Chapter 241

Ava’s POV

I don’t know who screamed first. The instant the shot rang out and Rickon fell, everything slowed. The moment stretched, the gunshot’s echo lingering, the smell of gunpowder mingling with the metallic tang of blood. My breath hitched, my heart pounding. Then, as quickly as time had stopped, it resumed its relentless pace.

Isabella’s scream, raw and guttural, pierced the chaos. She rushed to Rickon, collapsing beside him in the spreading pool of blood. The wound was horrific; the bullet had passed clean through, and crimson flowed freely. Rickon groaned, his face contorted in pain. Isabella reached for him, but he recoiled with a sharp snarl, his teeth bared.

“What is your problem?!” she cried, her voice breaking.

Rickon only gritted his teeth, clutching his bleeding leg, his fingers slick with blood. The rest of us remained frozen. My mind struggled to process the violence, feeling like it had short-circuited. My gaze drifted, searching for something to anchor me, and settled on my mother.

She wasn’t looking at Rickon or Damien. She was staring at the woman behind the glass—the High Priestess, her mother, my grandmother. The revelation weighed heavily on me. I should have been shocked, but after my mother’s other betrayals, I lacked the energy for surprise. She’d hidden my twin sister’s existence; why would this be different? But this wasn't the time for that. Confronting her now would be futile.

Damien’s voice, smooth, amused, and lethal, cut through the silence. “That was a warning shot,” he said, smiling and tilting his head. His gaze swept across us like a predator assessing its prey. “Next time a body drops, it will be permanent.”

Isabella wept, her hands trembling as she hovered over Rickon, unsure how to help. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, and he refused to meet her gaze. The air thickened with tension. Elaine sat up straighter, Maria’s bored demeanor replaced by a sharp, calculating expression.

Grayson remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Damien, unflinching and silent. The tension between them was razor-thin, a delicate balance teetering on the brink of collapse.

Damien chuckled. “Well, with one player eliminated,” he mused, regarding Rickon as a mere pawn, “and one utterly useless…” His gaze drifted to my unconscious father. “I guess that leaves us with three teams left.” His amusement was sickening.

“Now, let’s lay down the rules, shall we?” He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing like a king surveying his subjects. “This little game is about survival, loyalty, strength.” His grin widened, revealing teeth like a wolf’s fangs. “I want to see what you’re really willing to do to survive.”

His words dripped with cruelty, each syllable designed to unsettle us, to underscore his control. He paused, assessing us, searching for weakness. He craved fear, desperation.

“There will be three trials. Three rounds. And only one team will win.”

My stomach churned, my pulse a heavy thud in my ears.

“What kind of trials?” Elaine asked, her voice steady but sharp, her tension barely contained.

Damien smirked, a smirk that made my skin crawl. “Oh, don’t worry,” he drawled. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

The ensuing silence was suffocating. Then, with a languid wave of his hand, he said, “Go on. Stand with your partner.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then, slowly, reluctantly, people paired off. Except Isabella. She knelt beside Rickon, tears streaming down her face as she watched the blood spread beneath him. Rickon remained averted, his jaw clenched, his knuckles white from the pressure on his wound.

I didn’t know what had transpired between them, but whatever it was, it had shattered something irrevocably. I hadn’t realized it was this bad. But I snapped out of my paralysis. Rickon was bleeding out, and I was doing nothing.

Instinct took over. Ignoring Damien and his sick game, I rushed to Rickon, my hesitation dissolving. I cared only about stopping the bleeding.

Another gunshot shattered the silence—loud, deafening. The bullet missed, but its impact was immediate. The room froze. My body locked, the sound echoing in my skull, stealing my breath. My hands clenched, my heart pounding. I slowly turned to Damien. He was smiling, as if this were mere entertainment.

A fire ignited within me, hot and violent. “You have won, so stop,” I said.

He tilted his head, his amusement growing. “Oh?”

“Just stop,” I said, my voice stronger, my hands clenched. “You want me? Fine. Let them go.”

His smile deepened, mocking. “Oh, Little Dove,” he purred, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “It’s not that simple.”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” I said, hating the words, hating the constriction in my throat, but forcing them out. “Just let them go.”

A heavy silence followed, then Grayson’s low, lethal voice cut through the room: “No.”

I turned, my breath catching. He hadn’t spoken until now, but standing rigid, his gaze locked on Damien, he seemed unafraid. His voice was unnervingly calm—the kind of calm that chilled the air.

“She’s not making deals with you,” he said, his voice edged with steel.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Grayson shook his head—a command, a warning. I fell silent, moving to Rickon's side to help staunch the bleeding.

Grayson stepped forward, his voice carrying with a deadly quiet. “No one is playing your stupid game,” he said. “You’re not getting Ava. And most importantly—” His eyes burned, his stance unwavering. “—you seem to have forgotten why my name meant something.”

A spark ignited at his words. The air shifted, this time in our favor. Something cracked. Damien hesitated, a flicker of something behind his mask of amusement. Then the walls didn't just crack or splinter; they exploded.