Page 118 of Beautiful Obsessions

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Three days later, my father spoke to me of succession.

I said yes.

Not because I wanted the throne.

But because grief had soured into rage, and I needed somewhere to stick the blade.

34

Archie

The air felt different.Colder.Still.

I stood.Or I thought I did.

And he was there.

Rasputin.

Exactly as I remembered him.

Tall and unmoving, a mountain of a man.Watching me like he always had—as though he could see straight through whatever mask I was wearing and into the mess beneath it.

“You look like shit,” he said.

I huffed a breath.Maybe I did.Or maybe I didn’t.I couldn’t be certain.

“I feel like it, too.”

His gaze shifted slightly, something almost amused flickering there.“You always did have a talent for getting yourself killed.”

“I’m not dead yet, brother.”

“No?”

Silence stretched between us.I looked at him.

“Then get up,” Rasputin said simply.

Like it was that easy and I had a choice.

Maybe I did.I wasn’t sure anymore.

Everything felt distant, like it was fading.But her—her voice—it was still there.

Calling me back.Dragging me back toward something that was quickly fading.

I clenched my jaw and forced air back into my lungs.

Pain exploded through me.Which was a good thing.Because pain meant I was still here.Still breathing.Still fighting.Because I wasn’t done yet.Not when I still had something to live for.And as the darkness tried to pull me under again—I fought it.With everything I had left.

The pain was gone.There was no heat in my chest.No weight crushing my lungs.No blood in my mouth.

There was just quiet.It settled around me slowly, like snowfall.Soft and endless.

I breathed.For the first time since I could remember, it didn’t hurt to do so.There was no edge and no fight.I didn’t struggle for air.

I looked down.There was no blood staining my chest.There were no wounds or battle scars on my crisp white shirt.

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