While the media buzzed with headlines and hollow praise, Ethan walked through campus like any other student—no entourage, no forced charm, no carefully rehearsed image.
At first, people whispered when he passed. The name Richardson carried weight, and his brother's magazine cover only made him more visible. But what surprised many was how Ethan didn't lean into the spotlight. He didn't correct anyone, didn't chase attention. He simply was.
In lecture halls, he asked the right questions—not to impress, but to understand. He spoke to janitors with the same ease he used with professors. In study groups, he listened more than he spoke. His humility stood out in a place full of performance.
And slowly, the whispers changed.
"Have you worked with Ethan in the lab?"
"He's actually brilliant. And kind, too."
"Not like what the papers make him out to be."
One day, a professor even paused mid-lecture to acknowledge him.
"Mr. Richardson, you have a clarity that's rare in first-years. Keep asking questions like that."
Meanwhile, Liam was still riding the wave of his feature—invited to exclusive student groups, praised by peers who echoed what the article had said, not what they had actually seen.
But where Liam's circle grew louder, Ethan's grew deeper.
The admiration Ethan received wasn't bought.
It was earned.
And it was just beginning.
Ethan's rise didn't come with fanfare—it came with presence.
He didn't throw parties or chase clout. He built trust. When students struggled with a concept, he stayed back after class to explain. When group projects threatened to fall apart from ego clashes, it was Ethan who brought people back to the table. He had a way of making people feel seen, not judged—and that drew others to him like a steady flame.
It wasn't long before professors began mentioning his name in academic circles—not for his family, but for his ideas. A renowned economics lecturer even pulled him aside after a seminar.
"You're the kind of mind we try to sharpen here, Ethan," the professor said. "Not because you're a Richardson. Because you're willing to ask the questions others are afraid to."
Campus leaders began inviting him into student governance discussions, hoping to use his insight, though he turned most of them down politely. He wasn't interested in politics. But the invitations alone said enough—people were noticing.
Even the media, so focused on Liam's public image, started to take interest. A smaller, independent campus blog ran a quiet feature titled:
"The Other Richardson: Brilliance Behind the Silence."
It didn't go viral—but the people who mattered read it.
And while Liam remained in photos and headlines, Ethan found himself becoming something more lasting: respected. Not because he fit a mold, but because he refused to.
He was showing the world—and his family—that greatness didn't need to be shouted.
Sometimes, it could whisper and still be heard.
At first, Liam didn't notice.
He was too busy soaking in the glow of campus admiration—invited to elite student societies, tagged in photos with the children of diplomats, professors complimenting his eloquence during debates. He'd memorized every line from the Otto feature, and he wore the attention like a crown.
But soon, subtle shifts began to creep in.
A professor he admired—one who had once called him "a natural speaker"—now lingered longer with Ethan after class. Students in his circles started mentioning Ethan more, and not with the usual condescension reserved for second sons or quiet types. They spoke of Ethan with respect. Genuine admiration.
"He's sharp, you know. And he doesn't just talk—he listens."
"I asked Ethan to review my paper. He gave notes that even the TA missed."
"Yeah, I know Liam's great, but Ethan… there's something about him."
At first, Liam brushed it off. But then came the moment that cracked the surface.
He entered the seminar room one morning, expecting his usual front-row seat beside Professor Halbrook—his mentor, his ally. But Ethan was already there, deep in discussion with the professor, a notebook between them filled with scribbled theories and charts.
Professor Halbrook looked up as Liam approached, only giving a brief nod. "Ah, Liam. Sit anywhere—you'll want to catch up. Ethan just brought a fascinating counterargument to last week's model."
Counterargument? Ethan?
Liam forced a smile and slid into a seat further back, watching his cousin lean over the notes, fully absorbed. No flash, no posturing. Just presence. And power.
Later that evening, he slammed his door shut and tossed the Otto magazine across the room. It landed face-down—his own face pressed into the carpet.
He'd been so sure of the spotlight. So certain it would drown Ethan out.
But now, the glow was starting to shift.
And in the quiet, he felt it.
A threat.
Not loud.
Not proud.
But real.
Laura Albert had always been a master of proximity—close enough to power to taste it, never close enough to be blamed when it burned.
Back in grade nine, it was never Liam who caught her eye. It was Ethan. Quiet. Observant. Sharp in ways that didn't scream for attention. He challenged teachers respectfully, defended the underdog without fanfare, and carried a quiet dignity she couldn't quite ignore. But back then, Ethan wasn't the one predicted to inherit the family's fortune but Liam was.
So she chose the safer shadow.
She make friends with Liam, laughed at his jokes, walked beside him in corridors, all while keeping her true feelings buried under designer labels and carefully rehearsed indifference. It wasn't love she performed—it was strategy. And if there was one thing Laura had always been, it was strategic.
But now?
Now the tides were turning.
Ethan—once the overlooked Richardson—was rising. Not through charm or wealth, but through integrity. Influence was flocking to him naturally, like gravity finally noticed its mistake. And Laura? She noticed too.
So she pivoted.
With practiced grace, she peeled herself from Liam's side and began orbiting Ethan. A compliment here, a coffee there. Subtle, persistent, polished. To outsiders, it looked like old friends reconnecting.
But in Laura's mind, it was a course correction.
She hadn't miscalculated—just bet early.
And now, she was ready to collect.
Laura didn't just appear—she lingered.
At first, Ethan thought it was a coincidence. Her brushing past him in the hallway. A laugh too loud at his joke in class. A sudden shared interest in poetry analysis, which she once dismissed as "too abstract."
But by the third time she brought him an extra coffee "just because," he knew.
"You're circling me," Ethan said one afternoon, catching her in the quad before she could flash another polished smile. "Why?"
Laura's eyes flickered. "Can't I just talk to an old friend?"
"We weren't friends," he replied, voice flat. "Not when it counted."
A pause. Her lips curved slightly—not in apology, but control. "People change, Ethan."
"You mean you changed?"
"Yes," she said quickly. Too quickly.
But Ethan didn't respond. He simply walked away.
What Laura wanted was unclear, even to herself. Redemption? A piece of his growing influence? Or maybe she just missed the feeling of being around someone who didn't need her approval.
Meanwhile, Liam noticed everything.
He saw Laura's calculated glances, her careful positioning next to Ethan in photos, her sudden preference for the debate club she once mocked.
He brought it up once, casually.
"You've been around Ethan a lot lately."
Laura shrugged, applying lip gloss in the mirror. "He's interesting now."
"Interesting," Liam repeated, the word bitter in his mouth.
She met his eyes. "You don't get to tell me who to talk to."
"I'm not," he said, jaw tight. "But I know you."
"No," she said coolly. "You knew me."
Elsewhere, Faye was unraveling.
Laura's best friend since grade six, Faye had always known her place: the loyal shadow. But now, something had shifted more than before. She has always watched Ethan from a distance—drawn to his quiet strength, the way he carried weight without noise.
One day, she said it aloud. Just once.
"I really love him," she murmured.
"Who?"
"Ethan"
Laura's head snapped. "Don't."
Faye blinked. "What?"
Laura stepped closer. "Don't dare. If you value our friendship, Faye, don't compete with me."
It wasn't said in anger. It was said in possession.
Faye didn't respond. But something in her cracked.
Meanwhile… at Iva's University
Far from the polished chaos of the Richardsons, Iva was carving her path.
At first, she thought she'd be just another face on campus—quiet, brilliant, determined. But the story of her high school clash with power, and Steph Richardson's public defense of her, had made its way to campus somehow. A whispered tale of class, courage, and defiance. Professors quoted it. Students admired it.
Iva didn't ask for the attention, but she handled it gracefully. It wasn't just respect she earned—it was influence. People sought her out. Clubs wanted her voice. Lecturers used her story as a case study in ethics and courage. She remained humble, but her eyes sharpened. She had seen how power moved. And now, in her own way, she held some of it.
And in a sunlit lecture hall miles away, Iva's name was spoken with reverence.
Her days were full—projects, lectures, new friends. But whispers followed her.
"That's the girl Steph Richardson defended..."
"She stood up to them, didn't she?"
But in quiet moments, she remembered Winifred Hall. The cold stares. The slammed doors. Liam's dismissal. Laura's silence.
And Ethan—his quiet loyalty that never asked for recognition.
Sometimes she wondered how he was.
She didn't know that Ethan was slowly becoming something more than just "the other Richardson."
He was becoming the threat. A threat to Liam, to Anna and to those in Anna's circle.
Liam,feeling uncomfortable about Laura sudden attention towards Ethan, decided to question Ethan about it.
He caught up with Ethan just outside the cafeteria, the noise of students fading behind them.
"Hey, Ethan. We need to talk," Liam said without any greeting.
Ethan looked up, eyebrows raised. "About what?"
"About Laura," Liam said, voice low. "You two have been hanging out more than usual. I don't like it."
Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I didn't ask for that. She just... started coming around more."
Liam's eyes flickered with something between frustration and warning. "I don't want you to be friends with her"
"You don't get to decide who I choose to be friends with " Ethan said softly
"Laura isn't your friend, she's mine"
"I didn't ask her to be friends with me"
"Just stay away from her"
They stared at each other for a moment—Ethan nods and walks away.