My Rival, My Redemption

I'm Ethan Vanderbilt, a Kingsbridge legacy, currently facing the annual Legacy Pairing Program. For years, one nightmare haunted me: I chose Clara Hayes, she tragically died protecting me, whispering "Don't choose me... next time." Today is that next time.

Defying fate, my powerful father, and tradition, I shocked everyone by choosing Scarlett Jones, my sharp-witted rival.

But the dream's shadow deepened. Clara, obsessed with Julian Vance-a supposed guitar virtuoso-begged me to release her. Julian, a master manipulator, systematically built a web of lies around her, framing me as the villain.

Clara, utterly blinded by Julian, publicly humiliated me, accused me of poisoning, and even physically assaulted me. Every attempt to reveal his deceit only cemented her belief in his false heroism and my assumed malice.

I was condemned, trapped as the antagonist in a story I never wrote. How could she refuse to see the obvious truth?

At Julian' s grand engagement ball, I finally exposed his deceptions with an undeniable truth, shattering Clara's world. Her desperate pleas for forgiveness? I coldly rejected them.

But Julian, enraged, hired an assassin. In a final, desperate act, Clara threw herself in front of me, dying to save the man she finally knew she truly loved. Her sacrifice broke the cycle, freeing me.

Now, with Scarlett, my fierce partner, can I truly forge a love that conquers fate?

The dream was always the same.

Kingsbridge University, the Legacy Pairing Program.

He, Ethan Vanderbilt, Chancellor's Scholar, chose Clara Hayes.

A year of strained smiles and quiet dinners.

Then Clara faked a transfer.

Later, news of a tragic accident. Clara was dead.

Years passed in the dream.

A secluded arts festival, vibrant and loud.

He saw her. Clara. Alive.

With Julian Vance, her hand in his, a secret intimacy.

Then the ground shook.

Wood splintered, metal screamed.

The festival structure collapsing.

Dust, chaos, falling debris.

Clara, her face a mask of terror, pushed him. Hard.

He stumbled clear.

She was crushed.

Her last words, a whisper through the dust and blood, "Don't choose me... next time, Ethan."

Ethan gasped, eyes snapping open.

He wasn't at a festival.

He was in his father's imposing office at Kingsbridge.

Sunlight streamed through the tall windows.

The scent of old books and polish.

The dream clung to him, cold and real.

"Ethan?"

Chancellor Alistair Vanderbilt, his father, regarded him with a stern, expectant look.

"The candidates are waiting. It's time to announce your choice for the Legacy Pairing Program."

Clara's whispered warning echoed. Don't choose me... next time.

This was that time.

His heart hammered. The dream felt like a memory, not a fantasy.

He had to change it.

"Father," Ethan began, his voice hoarse.

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"My choice for the Legacy Pairing Program..."

He saw Clara's face in his mind, beautiful, composed, the golden girl.

The dream Clara, dying for him, warning him.

The dream Clara, with Julian.

A surge of distrust, cold and sharp, went through him.

He couldn't choose her. He wouldn't.

"My choice," Ethan said, his voice suddenly firm, "is Scarlett Jones."

Alistair Vanderbilt stared.

For a moment, the Chancellor, a man rarely surprised, looked utterly floored.

"Scarlett Jones?" he repeated, as if the name was foreign. "The fencing captain? The girl who publicly challenges your every academic proposal?"

Ethan nodded. "Yes. Scarlett Jones."

His father leaned back, steepling his fingers. "This is... unexpected, Ethan. The Hayes family, the Astors, the Davies... these are families we have ties with. The Joneses are new money, ambitious, yes, but..."

Ethan thought of Scarlett.

Her sharp wit, the fire in her eyes during debates.

The way she never backed down.

He remembered, oddly, a childhood incident. A scraped knee. She' d been the one, surprisingly, to offer a clumsy, gruff sort of help, a stark contrast to Clara' s polite, distant sympathy from afar even then.

The dream-Clara had been a source of misery.

Scarlett... Scarlett was a fight, a challenge, but never cold.

"I've made my decision, Father," Ethan said.

Alistair studied him, his gaze shrewd. "This isn't some impulsive act of rebellion, is it? You understand the implications of the Legacy Pairing."

"I understand perfectly." More than you know, he thought.

Alistair sighed, a rare sign of weariness. "Very well. If you are certain. I will inform Mr. Jones. The official announcement will be at the Legacy Pairing Gala next week, as planned. But the families will be notified privately today."

Ethan nodded, a strange mix of relief and apprehension settling in.

He had changed the script. But to what?

Later, walking through the university quad, the dream still felt too close.

He remembered the polite, almost sterile, interactions with Clara in that dream-life.

Always correct, always distant.

He spotted Tiffany Davies and Brittany Astor, two of the other candidates, near the fountain.

They were whispering, heads close together.

"It has to be Clara Hayes, doesn't it?" Tiffany said, loud enough for him to overhear. "The Vanderbilts and the Hayeses, it's practically tradition."

Brittany nodded. "She's perfect for him. So composed."

Ethan glanced towards the main library steps.

Clara Hayes stood there, books clutched to her chest, looking every bit the golden girl.

Beside her, almost in her shadow, was Scarlett Jones.

Scarlett, hair tied back, fencing bag slung over her shoulder, was laughing at something, a vibrant, unguarded sound.

Clara looked over, her eyes meeting Ethan' s.

A flicker of something unreadable in their depths.

Then, to his utter shock, Clara excused herself from Scarlett and walked directly towards him.

Her perfectly composed face was pale.

"Ethan," she said, her voice low and urgent, "can we speak? Privately?"

He nodded, wary.

She led him a few steps away, under the shade of an old oak.

"Ethan," she began, her voice trembling slightly, "I know the announcement is soon. I... I need to ask you something. Please, whatever you're considering... don't choose me."

Ethan stared at her. This was too close to the dream.

"Why?" he managed, his voice tight.

Clara's eyes darted around, then back to his. "My heart... it belongs to someone else. To Julian Vance. I love him, Ethan. I can't... I can't be paired with anyone else."

Julian Vance. The name from the dream.

A cold dread washed over Ethan.

Was she also... remembering? Did she have these premonitions too?

"You love Julian Vance?" Ethan asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"More than anything," Clara whispered, a desperate sincerity in her eyes. "I would do anything for him. Please, Ethan, I'm begging you. Set me free."

The pain from the dream, the betrayal, Clara's eventual death, it all felt fresh.

Her words now, "I would do anything for him," echoed her dream-actions.

A bitter anger rose in him.

She wanted freedom to be with Julian, the man she was with when she died saving him.

He wouldn't tell her about Scarlett yet. Let her worry.

Let her feel a fraction of the anxiety he'd felt.

"The choice for the Legacy Pairing will be announced at the Gala," Ethan said, his voice cold. "Everyone is expected to be there."

He turned to leave, but bumped squarely into someone.

Julian Vance.

Julian stumbled back, a look of exaggerated surprise on his face. "Oh, Mr. Vanderbilt! My apologies, entirely my fault." He offered a small, humble bow.

Clara rushed to Julian's side. "Julian! Are you alright?"

She glared at Ethan. "Watch where you're going, Ethan!"

Ethan felt a flash of irritation. Julian's humility was cloying.

Clara' s fierce defense of him was instantaneous.

"It was an accident, Clara," Ethan said, his tone clipped.

As he turned, Clara, in her haste to fuss over Julian, jostled a stack of precariously balanced architectural models on a nearby display table.

One toppled, its sharp corner catching Ethan on the temple as he passed.

Pain flared, bright and sudden.

He staggered, a hand flying to his head.

The world tilted.

Through a dizzying haze, he saw Julian looking smug.

Clara was apologizing profusely, but her concern was clearly for Julian, who was now dramatically clutching his arm as if he were the injured party.

Then, another face swam into his blurred vision.

Scarlett Jones.

She was pushing through the small crowd that had gathered.

Her usual sarcastic expression was gone.

Replaced by... was that genuine concern in her eyes?

It was the last thing he saw before the darkness closed in.

Ethan woke with a throbbing head.

Maria Rodriguez, his personal assistant, a woman whose calm efficiency was legendary, was by his side.

"You're in the campus infirmary, Ethan," she said softly. "Minor concussion. You'll be fine."

"Who... who brought me here?" he asked, his voice raspy.

"Ms. Jones," Maria replied. "Scarlett Jones. She was quite insistent you receive immediate attention."

Ethan processed that. Scarlett.

"How did she seem?" he asked. "When she brought me in?"

Maria's lips twitched. "Concerned, initially. Then, once the doctor assured her it wasn't serious, she said, and I quote, 'Well, tell Vanderbilt when he wakes up that if he plans on getting knocked out every time I turn my back, I might just reconsider this whole ridiculous pairing. I have fencing practice.'"

Ethan almost smiled. That sounded like Scarlett.

No fuss, no drama. Just a playful threat.

"Typical," he murmured.

"Indeed," Maria said. "Meanwhile, the campus is buzzing. Apparently, Miss Hayes has been rather... demonstrative... in her affections for Mr. Vance. They were seen at The Gilded Bean this morning, holding hands quite openly. My cousin who works there said Miss Hayes was doting on him."

Maria sniffed. "Frankly, it's scandalous, considering the Legacy Pairing announcement is pending."

Ethan felt a wry twist in his gut. Clara was certainly making her preferences clear.

Good. It made his decision feel even more right.

"Maria," he said, "there's a small, locked box in the bottom drawer of my desk at home. The old rosewood one. Bring it to me."

"The one with..." Maria paused, "with Miss Hayes's old letters and mementos?"

"That's the one," Ethan confirmed. He had kept it as a reminder of the shallow affections of his dream-past. Now, it felt like dead weight. "I'm going to pay Miss Hayes a visit."

An hour later, the box under his arm, Ethan arrived at Clara's opulent dorm suite.

A maid informed him Miss Hayes was out.

"She's with Mr. Vance, sir. At the botanical gardens, I believe."

Of course she was.

Ethan persuaded the maid to let him into Clara's private study. "I have something important to return to her."

The room was immaculate, all creams and golds.

He placed the rosewood box on her antique writing desk.

As he turned to leave, he heard voices from the adjoining sunroom, the door slightly ajar.

Clara's voice, light and conspiratorial. "Holding hands at The Gilded Bean was a good idea, Julian. Everyone saw. Ethan must know by now that I'm serious."

Julian's smooth tones followed. "Anything to make him understand, my love. He needs to realize you're not available for his little program."

Then Clara said something that made Ethan freeze.

"Besides," she sighed, a dreamy quality to her voice, "how could I ever be with someone like Ethan, so... conventional? Not after experiencing that incredible guitar solo at the masquerade ball last spring. The passion, the raw talent... that's the kind of man I admire, Julian. That's when I knew it was you."

Ethan's blood ran cold.

The masquerade ball. The anonymous musician.

That was him.

He had played an obscure, technically demanding piece, something he rarely did in public, hidden behind a mask.

Clara thought it was Julian?

Julian, who Ethan knew for a fact, could barely play "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

He felt a sudden, sharp urge to burst in, to tell her the truth.

To see the look on her face.

But he stopped himself.

What was the point? Their connection, even in the dream, had been a mirage. This just confirmed it.

He turned and walked out, unnoticed.

He was halfway across the quad when Clara spotted him.

She hurried over, Julian trailing behind her like a devoted puppy.

"Ethan!" she called out. "I was just at your father's office. They said you chose Scarlett Jones! Is this some kind of joke?"

Her eyes were wide, a mixture of disbelief and something else... relief?

"It's no joke, Clara," Ethan said, his voice flat.

"But... why? Everyone assumed..."

"Assumed wrong," Ethan cut in.

Julian stepped forward, placing a comforting arm around Clara. He then feigned a slight wince, touching his arm where Ethan had supposedly bumped him earlier. "Clara, darling, perhaps Mr. Vanderbilt has his reasons. We shouldn't question him."

Clara, however, was oblivious to Ethan, her attention immediately shifting to Julian. "Oh, Julian, your arm! Does it still hurt?"

She fussed over him, adjusting his sleeve, her expression full of tender concern.

Ethan watched them.

Clara' s complete disregard for him, her utter absorption in Julian and his fake injury.

He saw her blindness, her devotion to a carefully constructed lie.

A bitter taste filled his mouth.

He turned and walked away, leaving them to their charade.