Page 16 of Sinful Obsession
“Welcome to this year’s contest of the House of Devils,” Dmitri’s voice boomed, amplified by a microphone, though the hall’s acoustics would have carried a whisper.
His gaze swept the room, pausing on me for a fleeting moment, his expression as unreadable as stone. “From the moment you arrived until this moment, you’ve had your only taste of freedom. From now on, you abide by the rules of this house, or you die.”
The silence deepened, oppressive. “Today, January 1, 2028, marks the start of a year-long trial,” Dmitri continued, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the iron hall. “Until the last day of November, you are no longer who you were in the outside world. You are ghosts, fighting for your lives. Only one of you will survive to claim victory.”
He turned to his left, gesturing to the man in the black suit. “I am the third boss of this house, Dmitri. This is the second boss, Misha.” Then he pointed to the man in white, whose face was a mask of ice, his presence a cold so piercing it could flay skin from bone. “And this is Cassian.”
That name—Cassian.
It struck like a blade, slicing through my composure.
My breath hitched, a wave of déjà vu crashing over me, stronger this time. I’d heard that name countless times, hadn’t I? In whispers, in screams, in the dark corners of a life I couldn’t remember.
He stood like a soldier, gallant and unyielding, his blue eyes staring into the void as if he could see through time itself.
The flashes came again—his voice, low and venomous, promising ruin; his hand, steady... wielding my leash like it belonged there, my own fear, choking me.
I blinked, hard. Shoved the images down where they belonged—in the dark, my heart racing. I didn’t know him. I couldn’t know him.
But the dread coiling in my gut said otherwise.
He stared ahead like a statue, as if none of us existed.
He didn’t need to speak. His silence screamed enough.
Dmitri’s gaze returned to us, his voice cutting through the silence. “The book of rules is being distributed by our soldiers, along with your uniforms.”
“You will study it. Obey it. And remember one thing: Ignorantia juris non excusat.”
I knew that one.Ignorance of the law is no excuse.
The rules weren’t for fairness. They were for power.
He stepped back, and Misha took the podium, his blue eyes scanning us like a hawk.
“Each Den holds four,” he said, his voice clipped and razor-sharp. “Those are your teams—for now. Whether you like it or not, you’re bound together.”
A pause. His gaze sliced through the silence.
“You’ll train together. Fight together. And when the time comes—bleed together. Without unity, you won’t last a week. Your only hope of survival... is each other. Win, or die.”
My gut twisted.
Silas and Sebastian—my psychopathic roommates, my would-be executioners. And now, my teammates?
If we were supposed to be a team, their hatred could either get me killed—or be the one thing that kept me alive. Maybe if they needed me, they wouldn’t try to gut me in my sleep.
God help me.
Misha descended the podium, his footsteps soundless against the iron floor.
He stopped before one of the front teams, lifted the chin of a hulking candidate with a single finger, inspecting him like a butcher might assess a prized bull.
Then, just as wordlessly, he let go.
“I don’t care how powerful you were in your country,” he said, cold and flat. “Here, you are weak. Equal. Untrained. You’ll begin with three weeks of combat conditioning. Learn fast—or bleed.”
A voice cut through the stillness.
