Page 79 of The Ruthless Rivalry

I wish I had it back. I wish I could just pull it out, add to it, mark down the latest plant I’d discovered. Something real. Something alive. Not… this.

A frustrated sigh escapes my lips, and I decide to take the staircase back up the way I’d come.

I make my way to the stairwell, the air growing colder as I climb. By the time I step out of the vault, night has fully settled over the campus, the sky a deep, ink-black canvas dotted with stars. The faint glow of the streetlights casts long shadows across the cobblestone as I make my way back toward the dorm buildings.

I pull my jacket tighter around me, the night air biting at my skin, and pick up my pace. My mind keeps circling back to that notebook.

Mynotebook.

The one filled with hours of work, private thoughts, quiet discoveries—mine.

It burns in my chest, an ache I can’t shake. The anger swells each time I think about Bishop—how he took it from me, how he’s sitting in his dorm room, probably flipping through it like it’s some kind of joke.

Back in the vault, I found information that held someone else’s story. Someone’s history. My father’s secrets laid bare in brittle pages and fading ink. That had felt wrong, invasive—even if I was the one holding it. And now, someone else is holding mine.

Maybe that’s why it’s eating at me. It’s not just a notebook. It’s everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve studied tonight on my history. It’s a part of me—and now it’s out of my hands. Just like that photo. Just like the truth I didn’t ask to find.

The more I walk, the more the frustration rises inside me, twisting into a sharp, seething anger that I can’t shake. Howdarehe? Who the hell does he think he is, just taking what’s mine without a second thought? He’s been making my life a living hell since the moment I set foot on this campus, and he’s been getting away with it, over and over.

Hetookmy notebook, my work, something that’smine, and didn’t even bat an eye. And that’s not even the worst of it. The guy nearlygot me killed—he nearly drowned me, for god’s sake, and that’s something I won’t forget. As if that wasn’t enough, he somehow managed to track down my mother, drag her out of the facility she’s been in for years, and parade her around like some kind of puppet.

But it didn’t stop there. He made sure I lost contact with Clara—mysister—cut me off from the only person who actually gives a damn about me.

And now I’m standing here, alone, angry, and all I can think about is that notebook. It’s just one more thing on top of everything else.

How much more of this am I supposed to take? Could I have just gone out and bought a new notebook? Of course, but it wasn’t about that. It was about standing up for myself, about reclaiming what was mine.

I slip into the Ashbourne dormitory, relieved to find the hallways empty. No students wandering around, no one to witness what I’m about to do. I take the stairs quickly, moving with purpose toward Bishop’s room.

There’s a faint, sour smell drifting through the corridor—subtle but definitely there. I can’t help the small, smug smile that curls at the corner of my mouth. Guess the vent sabotage finally kicked in. Good. Let it fester.

When I reach his door, I hesitate for a moment. What if someone sees me? What if I get caught? But then I think of my notebook—my observations, my discoveries, everything I’ve recorded. Ihaveto do this.

I can’t even talk to Clara anymore. My phone privileges were taken after the last incident, and the school’s made sure I stay cut off. No more calls. No more letters.

And that’s the strange part.

Because somehow, letters from Elle still manage to get through. Little updates. Polite encouragements. All things I refuse to open or acknowledge.

And yeah, maybe I miss my sister, but I’m not that desperate. Not desperate enough to give my father’s girlfriend the impression that we’re building something real. That we’re close. At least… not yet.

It’s almost worse than silence. Like Elle’s trying to fill the space Clara left, and I’m supposed to pretend that’s enough.

Because weeks ago, I would've done anything just to hear her voice. Now? With everything that's happened—cleaning fountains, helping Aubrey, getting dragged into Legacy politics, running around campus like a ghost—I haven’t really thought about her. At least, not like I used to.

It’s not that I don’t care about her. It’s just… I’ve had enough to deal with. And maybe that’s what I needed—to stop living like I’m only okay when I know she is.

Bishop, unintentionally or not, gave me that distance. When he forced me to look somewhere other than the past, he also forced me to stop leaning so hard on Clara.

Maybe it was cruel. Or maybe it was necessary.

And maybe I hate that he was right. Well, indirectly at least.

But still, this? Getting my notebook back? This is something Icancontrol. And I’m going to get it back. I’ve waited long enough.

I press my ear against the door, listening for any signs of life. Silence. I try the handle, and to my surprise, it turns easily. Unlocked.Either Bishop is incredibly trusting, or incrediblystupid.But no, I quickly dismiss that thought. Bishop is far too calculating to be either.

Maybe he’s just confident—arrogantly so. The kind of bold that doesn’t bother with locks because he knows no one would dare mess with him.

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