Page 22 of Sinful Obsession
And I couldn’t afford to die. Not when the stakes were this high.
I needed to win. I had to win. It was the only way I could claim what my grandfather left for me. The only way I could avenge what my father did—banishing my grandfather to rot in that old house in the woods, cutting him off from power, and sending me there like I was nothing.
We scraped for food. Hunted to eat. Survived on frost and silence.
I still remember the night I held his shaking hands and promised I would take it all back.
So no. I wouldn’t lose here.
Even if it almost killed me.
Even if I bled for it every day.
Even if my cover was one slip away from being blown.
Four days ago, I got my period, and though the cramps nearly doubled me over, I managed to push through carefully.
No one noticed.
Except... maybe King.
He barged into the bathroom just as I was flushing the tissue down. For one breathless second, we locked eyes. I couldn’t tell if he saw. He didn’t mention it after. Maybe he didn’t want to believe it.
Did he suspect? I couldn’t afford to wonder. My disguise as Charles was my lifeline; if it unraveled, I’d face execution.
Cassian, on the other hand... he knew. He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t outed me—but his silence was worse. He watched me like a predator.
It was driving me insane.
I wore the uniform of the Den of Vipers—green and white, stitched with our insignia. Each team had their own colors, their own identities. Ours was the most volatile. No surprise there.
We approached the contest grounds, a wide open stretch of gravel and dirt. At the center was a massive ring of fire encircling a raised metal platform.
The heat from it was suffocating. Sparks danced in the air. Flames roared like beasts.
And there, standing like gods before a sacrifice, were the three bosses: Dmitri. Misha. And Cassian.
Cassian didn’t look at me. Not directly. But I felt his stare anyway. Felt it like a brand across my skin.
Four weeks of training and I still wasn’t used to it.
At Dmitri’s signal, we fell into formation. The others moved with practiced precision—routine and order ingrained into every step.
Misha stepped forward, the fire casting an eerie glow across his sharp features. “The first contest begins now.”
The words rang through us like a gunshot.
“Each team will decide who among you has the highest jumping potential,” he continued. “One representative must leap through the fire ring. If they fail—if they burn—another may try.”
A pause.
“If your entire team burns to ash... so be it.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd. The fire seemed to roar louder, licking higher like it hungered for our flesh.
“You have ten seconds to decide.”
Immediately, we huddled.
