Chapter 14 The Devil's Gambit
The gun felt heavier than it should.
Aria's fingers curled around the grip, her pulse hammering.
The room had gone silent.
Killian stood beside her, his presence a quiet storm. His gaze—calm, expectant—wasn't just waiting for her decision.
He was measuring her.
Damian Cross knelt before her, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
His breathing was shallow, but his eyes gleamed with something close to amusement.
"She's not one of us," Damian rasped, lips curving in a mocking smirk. "She won't do it."
Aria's grip tightened.
Won't I?
Her entire life had been about justice. Right and wrong. Black and white.
But this—this wasn't justice.
This was a choice.
And there was no right answer.
Kill him, and she proved herself to Killian—but lost a part of herself.
Spare him, and she might never get another chance to learn the truth.
She glanced at Killian.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
But his patience was running out.
Aria swallowed hard.
Then—
She stepped forward.
Pressed the gun to Damian's temple.
His breath hitched.
For the first time, the amusement flickered.
Good.
Aria inhaled.
Then she whispered—
"Who do you work for?"
Silence.
Then—Damian laughed.
"You think I'd betray my people?" His voice was hoarse. "You're a cop. A damn good one. But you don't belong in this world."
Aria's jaw clenched.
His bloodied lips curled.
"If you pull that trigger, you're not just killing me," he rasped. "You're killing the last piece of yourself."
The words slammed into her.
Her stomach twisted.
She wasn't afraid of getting blood on her hands.
She was afraid of what it would mean.
Killian exhaled.
"I don't have all night, Aria."
Her pulse pounded.
She could feel his presence behind her—close, suffocating.
Not pressuring her.
Just waiting.
She swallowed.
Then, slowly—she lowered the gun.
Damian let out a ragged breath.
But before relief could settle in his eyes—
Killian moved.
A blur of motion. A sharp, metallic glint.
And then—
A knife buried deep in Damian's throat.
Aria gasped.
Blood gushed, splattering the marble floor.
Damian choked, his hands clawing at his neck.
He collapsed, body convulsing.
Then—still.
Killian stood over him, wiping the blade clean.
Then—he turned to Aria.
She stared at him, heart hammering.
He tilted his head.
"You hesitated."
Aria's breath shuddered. "I—"
His fingers brushed her wrist, his touch gentle.
Too gentle.
"I told you," he murmured. "In my world, hesitation is a weakness."
She couldn't look away.
Couldn't breathe.
Because in that moment—she knew.
If she had refused to take the gun…
Would he have killed her instead?
Her throat tightened.
Killian stepped back, his expression unreadable.
"Go to your room," he said softly.
It wasn't a request.
It was an order.
Aria hesitated.
Then—she turned and walked away.
But as she stepped over Damian's lifeless body—one thought echoed in her mind.
She had just lost the last sliver of control.
And Killian?
He had won.