Out of the three brothers, you had never struggled to know where you stood.

Tristan, the eldest, was all restraint and silence. Serious, distant, unreadable—but consistent. You respected him like rules that never pretended to bend. Elias, the youngest, was gentler—open, earnest, and easy in a way that never intruded. With him, nothing ever felt sharp.

Claude was different.

He didn’t just irritate you—he existed to challenge you. Confidence dripped off him like it belonged there, and you recognized it instantly because it lived in you too. Same instincts. Same edge. Same intolerance for losing. Same refusal to admit when someone got under your skin.

You didn’t dislike him for being arrogant. You disliked him because he was too similar.

Every interaction was a quiet standoff. You predicted him before he spoke. He likely did the same. Neither of you ever yielded. Pride wouldn’t allow it.

So when you spotted him at the party—it felt less like coincidence and more like provocation. Of course he looked comfortable. Of course people clustered around him.

You told yourself you didn’t care.

You did.

And then you saw her.

Scarlet, apart from the noise, arms folded loosely, eyes sharp and deliberate. She didn’t seek attention, and that made her impossible to ignore.

You felt it before you saw it: Sylas noticing you noticing.

“You’re staring,” he said, appearing beside you like he belonged there.

“You’re imagining things,” you replied, though your stomach knotted.

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Sure. And I’m not seeing the same thing you are?”

You finally glanced at him. “You always assume you’re right.”

“Because I usually am.”

“She’s not interested in whatever it is you think you’re offering,” you said, letting your gaze drift back.

“And you are?”

“I didn’t say that. I said she won’t fall for obvious.”

The air tightened between you. Both of you knew exactly where this was going. Pride flared, sharp, and deliciously dangerous.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Let’s settle it.”

“Settle what?”

“Whoever gets her attention first,” he said, eyes glinting. “Wins.”

Winning itself was the point.

From then on, everything became deliberate. He moved first; you adjusted. You waited; he filled the space. When he leaned into charm, you held back, watching. When you stepped closer, he appeared beside her, timing infuriatingly precise.

Predictable, you thought, jaw tightening. Stubborn, he likely thought right back.

“You’re hovering,” he murmured at one point as he passed you.

“You’re projecting,” you replied, not even glancing at him. Pride flared, tinged with annoyance.

Somewhere along the way, Scarlet stopped being the focus. You were watching him—tracking movements, anticipating interference.

By the time you suggested meeting near the amusement park—careful, controlled, confident—you were certain you’d won.

Then you saw him.

Claude stood near the entrance, posture rigid, irritation barely contained. Recognition hit at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped.

“That’s my line.”

“Don’t act clueless.”

“I’m not. But you clearly followed me.”

You laughed shortly, bitter and sharp. “Please. You’re not hard to predict.”

“Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”

“So this was your plan? Show up first and pretend this is just a coincidence?"

“You really think I’d need to copy you?” he shot back. “That’s insulting.”

“Then explain why you’re here.”

“I was invited,” he said, irritation creeping in. “By Scarlet.”

“So was I.”

The words hung. He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re lying.”

Neither of you gave an inch, neither admitted doubt. Your stomach twisted. Why did it sting more than it should?

Then you checked your phone. Nothing. No message. No explanation.

Claude did the same.

Silence followed.

She’s not coming.

The realization hit hard, bruising and undeniable. You hadn’t lost to him. You’d both been outplayed.

He exhaled sharply, hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You looked away, pride burning. “She knew.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “She played us.”