Rivals At Heart

Pressure was my element. As I rushed into the bustling newsroom of The Daily Chronicle, my mind was already racing with the next big story. Today, however, was different. The editor had assigned me to cover the grand charity gala hosted by the city’s most influential philanthropist. It wasn’t just any event – it was the event of the year.

"Ehryah, you’re late!" Mr. Thompson, my editor, barked as I entered. "I need you at the gala, now. And be aware, Mr. Vreomior from The Metro Times will be there. Beat him to the scoop."

Vreomior.. Just hearing his surname set my teeth on edge. He was my biggest rival, not just in the industry but in life. Arrogant, smug, and always one step ahead. But not this time, I vowed.

The Renaissance Hotel was a picture of elegance, with guests in stunning attire mingling and the clink of glasses creating a lively atmosphere. This was my scene, capturing details, interviewing key figures, and jotting down notes.

Then I saw him. Dashiell Vreomior, leaning casually against the bar, his confident smile making my blood boil. He hadn’t noticed me yet, which was a small victory. I intended to keep it that way.

But luck wasn’t on my side. As I approached the mayor for an interview, Dashiell appeared out of nowhere, his voice smooth and infuriatingly charming.

"Mayor, a quick word about tonight’s proceedings?" Dashiell asked, cutting in front of me.

"Vreomior," I snapped, unable to hide my annoyance. "I believe I was here first."

He turned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Ms. Fuego. Always a pleasure. But you know what they say – first come, first served."

I forced a smile, though my grip tightened around my notepad. "Well, some of us believe in professionalism, not just opportunism."

Dashiell chuckled. "Is that what you call it? I call it being the best."

The rest of the evening was a blur of competition. Whenever I found a new angle, Dashiell was there, challenging me, matching me step for step. The gala’s climax came with the announcement of a major donation that would shape the city’s future – and we both knew this was the headline we needed.

I cornered the philanthropist just as he was about to leave. "Mr. Whitmore, your donation is incredibly generous. Can you tell me what inspired this decision?"

Before Whitmore could respond, Dashiell slid into the conversation, his recorder already running. "And what do you hope to achieve with this initiative?"

Whitmore looked between us, clearly amused by our rivalry. "You two are quite the pair," he said with a chuckle. "Why don’t you work together for once? You might be surprised at the results."

Dashiell and I exchanged horrified glances. Work together? The thought was preposterous. But as Whitmore walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of a long, complicated story.

I could barely keep my eyes open as I typed the last of my notes, fueled only by the thought of beating Dashiell Vreomior to the scoop. The gala had been a whirlwind, and now, in the early morning light, my phone buzzed with a message from Mr. Thompson.

*Conference room. Now.*

Great, I thought, dragging myself out of my chair. What could he possibly want at this hour?

When I walked into the conference room, my eyes immediately landed on Dashiell, casually leaning against the table with that infuriatingly smug look on his face.

"Ehryah, Dashiell" Mr. Thompson began, not wasting any time, "I have an unusual assignment for you both."

I couldn't help but glare at Dashiell before turning my attention back to Mr. Thompson. "What kind of assignment?"