Page 7 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I studied him, watching how his jaw clenched for a moment, the flicker of uncertainty barely noticeable but unmistakable. He’d been the one pushing for this. He’d always been the one tomake sure everything went according to plan. But now? Now he seemed less certain.

“I just hope you’re right,” I said, trying to keep the edge of doubt from my voice. Because, honestly, I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

Bishop’s gaze darted away, focusing ahead, though I could tell he wasn’t really studying anything. “I’m right,” he repeated, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. “We’re doing what needs to be done.”

There was a hesitation, a slight tremor in the way he spoke. I didn’t push him further. But the cracks were there. And even if he wasn’t ready to admit it, I could see them—small, but growing.

Maybe Bishop wasn’t as heartless as I’d thought—or maybe I was just trying to convince myself of something that was impossible when it came to him.

I pushed open the doors of the natatorium. My watch had vibrated against my wrist while I was talking to Bishop earlier, so I headed over to our designated meeting spot as soon as I was free. The familiar scent of chlorine filled my nose, a smell that used to not bother me, but now reminded me of what we had done to Alex.

Sly sliced through the water with powerful strokes, his limbs propelling him effortlessly across the pool.

I wondered if his stamina and speed were fueled by the stress of entertaining our parents on his own while I watched over Alexin the hospital, or perhaps it was the traumatic incident that had landed her there to begin with. Most likely a combination of both, if I had to make an educated guess.

“How are mom and dad doing?” I called out as Sly reached the edge of the pool nearest to me. He paused, treading water, and looked up at me with a mix of exhaustion and relief on his face.

“They’re fine. Concerned when you didn’t show up, of course, but I kept them busy by telling them all about your casual hookups and drunk escapades,” Sly said, his voice echoing in the empty space.

My eyes widened. “You did not!” Not that he had room to talk. Of the two of us, he was the one with the real player reputation around campus.

He snickered. “Relax, sis. I’m kidding. I told them you had a last-minute study group for an upcoming exam. They bought it, no questions asked. Besides, they were just happy it wasn’t another one of your art things.”

I flinched, the sting of my parents’ disapproval hitting me hard. The artthing. It was always the art thing. The battle I couldn’t win. They’d never understood it, and they still didn’t. To them, it was just another phase, another impulsive pursuit they couldn’t support.

Sly didn’t even bother hiding his distaste, though it wasn’t like I expected him to. “It’s not like you’re doing anything useful with that anyway,” he muttered, clearly annoyed by the mere thought of my art.

I wasn’t in the mood to bite back—not after what happened this morning. Besides, I was used to his disapproval when it came to this. It was the one thing he’d never had my back on.

“Thanks. I owe you one.”

“More than one, I’d say,” Sly replied, hoisting himself out of the pool. Water cascaded off his muscular frame as he reachedfor a towel. “So, how is she?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious.

I hesitated, glancing around the empty natatorium. The silence was broken only by the gentle lapping of water against the pool’s edge. “She’s…stable,” I finally said, my tone quiet. “The doctors said it was only a mild concussion. She’ll recover, but…” I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

Sly nodded, understanding the weight of what I left unsaid. He ran the towel over his hair, his expression grave. “And what about…you know… The other thing?”

I felt a chill run down my spine, despite the humid air. “No one suspects anything. The doctors believe it was an accident, just like we told them.”

Sly’s shoulders visibly relaxed, but the tension didn’t leave his eyes. “Good. That’s…good.”

I swallowed hard. “But she remembers.”

That stopped him. The towel froze halfway down his arm. He didn’t speak, didn’t even look at me. Just stood there, motionless, water dripping from his fingertips to the concrete floor in a slow, steady rhythm.

I couldn’t take the silence. “So…about mom and dad,” I say, sinking into a seat, desperate for a distraction from the weight of everything else. Our parents, Rupert and Madeline Oliveri, were never known for their displays of affection, but Iknewdeep down they cared for us. I mean, they had to, right? They were our parents.

It was just that they cared in their own way. The way they showed love was wrapped up in high expectations, in keeping up appearances, in making sure we fit the image they’d created of a perfect family. And maybe that was enough. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be. Our father, a Legacy, and our mother, ever the perfect socialite—together, they commanded respect. And surely they loved us. Theyhadto, right?

Sly nodded, taking a seat beside me. “They’re…well, they’re being themselves. Dad was on the phone for most of dinner, dealing with some crisis with shipping past the border. Mom was flitting around, complaining to the restaurant staff about her meal not being lean enough.”

I clucked my tongue, a mix of fondness and exasperation washing over me. “Sounds about right. At least some things never change.”

Sly chuckled, but it was hollow. “Yeah, well, maybe theycouldchange. Not that I’d expect them to. But hey, if they ever did, I’d probably be worried, you know?” He gave me a sideways glance, half-smiling, but his eyes didn’t quite match the expression. “I mean, they’ve always been this way. If they weren’t so…themselves, I’d probably think something was wrong.”

I watched him for a moment, wondering if he meant it. The casualness in his tone didn’t quite mask the flicker of something else—a kind of quiet longing. He was always so sure, so confident, always quick with a joke, but I could see the cracks forming. Had the accident with Alex shaken him more than I realized?

“But you know,” he added, shrugging as he leaned back, “it could be worse, right? We could be from one of those families that doesn’t care at all. At least we know they’ll show up to dinner, even if they’re more interested in their phones than us.”

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