Page 42 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"Call me The Blind One." His voice carries amusement, but there's something ancient and dangerous beneath it. "That's more than enough to determine my role and power in this sinister world of ours."

Marcus frowns, studying the man's figure as if trying to place something familiar. But before he can speak, The Blind One cuts him off.

"You should focus on reaching Ascension before three AM. Otherwise, you lose your positions."

"Matteo and Zander are still recovering," Ares points out, arms tightening around me as my consciousness continues to fade. "We're two Kings short."

"Three," Marcus corrects grimly. "Aries isn't a Ruthless King anymore either."

"What do we do?" Ares asks, real concern cracking through his usual composed facade.

Marcus calls out to The Blind One, who's already beginning to melt into the shadows. "What should we do?"

"Fill the spots," comes the simple answer, his voice echoing strangely. "There are three of you already. Find one more King and bring your Maiden to the ball."

"How the fuck are we supposed to find another King in—" Ares checks his watch and curses. "It's 2:30. The venue's twenty minutes away."

"Hannah," he barks, taking command. "Get us proper attire. Arlo, Kian – attend to everyone's wounds. We need to move. Now."

As consciousness finally slips away from me, I hear The Blind One's last words fade into the darkness:

"Remember, a Queen's power lies not in her pieces, but in how she moves them."

A Model's Mask

~ARES~

The grand ballroom of Leighton Manor drowns in whispers that aren't really whispers at all. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across marble floors, illuminating faces that don't even try to hide their judgment. My perfectly manicured fingers grip the delicate stem of a prosecco glass while I stand alone, a crimson and gold statue amid a sea of black and white formal wear.

"Can you believe they're not here yet?"

"Matteo and Benedict missing... something must have happened."

"The model thinks he can lead? Please."

The custom-tailored red suit hugs my frame like armor, golden threading catching light with every subtle movement. Hannah outdid herself, somehow producing outfits worthy of Ascension in mere minutes. The suit is a statement – bold, unapologetic, dangerous. Everything I've spent years pretending not to be.

"Where's their Maiden? Ascension starts in three minutes."

"Probably ran off with Domino. Did you see that video?"

My face remains perfectly composed, a mask I perfected on countless runways. But beneath it, memories surface like wounds reopening:

"It's fine, Father. I'm the older one – I'll take responsibility."

Aries, always shielding me, always taking the blame. Even when Father made it clear he wanted me to take over, wanted the son with the face that could charm board rooms and challenge beauty standards.

A couple nearby whispers behind jeweled fans, their voices carrying despite their pretense at discretion. "He hasn't moved in ten minutes. Just standing there like a mannequin."

"Well, he is a model. Probably all he knows how to do."

The prosecco tastes like ash in my mouth. They're right – I could have learned so much from Aries. Could have paid attention to more than just maintaining my image and booking campaigns. But my brother made it too easy to stay in my comfort zone, always stepping in, always handling the messy parts of our world.

"You don't need to know this stuff, little brother," he'd say, cleaning blood from his knuckles. "Let me handle the ugly parts. You just keep being beautiful."

The massive clock above the stage shows 2:57 AM. Three minutes until Ascension begins, and we're still missing our Queen. The crowd's murmurs grow louder, more pointed.

"They're going to lose their titles."

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