Page 18 of Sinful Obsession

For jogging instead of running? The brutality of it sank into me, a cold weight in my chest, but I kept my face impassive, refusing to show weakness.

The two hesitated.

Thiago snapped into a fighting stance. Bruno faltered, fear in his eyes, but he mirrored the posture soon enough. He knew—like I did—refusal meant death.

Bruno lunged first.

Thiago dodged easily, slashing across his chest. Blood sprayed, a crimson arc that stained the iron floor.

I fought the urge to flinch, my jaw clenched, my gaze locked forward.

Every instinct screamed at me to shield my eyes from the carnage—but I didn’t. I couldn’t. Weakness here was a death sentence, and I was already the smallest target in the room.

Bruno faked a charge, but Thiago dodged, his blade slicing toward Bruno’s side. Bruno parried, his knife catching Thiago’s cheek, blood spilling down his jaw like a red tear.

Thiago retaliated, driving his blade into Bruno’s ribs. A scream tore from Bruno’s throat, blood and spittle mixing as he staggered, his face contorted in agony.

They were both groaning now, bleeding, struggling to breathe.

I forced myself to keep watching—even as bile climbed my throat.

With five seconds left, Bruno lunged, aiming for Thiago’s neck in a desperate bid to end it. Thiago blocked with his hand, blood pouring from the wound, and in one swift, brutal motion, drove his knife deep into Bruno’s belly.

One second remained.

Bruno sagged against him, limp. A choking sound left his throat as blood poured from his mouth and belly. Then he dropped, lifeless, hitting the floor with a sickening thud.

Thiago stood, trembling, his hand bleeding, his eyes darting to Cassian in terror, unsure if he’d face further punishment.

The tension in the room was unbearable.

Medical personnel emerged from the shadows, swift and silent, whisking Thiago away to treat his wounds.

I stood frozen, my mind reeling.

A knife duel on the first day? This place was a slaughterhouse.

The thought of facing such a fight made my stomach churn, but I buried it, my expression hard as stone.

Cassian’s voice sliced through the silence. “They died because they jogged instead of ran. In here, hesitation gets you killed. Learn your rules. Or end up like them. Dismissed.”

The candidates dispersed quickly, boots scraping against the floor as we scrambled to leave. I was halfway out when—

“Stay.”

Cassian’s voice.

My legs locked. I turned slowly, masking the jolt of panic that ripped through me.

“Your name?” he asked, still standing at the podium, his gaze boring into me like a blade.

“Charles, sir,” I answered, spine straight, voice calm—even as my palms sweat beneath my sleeves.

He descended the platform, each step echoing like a countdown. When he reached me, I could feel the heat of his body—too close.

He towered over me. His scent—dark, expensive, familiar—wrapped around me like smoke.

“Charles,” he repeated, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile.