The Bleak Beginning (Altair University #1)

24. Alex

Chapter 24

Alex

M y heart leaps into my throat as I feel the weight of countless stares boring into me.

Time seems to slow as I watch Chancellor Maxwell’s gaze lock onto me, her eyes thinning with a mixture of triumph and something darker. The crowd parts, creating a clear path between me and the stage.

“Well, well,” Chancellor Maxwell’s voice cuts through the silence. “It seems we have our winner after all. Please come forward, Miss Prescott.”

My feet feel like lead as I take one step, then another. The golden flag in my pocket seems to grow heavier with each movement. I can feel the stares of my fellow students boring into me, a mix of envy, curiosity, and suspicion.

As I approach the stage, Bishop’s smug grin falters, replaced by a look of fury. Alfie’s eyes widen in surprise, a flicker of hope crossing his face before it’s quickly extinguished at the withering scowl Bishop shoots him.

As I climb the steps, Chancellor Maxwell’s smile widens, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I can feel Bishop’s glare burning into my back as I pass him, his collection of red flags suddenly seeming paltry and insignificant.

I take my place next to Chancellor Maxwell, my posture steady and assured as I pull the flag from my pocket, ready for whatever comes next. The fabric is smooth to the touch, like silk, but also has a weight that suggests it’s a more luxurious material.

The crowd stands with rapt attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Maxwell announces, her voice echoing through the auditorium, “I present to you the victor of this year’s pre-trial games.”

“Wait!” The single word escapes my lips before I can stop it, echoing through the still silent auditorium. Chancellor Maxwell’s smile freezes, her eyes flashing with a dangerous glint.

Not only had I not answered when she called for the winner, but I also caused a further delay in her schedule by speaking out. What even was this ceremony? Whatever it was, it didn’t feel right. Forcing Alfie to come up here and be publicly humiliated while the crowd cheered for Bishop? It didn’t sit well with me.

“Is there a problem, Miss Prescott?” she asks, her voice syrupy-sweet, but there’s an edge of impatience lurking beneath it.

I swallow hard. I hadn’t planned to speak, but now that I have, I can’t back down. The weight of the golden flag in my hand seems to burn, reminding me that I hadn’t even wanted to play to begin with, and was only doing it out of spite against the Legacies.

“This isn’t right.” I say, suddenly feeling bold.

The words hang in the air, heavy and charged. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by a few scattered gasps from the audience. Chancellor Maxwell’s smile has completely vanished now, replaced by a cold, calculating stare.

“And what, pray tell, isn’t right about this?” she asks, her voice faint but somehow carrying to every corner of the auditorium.

I square my shoulders, meeting the students’ gazes without flinching. There’s no backing down now. “This whole competition. The way we’re pitted against each other, forced to fight and scheme just to prove our worth. It’s cruel and unnecessary. And I refuse to be labeled the winner in this game.”

A murmur ripples through the crowd. I watch as Bishop’s face twists in fury, his jaw clenched so tightly I swear, I can almost hear his teeth grinding. His eyes, usually so steady, burn with a mix of fury and outrage, and for a moment, he looks like he might explode. While Alfie looks at me with a mixture of disbelief turned to awe as I shove the gold flag into his hand.

“Here. This is your winner,” I insist to the audience.

Chancellor Maxwell’s expression hardens, a flash of frustration crossing her face. “Miss Prescott, you are treading on very thin ice. This trial is a time-honored tradition that has shaped our institution for generations.”

“No,” I say, my voice certain. “This isn’t about tradition. It’s about control .” And I was never going to allow someone to control me again.

Alfie stands frozen beside me, the gold flag limp in his hand, his eyes darting between me and the Chancellor. It’s clear he’s unsure of what to do, so I step in to help.

“Congratulations,” I whisper to him before I make my way down from the stage.

As I descend back to the main floor and exit the building, the auditorium erupts into chaos behind me. I keep my head high, my steps measured, even as my heart threatens to burst from my chest. I’ve made a stand, but what comes next? The consequences loom like the never-ending storm clouds on the horizon of this school.

The memory of Bishop plucking that flower earlier in the evening flashes through my mind, but I push it away as soon as it appears. Despite his accusatory words and actions, I hold onto my own values regardless of what he thinks.

In the darkness of the night, a hand grabs my arm, and I whirl around, half-expecting to see the Chancellor or a professor. Instead, I find myself face-to-face with Sylvester, his eyes wide with a mix of alarm and…admiration?

“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls, his voice rough and urgent. “And the hottest.” His grip on my arm loosens, but he doesn’t let go entirely, guiding us to the far side of the building.

His body presses against mine, his face dangerously close, inches from my own. The heat from his skin makes my pulse spike, but it’s not fear that’s making my heart race. The adrenaline from my defiance on stage still surges through me, leaving me breathless.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” His eyes search mine, intense and burning. His silver mask long gone. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t,” I admit, my voice shaky. I can’t seem to catch my breath with him this close. “And I’m still not.”

The warnings in my head are drowned out by the overwhelming rush in my veins—the high of the moment, the recklessness, the defiance. And before I can stop myself, I’m pulling him in, crashing my lips against his.

For a split second, everything else disappears. His warmth, his taste, it all consumes me. It doesn’t matter that he’s a Legacy, that I know I shouldn’t trust him. Right now, I don’t care about the consequences. The only thing I care about is the electric, reckless rush coursing through me as our lips collide in a dangerous, thrilling dance.

Sylvester responds immediately, his hands gripping my waist as he deepens the kiss. It’s fierce and hungry, matching the intensity of the moment. The kiss is fierce, urgent, a clash of lips and tongues that mirrors the tumultuous emotions swirling within me.

His hand finds my thigh, my dress bunching up between us as we continue our heated embrace. My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. The rational part of my mind screams at me to stop, but I silence it, losing myself in the intoxicating sensations.

His hand slides higher up my thigh, sending shivers through my body when he finds my silk panties and snakes a finger underneath them as his thumb finds that perfect spot.

I gasp against his lips, the sensation of his touch electrifying, the rush of it overwhelming. Every nerve in my body hums with energy, the wild surge of adrenaline from my actions still coursing through me. His fingers move faster, igniting a fire within me that both exhilarates and consumes me. My body arches as his finger enters me, delving deeper into my core with each thrust.

My mind goes blank as I let him take charge, driving me to the edge with each calculated movement. I gasp, moaning uncontrollably against his lips, as my body trembles with a mixture of pleasure and thrill, finding my release.

As the waves of pleasure recede, reality crashes back in. I pull away from the kiss, panting, my mind reeling from what just happened. Sylvester’s eyes are dark with desire, but there’s something more—an uncertainty that wasn’t there before.

“Come back to my room with me?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. “Stay the night.”

I hesitate, my thoughts a whirlwind. The rational part of me screams no—this is stupid and thoughtless. But the wild, reckless part of me that took the stage earlier is still alive, craving more of that rush.

“No,” I breathe. “I can’t.”

Sylvester’s gaze falters, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. But he nods, accepting my refusal.

“I understand,” he says, his tone hardening, as though the heat between us evaporated with my words. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, the once seductive gleam in his eyes now clouded with something else—something more distant.

I smooth down my dress, trying to find my balance again. My body still hums with the energy of before, the aftershocks of it lingering in my veins. “I should go.”

I turn to leave, but before I can take a step, his hand brushes my wrist, gentle but insistent. “Wait,” he says, his voice soft, almost pleading. “Let me walk you back to your room.”

“I can manage,” I reply, my voice firm, unwilling to let the moment stretch longer than it should.

I pull away from his grasp. We’re not friends. He’s a Legacy, born into power, privilege, and politics. I’m just trying to get through Altair, graduate, and get out. Nothing more.

“Goodnight, Sylvester.”

I leave him standing there, my bare feet tapping softly along the stone pathway. The sound echoes, each step a reminder of the distance I’m creating between us. I can feel his gaze on me, but I don’t look back. This was nothing more than a fleeting moment, a reckless surge of energy. That’s all it was.