Page 127 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"Beautiful!" the photographer calls out, camera clicking rapidly. "Give me dangerous but approachable! Mysterious but inviting!"

I slip into performance mode with practiced ease, letting my body move through familiar poses while my mind continues racing with implications. Because that's what we do, isn't it? Maintain perfect facades while chaos builds beneath the surface.

Stay alive, I think as another flash captures whatever carefully crafted emotion I'm projecting.Stay aware. Stay focused.

Because something tells me we're going to need every advantage we can get to survive whatever's been building at Leighton for generations.

The camera clicks again, freezing another moment of carefully constructed perfection.

Another mask hiding all the dangers lurking just beneath the surface.

Another piece in a game that's been playing out longer than any of us realized.

The question is: are we actually players, or just the latest generation of carefully selected pawns?

The lights flash again, and I let myself become nothing but angles and expressions and perfect poses.

At least for now.

At least until we figure out our next move in this deadly game of generational obsession.

Whispers Of Sickness Part Ii

~ARES~

The final camera flash feels almost blinding after hours under the studio lights. My muscles ache from holding precise poses, though years of modeling have taught me to never let discomfort show. The black silk mask feels damp against my skin as I bow slightly to the crew, maintaining the perfect balance of professional courtesy and subtle authority that's become second nature.

"Magnificent work as always," the photographer gushes, already reviewing shots on his monitors. "The mystery with the mask, the controlled danger in your eyes - it's exactly what the campaign needs."

I murmur appropriate thanks while gathering my personal belongings, mind already racing ahead to everything waiting beyond these carefully controlled walls. The cool evening air hits like a blessing as I push through the studio's heavy doors, heading toward my private trailer.

My phone vibrates in my pocket - probably Hannah with updated security protocols or Marcus with more concerns aboutthe spreading illnesses. But when I pull it out, Eva's name flashes across the screen.

Something cold settles in my stomach at the sight. Because Eva doesn't call during shoots unless it's important. Unless something's wrong.

"Eva?" I answer immediately, already quickening my pace toward the trailer.

"Ares." Her voice comes through breathless, edged with panic I've rarely heard from her. "I- I don't- He's in surgery and I can't-"

"Slow down," I cut in, forcing calm into my tone despite how her obvious distress makes my heart race. "Breathe for me. What's happening?"

A shaky exhale crackles through the line. "It's Domino. His heart- it just stopped. They're operating now and I can't-"

The words hit like physical blows, making me stumble slightly. "What? When? How-"

"After practice." Her voice cracks slightly. "He was sick - really sick - but trying to hide it. Then some of the team cornered him in the locker room, dumped water on him while he was already weak..."

Understanding dawns as I remember the whispered conversations from the makeup chair. The hockey players getting mysteriously ill. The carefully engineered diseases targeting specific people.

"Matteo said-" Eva's breath hitches. "He said Domino just collapsed. Stopped breathing right there in the locker room. They barely got him to the hospital in time and now he's in surgery and I can't-"

"Eva," I cut in firmly, reaching my trailer and yanking the door open. "Listen to me. Focus on my voice. Where are you right now?"

"Hospital waiting room." A broken laugh escapes her. "Pacing like a crazy person while everyone watches. I probably look insane."

"You're not insane," I assure her, though something in her tone makes my chest tight. "You're worried about-"

"But that's just it!" she interrupts, real anguish coloring her words. "I shouldn't be worried! This is- isn't this what I wanted? What I've been working toward? Seeing him suffer, watching him pay for everything he's done?"

---