Page 7 of Sinful Obsession (Broken Vows #3)

CHARLOTTE

Four weeks of brutal combat conditioning had come and gone. A crucible of pain and power.

There were sparring sessions where I was thrown against heirs twice my size—sons of crime lords with fists like hammers and no mercy.

Weapons training was worse. Hours spent wielding knives and batons until my hands blistered raw. I fumbled once and sliced a deep line across my own palm.

By the third week, I nearly broke. Sobbing quietly in the DEN’s shadows, swallowing the sound so no one would hear.

Four relentless weeks of bloodied knuckles, bone-deep exhaustion, and psychological warfare meant to shatter even the strongest.

But I endured. Clawed my way through.

Fueled by the thought of my grandfather’s legacy and the need to prove my father wrong.

I was still standing—barely. Barely sane.

There were thirty-eight of us left.

Out of forty. Two had died in the first week.

We had ten more months to go. The end would come in November. Today was January 29th.

According to the bosses, combat conditioning was just the prelude. The real contest—the one that would crown the survivor—began in less than an hour.

I’d like to say I was ready. That the agony had forged me into something steel and unshakable.

But that would be a lie.

I was nervous. On edge. Even after everything, I didn’t know what was coming. And that terrified me.

I walked in silence beside the only person I trusted here—King. My fourth roommate. He was rough around the edges, slow to warm up, but eventually, he let me in.

Mostly because I refused to give up.

We’d made a quiet vow to protect each other. From our two psychopath teammates—Silas and Sebastian.

They’d kill us if given the chance.

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.

“Sebastian, you’re the tallest,” I said, voice low and urgent. “You should go.”

He smirked. “And you, the shortest runt—what’s stopping you, huh?”

My stomach twisted. I turned away and bent slightly, hoping to retch, but nothing came up.

When I turned back, Cassian was watching.

Unblinking.

I yanked my focus away.

King pointed at me. “No way Charles can do it. He’s the weakest of us all. If he fails, we lose a teammate for nothing—and someone else would still have to jump. It’s a waste. We need all four of us for the months ahead.”

“Three seconds... two...” Misha’s voice boomed through the microphone.

“Guys, decide fast,” I urged, my heart pounding. “Sebastian, just do it.”

“Hell no, you do it,” Sebastian snapped, his eyes wide with fear despite his bravado.

“Time’s up,” Misha declared. “Each team’s representative takes four steps forward. Everyone else, two steps back.”

We froze.

No one moved.

Our eyes darted between each other, anger and fear locking us in place.

Misha’s voice cut again: “If a team has no representative, the entire team is eliminated.”

I swallowed hard.

Other teams were already sending their chosen forward.

And we—Den of Vipers—stood paralyzed.

“In five. Four. Three. Two...”

Panic surged.

I glanced at King, his jaw tight, then at Silas and Sebastian, their smirks gone, replaced by dread.

We hadn’t chosen. No one stepped forward.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself. Maybe I’d gone insane. Or maybe it was pride. Survival. Something uglier than all three.

The others hadn’t moved. Not a twitch. But they weren’t fearless—just practiced at pretending. Their eyes held that haunted glint we all carried after four weeks in hell. Still, they assumed someone would be forced forward eventually... and that someone was me.

A sharp cramp twisted through my lower stomach. I clenched my jaw and ignored it, hiding the flicker of nausea that threatened to rise. Not now.

From behind, Silas leaned close, his breath warm and cruel at my neck.

“Go on, runt. Jump and die. We’ll win without you anyway,” he murmured.

Sebastian chuckled. “Yeah, matchstick. Save us the trouble. Burn, and we’re still in the game.”

Bastards.

Their words were knives, but I refused to flinch. The fire ring loomed, its flames a wall of death, the heat already blistering my skin from twenty feet away. My heart pounded, fear clawing at my resolve. I’m not ready to die, I thought, the flames’ roar drowning out my courage.

I stared ahead, heart in my throat.

Misha stepped forward from the raised platform, expression unreadable.

“Listen closely,” he called out. “Here are the rules. There are three phases before the fire. Each tests your speed and control.”

He pointed. “Phase one: a sprint across a ten-meter track—too slow, and the flames at the edge will catch you. Phase two: a narrow beam over a pit of coals—too fast, and you’ll slip, burning alive.

Phase three: the jump through the ring itself—mistime it, and you’re ash.

Precision is survival. Hesitation is death. ”

My pulse hammered, the rules a labyrinth of peril.

He turned. “Den of Serpents—step forward.”

A tall, wiry guy in a red uniform stepped up, early twenties, his face a mask of forced bravado, though his hands shook as he flexed them. He positioned himself at the track’s edge, sweat glistening on his brow.

His teammates watched him like he was already dead.

“At the sound of the shot, you begin,” Misha said.

A gunshot cracked from the shadows—one of the snipers, ever watchful—and he bolted.

His sprint was lightning, feet pounding the track as flames flared at his heels, urging him faster.

He reached the beam, slowing to a careful stride, arms outstretched, balancing over the glowing coals below.

The heat warped the air, his face contorting with focus.

He made it across, reaching the ring. He crouched, muscles tensing, and leapt—high, almost perfect. But the flames surged, a sudden inferno swallowing him mid-air.

His scream tore through the hall, raw, mixing with the fire’s roar as he landed on the other side, engulfed. His body collapsed, a charred husk, ashes scattering like snow.

A collective breath shuddered through the candidates.

Horror gripped me, nausea surging again.

I pressed a hand to my stomach, hiding the tremor, the queasiness threatening to betray me.

If he—tall, strong, confident—could burn, what chance did I have?

My teammates’ eyes bored into me, Silas and Sebastian’s smirks taunting, King’s face unusually grim, his usual calm replaced by dread.

“Den of Vipers—step forward,” Misha commanded.

My heart plummeted. “What the hell...” I whispered.

It’s our turn already?

The flames roared, mocking my fear. I wasn’t sure I could jump that high, my small frame a curse in this moment.

A gunshot rang out, and time collapsed.

I sprinted, the track blurring beneath my boots, the flames at the edge licking closer, heat searing my calves.

Phase one. I dodged left, then right, heart pounding. The fire chased me like it had a will of its own, but I didn’t stop.

I reached the beam.

Phase two. A narrow plank swayed above a pit of burning coals. I jumped—landed hard. Pain spiked through my ankle, but I kept moving, arms out, body trembling. One wrong step and I’d fall straight into the fire.

Then came the ramp.

Phase three. My legs burned. My chest ached. The world pulsed and twisted around me. Heat shimmered like a wall. I charged forward anyway—

And my foot slipped.

I was going to die.

The ring of fire swelled before me. My legs gave out. The ground tilted beneath my feet—