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So now I have three men tying my hands and legs with ropes.

…Great.

Julian steps into my line of sight and smiles. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”

He turns to a mercenary who hands him a hunting knife, then steps over to me.

“Good morning, Cil. Nice to see you’re awake.”

“Fuck you, psycho.”

Julian laughs and drags the blade across my forearm.

I grit my teeth and swallow a scream as my arm begins to bleed. The fucking freak finds my reaction hilarious, so he cuts me again, only this time on my thigh.

Then my waist.

Then my chest.

“Beg me,” Julian growls, pressing the point against my neck. “Beg me, and I’ll stop.”

“Sorry, but there’s only one man capable of making me beg. And he’s not here.”

Julian’s face darkens, and he cuts me two more times. “You fucking faggot!”

“Wow…” I pant in pain. “You’re a psychopath, a murderer, a loser, and homophobic trash. It’s a fucking mystery why my family never accepted you.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Julian shrieks, punching me in the face.

My lip splits open, and blood spills down my chin, but I laugh.

Fuck him if he thinks I’ll play along.

Fuck him if he thinks I’ll give him the satisfaction.

“And after you kill me, what’s the plan?” I push, refusing to flinch. “You think you’ll play the hero?”

“I will be the hero.” He smiles. “I’ll walk back and tell everyone how I tried to save you. How before you died, you confessed to me that our grandfather told you I was your cousin, and asked me to please take care of the legacy.”

Julian leans in close.

“And who knows?” His smile twists into a disgusting sneer. “Maybe I’ll let your boyfriend fuck me. I look enough like you now that he’ll probably agree to it.”

“Is that why you paid for all those surgeries? To look like me?” I laugh, tasting copper on my lips. “You were so rejected by the Harrington-Hale bloodline that you had to pay to have our face.”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Julian snaps, completely losing his damn mind.

He lunges on top of me, his hands wrapping around my throat.

I choke.

My body begs for a deep breath, but I can’t take one.

As I start to lose consciousness, one of the mercenaries grabs his shoulder, pulling him back. “Are you stupid? If they run an autopsy, they’ll find your DNA all over his neck.”

I gasp, greedily sucking in air.

“Fine… I’ll kill him with the knife, then.” He stares down at his own hands, then grabs the knife back and starts to cut himself. “But first, let’s turn me into a survivor.”