try to laugh it off, but it catches in my throat. “Just…not enough, I guess.”

I pause, the alcohol fogging my thoughts, and then the words spill out before I can stop them. “And whenever I didn’t play well enough, my mom would…y’know, she’d…restrict my food. Like, if I didn’t hit the right notes, she’d make me skip meals. She said it wasdiscipline.” I shrug, like it’s nothing, but I can feel the old bitterness creeping back in. “But it wasn’t about playing well for me, it was just about playing well forher. She didn’t care how it made me feel.”

Bishop’s expression shifts slightly, his eyes tightening as he sizes me up, but his tone remains flat, almost detached. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

I stall, a little caught off guard, but it doesn’t really hit me what I’ve just said. I try to brush it off. “Huh?”

“How much have you had to drink?” he repeats.

I tilt my head, trying to count. One finger goes up. “One…” I pause, scrunching my face in thought. “No, wait. Two…” I hold up two fingers, nodding like it’s the most solid answer in the world.

My shadow looks at me, clearly trying to suppress his annoyance, but there’s also a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Only two, huh?” He chuckles to himself, but there’s an edge to it. “Are you sure about that?”

I nod proudly. “Yup. Only two. Definitely two.” I’m so proud of myself for remembering that much. But then something else hits me, and I squint at him. “Hey, have you tried Christopher’s blue drinks? They’re…they’re weirdly good. I don’t know what’s in them, but they—”

Suddenly, it clicks in my brain. Aubrey. I came in here for a reason. A towel!

“That’s it!” I exclaim, blinking rapidly. “I forgot! Aubrey wanted to go swimming. I was coming to grab her a towel!” I throw a hand up in the air, not waiting for anyone to respond,and stumble out of the hallway before I even register that Bishop is following me, his footsteps close behind.

I march through the house, my thoughts still foggy, but as I step outside into the night air, the sound of the water crashing in the distance greets me. The house is loud with guests, but I can still make out the rhythmic waves in the distance, the moonlight glinting off the water, casting an ethereal glow across the pool.

Aubrey’s silhouette comes into view, standing near the pool and chatting with someone. I feel a burst of excitement, too much excitement, and I start to rush toward her.

Bad idea.

I almost trip over my own feet, the ground beneath me seeming to shift, and the edge of the pool suddenly seems a lot closer than it should be. One wrong step, and I feel myself tipping forward toward the water.

Shit.

Before I can even process it, a strong, unyielding hand wraps around my arm, pulling me back with a force that feels almost too sharp. My heart slams against my chest, and for a moment, I’m breathless. My body is pressed up against his. Bishop’s grip on me is steady, almost like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go.

My chest rises and falls quicker than it should, my head swimming in the haze of alcohol and the near-fall. But now, I’m standing, uncomfortably close to him, caught between a rush of relief and confusion.

His grip lingers on my arm, his thumb grazing just slightly over the fabric of my sleeve. It’s like the world has paused for a moment, the noise of the party far away, just the two of us under the stark, cold light of the moon.

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