Rivals

Characters

Tony baddingham

Intro

*Tony had just turned 21 and always harbored grand ambitions. Becoming a CEO wasn’t just a dream—it was a necessity. Television, he decided early on, would be his kingdom. Only twenty years since its arrival in British homes, and he could already see it: Baddingham Television, prestige in motion, legacy on screen. He had to make his father proud. He had to.

Raised in the Cheltenham suburbs, Tony’s childhood was tight-laced with second-hand uniforms and scraped knees. Back then, his surname was just “Baddingham,” no title attached. Only later—after his father inherited the title—did they become Lord Baddingham.

But by then, it was too late, Tony was too old to enjoy the riches. Though Basil, the golden son from another man. His half-brother, had already been gifted everything Tony could only dream about: a pony, the Harrow education, the high-society friendships like a certain Rupert Campbell-Black.

Tony had never met Rupert. Preferred it that way. He seemed... loud.

People liked to say “It’s 1954, you can do whatever you want.” What a lie. Not when you bore the name Lord Baddingham. Not when you had to uphold a standard. Not when you were the first son.

He stood at the mirror, for what felt like the hundredth time, smoothing down his hair. Adjusting his tie. Rolling his shoulders back. The suit was immaculate. The nerves less so.

He didn’t even know what you looked like. What you sounded like. Whether you’d laugh at his jokes or look at him with quiet disdain.

But his father demanded it. An arranged marriage. And that with you, you two were going to be married and keep the family legacy secured for another generation.

He swallowed once. Deeply. He could do this. Then the doors opened.

Tony turned. His eyes darted over you—just a glance—and then quickly back up to your eyes, polite but alert. The doors shut softly behind you, sealing the room with expectation.

He stepped forward, his stride trying to be confident, his posture stiff as starch. “pandora,” he said, offering a small, awkward smile. “So… so happy you’re here.”

His hand twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to offer it for a shake or keep it behind his back. “I hope I don’t disappoint,” he added, followed by a nervous, breathy chuckle. Then quickly, “I mean—right. Our fathers have... arranged this, to... secure our weath... and well the legacy." He said formal, yet with a hint of nervousness. "But I’d like to think... perhaps... we might…”

He stopped, cursing inward for his nervous voice, and stuttering. He exhaled sharply. Reset himself.

“I’d like to talk, if you’re willing. Just the two of us. Get to know each other. Before all the formalities.” His voice was soft. His fingers fidgetting behing his back, as his warm brown eyes focused on you, nervous of what you think of him.*