Ethan
The world went silent. The roar of the crowd, the bright stage lights, the weight of the presidency—it all faded into a dull, distant hum. The only thing I could hear was the echo of her words. "I believe that the best person to lead this university is not me. It is Ethan Brooks."
My first thought was that it was a trick. A brilliant, ruthless, political maneuver that I couldn't comprehend. A way to seize the moral high ground so completely that she would win by martyrdom. It was a move so audacious, so Olivia, that it made perfect, terrifying sense.
But then I looked at her face. There was no calculation in her eyes, no hint of a triumphant smirk. There was only a quiet, resolute certainty. She wasn't playing a game. She was ending it.
She had just handed me my brother's future on a silver platter. And in doing so, she had sacrificed her own.
The moderator, looking as stunned as everyone else, stammered something about this being an unprecedented turn of events. The applause, which had been hesitant at first, was now a thunderous, standing ovation. They weren't clapping for me. They were clapping for her. For her integrity. For her grace.
I was frozen, my mind struggling to catch up with the new reality. She had just done the one thing I never expected. She had surrendered. But it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like a gut punch.
As soon as the debate was officially, chaotically, over, the stage was swarmed. Journalists from the student paper, stunned campaign volunteers, and the debate organizers all rushed towards Olivia. She was the center of the storm, calm and unflustered, answering their questions with a simple, unwavering repetition: "I said what I believe. Ethan is the right choice."
I pushed my way through the crowd, my only thought to get to her. I had to talk to her. I had to understand. When I finally reached her, I grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the throng and into the relative quiet of the backstage corridor.
"What did you just do?" I asked, my voice a ragged whisper. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat.
"I told the truth," she said, her gaze clear and steady, though I could see the exhaustion in her eyes. "I couldn't go up there and tear you down. Not after… not knowing what this means to you. To your family."
"So you just… quit?" I said, incredulous. "Olivia, your entire life has been building to this. You can't just throw it away. For me."
"I didn't throw it away," she corrected, a small, sad smile on her lips. "I just realized I wanted something else more."
"What?" I asked, desperate. "What could you possibly want more than this?"
"To be the kind of person who does the right thing," she said softly. "To be the kind of person you think I am."
Her words were a knife to my heart. She had sacrificed her dream, not for me, but for her own sense of integrity. The integrity I had so often teased her about. I felt a wave of shame so profound it made me dizzy.
"This is wrong," I said, shaking my head. "I can't accept this. I won't. We can… we can say you were emotional. We can retract the statement."
"No," she said, her voice firm. "It's done, Ethan. It's over."
She reached up and touched my cheek, her fingers cool against my skin. "You're going to be a great president," she whispered. "You already are."
And then she turned and walked away, disappearing down the corridor, leaving me alone with the victory I had so desperately needed, and now so desperately wished I hadn't won.
I had the presidency. I had the scholarship money. I could save my brother. But the cost was the dream of the woman I loved. As I stood there, the sound of the cheering crowd still ringing in my ears, I had never felt less like a winner. The bet was over. And it felt like I had lost everything.