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82: Broken Knees, Broken Kings
Huling Na-update:
2025-05-02 07:00:53The room was thick with the scent of tobacco and expensive cologne, the kind that settled into leather and power.
It was the kind of space where fortunes were made, alliances were tested, and destruction was decided with a single word.Malachai sat at the head of the long, obsidian conference table, fingers drumming idly against the polished surface.The dim glow from the chandelier overhead cast a golden sheen across the room, reflecting off crystal glasses filled with aged whiskey.Luca, seated to his right, flicked open his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face before he lit his cigarette.He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke coil around him like a ghost before he passed the lighter across the table to Rafael DeSantis. Rafael took it with a nod, his own cigarette already perched between his lips.Aziel Tau leaned forward, sleeves rolled up, his forearms flexing as he tapped a few keys on his t
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THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 183: The Weight Of Inheritance
The twins had gone to bed, leaving the house draped in silence.Not a comforting kind.The kind that pressed against the walls, thick and watching—like even the furniture was holding its breath. Somewhere in the distance, the dishwasher hummed and clicked through its final cycle. A soft thud from upstairs suggested one of the twins had dropped a stuffed animal mid-dream.Noah didn’t care. He was moving on instinct.With the kind of confidence only a younger sibling could summon—reckless, entitled, just slightly charming—he strode down the hallway and knocked twice on their parents’ door.He didn’t wait. The handle turned easily, and the door swung inward on the familiar creak.Inside, the room was warm with lamplight. Maria stood at her dresser in a pale robe, hair still damp from the shower. Her jewelry lay scattered across the polished wood—rings, earrings, a heavy gold necklace she hadn’t worn in years but kept close
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 182: The Math Of Power
Dinner had ended. The table had been cleared, the dishes put away, and the house had settled into its usual post-meal routine. The warm scent of roasted lamb and garlic still lingered in the air, mixing with the faint hint of vanilla from the candle Maria had blown out before leaving the dining room. In the living room, Ella sat cross-legged on the floor, helping Ivy and Iris with their homework. The twins sprawled out beside her, their little legs kicking absentmindedly as they whined about long division. "Why do we even need math, Aunty Ella?" Iris grumbled, tapping her pencil against her workbook. "So you don’t get swindled when you start spending your father’s money," Ella replied without missing a beat. Ivy gasped dramatically. "People would steal from us?" "Absolutely." Ella turned the page. "Now
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 181: Heir & Error
Luca Avancii had spent his youth being ruthless—an unrelenting force in business, carving out an empire with sharp instincts and sharper decisions. He didn’t negotiate. He didn’t pause. He didn’t second-guess. But now, in the later years of his life, something had shifted. Power never left a man willingly. It clung like a second skin, but these days, Luca took greater pleasure in simpler things: the weight of a good book in hand, a glass of thirty-year whiskey neat, the chaos of his children shrieking down the hall. Still, one thing hadn’t changed. Legacy. Legacy was everything. And that was why, at this moment, he stood in the center of the master bedroom, sleeves rolled up, jaw tight, facing off with his wife, Maria, as though she were a rival in one of his old boardroom wars. “You’re being unreasonable,” he said, voice low and tight.
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 180: Puppet master
House Six’s dorm was still under lockdown, but that didn’t stop them from thriving in their own brand of chaos. Their lavish common room was alive with noise—Joy was lying upside down on the couch reading a magazine, Samuel was balancing a knife on one finger. Moses was deeply invested in a game of chess against himself, and Mika was throwing darts at a moving target: Fiero, who, as usual, did not seem to care. At the center of it all, Xavier Peterson or rather, D.C Tenebris, their ever-unbothered House Master, sat in a throne-like armchair, sipping tea and radiating the smug aura of a man with too much power and absolutely no intention of using it responsibly. “Alright, you feral children,” Xavier finally spoke, snapping his fingers. “Family meeting.” Joy groaned. “Again? We literally had one yesterday.” “Yes, and I hated it,” Xavier said, setting down his tea. “But I’ve decid
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 179: The Oracle
The hallway outside Principal Whitmore's office was silent, save for the faint hum of electricity from the overhead lights. House Six moved like ghosts, each step calculated. Miriam was at the front, her fingers gripping the cool metal of the master key as she slid it into the lock. The door clicked open, and they slipped inside. The office smelled of old paper, cigar smoke, and a faint trace of Whitmore's expensive perfume. The large oak desk was littered with neatly stacked files, but Miriam ignored them. She moved straight to the surveillance system on the far wall, its screens dimmed in standby mode. Samuel stood beside her, a flick knife twirling between his fingers as he leaned in. "We don't have all night, genius." Miriam rolled her eyes and began typing rapidly. The system was layered with firewalls, but nothing she hadn't cracked before. Within moments, the footage began to rewind. The others crowded around, watching intently. The timestamp read: 11:01 PM. They were re
THE PRICE FOR HIS NAME 178: 327.11.9
The woods swallowed them whole. Behind them, the Founder’s Ball kept playing—music echoing faintly like a distant dream—but it was already too far, too fake, too slow. The trees took them, greedy and wild, shadows stretching long as the adrenaline wore off. Julia staggered. Her heels had long since been discarded. Her gown, once pristine, now dragged in the dirt, soaked with blood from the growing stain near her ribcage. She moved like a marionette with fraying strings—jerky, unsteady, slow. Fiero walked beside her, wordless. Every time she slipped, he caught her. Every time her knees buckled, his grip found her wrist and yanked her upright. “Who did this to you?” Joy hissed. Her voice held something terrifying—controlled fury, sharp and clinical, like she was dissecting the idea of violence one layer at a time. Her eyes flashed, and even in the dim moonlight, her stance was lethal. Julia didn’t answer. Her eyes were glassy. Her mouth opened once, closed again. Then she whisper
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