Page 43 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"Good riddance. The Kings should be people who take this seriously."

"I heard the model can't even shoot a gun properly."

That last one makes something shift inside me. The memory of the warehouse flashes through my mind – the weight of the gun in my hand, the crack of the shot, the spray of blood. I maynot have Aries' training or Zander's natural talent for violence, but I pulled that trigger to protect what's mine.

The crowd suddenly hushes as the stage lights dim. In the sudden quiet, I catch my reflection in a nearby mirror and barely recognize myself. The red suit makes my skin look paler, more ethereal. But it's my eyes that give me pause – there's something dark there now, something that wasn't present this morning.

"He looks different," someone whispers. "Something's changed."

"Maybe something did happen to the others..."

"Look at his eyes – he seems almost... dangerous."

A small smile curves my lips, and I watch several nearby guests take involuntary steps back. Let them whisper. Let them underestimate the pretty model who's only good for photographs. They don't need to know about the gun residue I washed from my hands, or the way Eva's blood stained my shirt when I caught her.

The stage lights begin to dim further, and a hush falls over the crowd. The massive clock strikes 3:00 AM exactly as a single spotlight illuminates the center stage.

It's time for Ascension to begin, and somewhere in this crowd, our enemies are watching. Waiting to see if we'll fall.

Sorry, Aries,I think, straightening to my full height.But it's time I learned to handle the ugly parts myself.

The spotlight grows brighter as the organizer's silhouette appears, and I feel the weight of countless eyes upon me. The only Ruthless King currently present, standing alone in crimson and gold.

Let them watch. Let them whisper.

They're about to learn that even the most beautiful masks can hide deadly secrets.

"Leighton Royal University continues to be a prestigious academic institution, admired across the globe. Withapplications tripling by 500%, it's clear how worthy and high-demand our university is among the top legacy-creating foundations."

The organizer's voice carries the same rehearsed pride it did three hours ago, when this event was originally supposed to begin. I take another sip of prosecco, watching the barely-concealed irritation on faces that have been waiting since midnight for the Ascension to start.

"Many of our students are not only taught various skills and knowledge that can help them survive the royal lifestyle outside these walls, but there are also many who have proven great promise in becoming grand leaders of empires that have been running for generations."

If they only knew where those "grand leaders" really are right now– Matteo and Zander in hospital beds, Eva unconscious from hallucinogens, Marcus frantically trying to salvage our plans. My crimson suit stands out like a wound among the sea of black and white formal wear, making my solitary presence even more conspicuous.

"Did you hear?" someone whispers too loudly to her companion. "They made us wait because the Ruthless Kings couldn't get their act together. Something about their Queen causing chaos across campus."

"Three hours," another guest hisses. "They made us wait three hours, and still half their court is missing. The model's the only one who bothered to show up."

The Savage Heirs' delegation seems particularly amused by my isolation, their smirks growing with each passing minute. They've never approved of a "pretty boy" holding such a prestigious position. Now they probably think they're witnessing our downfall.

"I heard there was a shooting at the hockey stadium," someone murmurs behind their champagne glass. "And Benedict's nowhere to be found..."

"The bodyguard's brother isn't here either. Probably couldn't handle the pressure."

My fingers tighten on my glass, but my face remains perfectly composed. Let them speculate. Let them underestimate the "model" standing alone in his blood-red suit. None of them know about the gun residue I washed from my hands just hours ago, or how natural it felt to pull that trigger in defense of our Queen.

"Someone said their Maiden went rogue," a voice carries from the balcony. "After that video of Leighton went viral..."

"Probably hiding in shame. Can't have a Queen who airs dirty laundry."

The massive clock shows 3:02 AM – we're running out of time. But as I scan the crowded ballroom, I notice something interesting. The whispers and sneers can't quite hide the undercurrent of fear. They've all seen the video. They've all witnessed what our Queen is capable of.

And now they're watching the "pretty" one stand unflinching in a suit the color of fresh blood, no longer hiding behind his brother's shadow or his modeling portfolio.

"He looks different," another mutters to his companion. "Something's changed."

"The way he's standing... it's like he's waiting for something."

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