Page 89 of The Ruthless Rivalry

Sylvester’s grin falters slightly, unsure whether to be offended or intrigued, but I can’t help it, I smirk back. Not because it’s ridiculous, but because of thattinycrack in Bishop’s armor. Something about it flips a switch in my stomach, a feeling that’s different from the usual heat he stirs in me.

Bishop doesn’t react to my look. Instead, he just gives me a quick, dismissive glance before turning to Sylvester. “C’mon, let’s go,” he mutters, already starting to walk to their seats.

Sylvester arches an eyebrow. “You know, Alex,” he says casually, “if you don’t want to keep standing around back here, you could always join us.”

Bishop shoots a brief, sharp look at Sylvester, but it’s already too late. The suggestion is out there.

Before I can even process it, Bishop cuts through the moment, his tone biting. “Don’t let Sylvester flatter you, Prescott. That wasn’t an invitation from all of us.”

The words hit harder than I expect, and the playful atmosphere from just seconds ago evaporates in an instant. My grin fades, replaced by a sharp, defensive edge.

I stand a little taller, forcing my voice to sound unaffected, answering Sylvester. “No thanks. My club’s already been approved.”

But as I speak, my mind races, confused by the sudden flip-flop in Bishop’s behavior. One moment, he’s playful, teasing, and the next, he’s cold, dismissive, and cruel. I know how he sees me—I’ve always known—but for some reason, his harsh words hurt more today than they ever have before. He’s playing with me, pushing and pulling, and I’m not sure why it stings now when it never did before.

Sylvester doesn’t miss a beat. “You sure?” he asks me, his tone light but with a hint of mischief. “It’s not every day someone gets the privilege of my company.”

He steps closer, and this time, I can’t ignore the way his body language shifts, taking up more space. His smile is charming but somehow challenging.

I glance at Bishop briefly, but the look on his face is enough to make me pause. His jaw is tight, and his hands are clenched at his sides, almost like he’s holding himself back from sayingsomething…or doing something. His irritation is so visible, it’s almost electric.

And something inside me clicks.

If I leave now, if I walk away from this, I know it’ll give Bishop exactly what he wants. I’ll be the one to back down, and he’ll feel in control.

I hold my ground, letting the silence hang in the air just long enough. I can’t quite explain why, but the thought of staying here—of staying right where Bishop doesn’t want me—ignites a flicker of defiance in me.

So I stay. I fold my arms across my chest and force a small smile, not looking at him directly.

“You know, now that you mention it,” I say coolly, glancing at Sylvester. “I think I will stick around a little longer.”

Bishop’s gaze snaps to me instantly, his eyes thinned with visible anger. His posture stiffens further, his body taut.

Without a word, I step past them both, walking deliberately towards the row I noticed Sylvester sitting in earlier. I can feel their eyes on me, but I don’t let it faze me. With each step, I can almost hear Bishop’s breath becoming sharper, though I don’t look back.

I take my seat in the row, my back straight, and my eyes forward. The seat beside me is empty, but I’m not left waiting long. Moments later, Sylvester slides into the seat next to me, a smug grin still playing on his lips. I hear the quiet scrape of chairs being moved as Bishop takes the seat beside Sylvester, but he doesn’t look at me. Good.

The room falls into a tense hush, and just as I settle into my chair, Sutton and Camden rise to present their proposal to the board. The soft murmur of voices dies down as they move to the front, and Sutton clears her throat before speaking.

“Thank you all for seeing us today,” she begins, her tone smooth and rehearsed. “We’re excited to present our vision forthe upcoming carnival.” She gestures to Camden, who nods and steps forward to add his part to the pitch.

As their idea unfolds, I try my best to focus on their words, but something keeps pulling my attention away. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Francesca’s gaze from the front of the room. Bishop’s mother. She’s watching me intently, her sharp eyes never wavering, much like her son’s.

Her eyes subtly shift between Bishop and me, as if she’s weighing something between us. But they always return to me. That constant, unwavering scrutiny makes my skin prickle.

There’s something unnerving about the way she’s watching me, like she can see right through me. It’s almost as if she knows exactly what’s been going on between her son and me—has she been watching us the entire time? From the moment Bishop first appeared behind me? I can feel the weight of her gaze, and it makes me uncomfortable in a way I can’t quite explain. I glance back at the presentation, but I can still feel her eyes lingering on me, as if she’s trying to read me from across the room.

I don’t like it.

The presentation wraps up with Sutton and Camden beaming, clearly excited about their idea. Chancellor Maxwell is the last to speak, her vote delayed just a fraction longer than the others. She looks at the board with hesitation, and then—after a long pause—she finally votes in favor, albeit with a barely perceptible sigh. The rest of the board follows suit without issue. Everyone says yes.

Sutton and Camden immediately hug, their excitement palpable as they congratulate each other. The sight is so predictable. Of course they get what they want. No surprise there. Who could possibly stand in the way of Legacy children?

I suppress a scoff, but the urge to let out a sarcastic laugh lingers at the back of my throat. This is the world they live in.A world where things are handed to you if your name’s been established long enough.

I take this as my cue to leave.

But just as I turn to go, I’m stopped in my tracks.

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