"Well, well, well," Apollo drawled with a smug smile. "If it isn’t Claire Dane, the heiress--ah, wait, that’s not true anymore is it. The bright phoenix turned out to be an ordinary black crow." He threw his head back and laughed. "I had a feeling you were having it rough, but I didn’t think it would be this bad." His eyes roamed over her, judging her outfit and wild, unruly hair. Those eyes stopped at her sandals and he huffed. "This is sad Claire, even for you."
The sight of a smug Apollo standing tall beside his expensive dented car pulled Claire backward in time, to a memory she had buried but never forgotten. She was only four, maybe three and a half when she first met him. The summer sun had been just as bright, the air thick with the smell of fresh paint and dust from the playground Mrs. Paisley Ashford was donating to the city.
The ordinary children and their parents had been standing around, waiting for their five seconds of a photo opportunity with the wealthy heiress and housewife who did more charity work than any saint to ever walk the earth.
Apollo had strutted around the ordinary children with that same smirk, clutching a shiny new toy truck. Claire remembered reaching for it, curiously, only for him to yank it back and declare, "Mine. You’re too slow."
His words had stung, sharper than any scrape on her knees. She had tried to reason, tried to ask for a turn, but Apollo laughed, circling her like a little tyrant. Something inside Claire snapped. Her tiny fist balled up, and before anyone could stop her, she swung. The punch landed squarely on his cheek. Apollo stumbled, wide-eyed, more shocked than hurt.
The playground erupted--children gasping, reporters shouting, cameras flashing, bodyguards and police officers rushing over. Claire had been taken away in handcuffs that were too big for her small wrists!
That was the day their rivalry was born, sealed in bruises and stubborn pride.
That was the first day Claire’s picture graced the front page of the national news. The second time was when Mrs. Paisley graciously forgave her in front of a dozen reporters at the entrance of their small apartment. The woman had offered to pay for Claire’s schooling for eighteen years.
In a way, the beginning of that rivalry was also her luckiest moment. If she had not punched Apollo, she would not have met his mother and ended up attending the same privileged preschool, kindergarten, elementary school, middle school and high school as him. This had given her access to rich friends and this led to connections in the business world that partially enabled Alden and Heimi to find success quickly.
But through those years of school, their rivalry had intensified. Everything had always been a competition between them. Even something as simple as breathing exercises in physical education classes!
The rivalry had cooled only after Apollo went abroad for university. The next time she saw him, they were both bidding on a corporate account. Knowing that his side had more capital, she had pulled some tricks and won, re-igniting their rivalry. She had done this ten more times with different bids over three years.
Tourism packages, exclusive venue partnerships, event catering contracts. As long as they were competing, she always made sure he lost. Eventually, Apollo had vanished from her circles, and she had not come across him since then.
Facing him now, in the blazing sun, Claire felt the same fire she felt when she first met him rise in her chest. Some enemies, she thought, never truly fade.
"I would stop and chat, but I am not fluent in stupidity." She blurted, before thinking through her words. What she had been considering was asking for the cost of fixing his car. What came out was entirely different.
Claire squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, cursing herself in her mind. Dammit, Claire, now he is going to squeeze every coin out of you, she thought.
Apollo’s smug grin was wiped off his face. "You are really brave for someone that just put a dent in a 9-million-dollar Bugatti."
A whimper almost escaped Claire’s mouth, but she managed to push it down. "Everyone has a right to be stupid, but you are just abusing the privilege at this point, Apollo." She dusted herself off, glaring at him as if the dented car was proof of his idiocy. "Let’s analyze this accident with logic, and you will see clearly how this is your fault," she declared, pointing at the bumper. "If you hadn’t parked here in the no-parking zone, I wouldn’t have bumped into you. Ergo, you’re stupid."
Apollo raised an eyebrow. "You hit me, Claire."
She folded her arms triumphantly. "Exactly. You were in the wrong place, right in the trajectory of any incoming vehicle. That’s like standing in front of a train and blaming the train when it flattens you. Only difference is trains are useful. You’re not. To frame it better, you are a tall drink of dumbass."
Before he could retort, Claire swung onto her bike, oversized t-shirt fluttering like a cape. "I would stay and explain further, but it would take us all day, and this black crow has got to fly." With that, she revved the engine and shot off down Maine street.
Apollo sputtered, then dove into his car. Tires screeched, the horn blared like a war trumpet, and he stepped on the accelerator and chased after her.
The sudden wild chase which followed caused confusion in the town. Many people were familiar with Wilder Donovan’s bike, but not the young rider who was speeding away on it. Some assumed Claire was a thief, and they called the sheriff.
Shopkeepers leaned out of doorways. Children cheered as if it were a parade. One old man shouted, "Damn you Knitting club, it’s a Monday!" while another muttered, "Another crazy woman has moved to our town, looks like the circus will never end."
Claire zigzagged past the bakery, narrowly missing the very delivery truck the Knitting club had stolen. Apollo followed, honking so loudly pigeons scattered like confetti.
"Get back here," he screamed through the lowered car window, honking two more times.
Claire shouted over her shoulder. "You are proving my point, Apollo! Only stupid people think honking makes them faster!"
At the roundabout, Claire leaned into the curve, sandals slapping against the pedals. Apollo’s car fishtailed, nearly colliding with a lemonade stand. It still bumped into the six boxes of lemons. Lemons rolled across the street, and a toddler in a stroller squealed with delight.
By the time Claire skidded into the parking lot of Briarshore General Hospital, half the town already knew about her. Nurses peered out the windows, patients gathered outside. It almost seemed like someone had sold tickets to a show.
"You must be Wilder’s granddaughter." a security guard with an amused smile said to her, as he stopped in front of the bike. "Your grandmother called ahead and said you would be coming around on her bike. She forgot to mention that you had her craziness and then some. Whole town is talking about you."
Before Claire could bask in her victory, a convoy of black SUVs rolled up. Apollo’s bodyguards spilled out, suits crisp, sunglasses gleaming. Without a word, they surrounded Claire and the motorcycle. One snapped a photo of the bike, another patted the seat like it was contraband and a third declared, "This bike is now the property of Mr. Apollo Ashford."