Chapter 9: A Mind Unbroken
The first sip of the drink had been smooth, like velvet on his tongue. Rich and complex, it slid down his throat effortlessly. But something was off. A quiet warning echoed in the back of Kian's mind as he set the glass down, its surface cool beneath his fingers.
At first, the effects were subtle—nothing more than a slight heaviness in his chest, a feeling of being just a touch out of sync with his surroundings. His pulse quickened, and he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The room seemed a little dimmer, the voices just a little farther away. But Kian wasn't fooled.
He wasn't one to drink often—wine was more a matter of admiration than indulgence for him. But tonight, something had felt off from the moment the glass was handed to him. His mind raced as he glanced back at the table. The drink wasn't wine—it was something else.
Aezir 9X.
The rare drug hit his system swiftly, subtle but deadly. It was designed to fog the mind and slow the body, leaving its victim vulnerable, unsteady. Kian's gaze sharpened. No. He couldn't let it take hold. Not tonight. Not like this.
He forced himself to take another step, though the weight in his chest was becoming unbearable. His vision blurred at the edges, but Kian's focus didn't waver. He had been trained for moments like this, for adversities no one saw coming.
And yet, tonight was different. Tonight, he was the target. The whispers, the stares—everything that had once been his armor felt like a distant echo now.
As the effects of the drug began to take a deeper hold, Kian's hands moved instinctively. In one fluid motion, he reached for the glass he had subtly broken earlier—slipping the jagged shard into his palm without anyone noticing. He had known something was wrong from the first sip, and had acted quickly, pretending to continue sipping from the glass as he broke it discreetly under the table.
The sharp edge of the glass bit into his skin as he pressed it deeper into his palm, the pain snapping his mind back into focus. His breath hitched slightly, but the sting of the injury was enough to clear the haze that had started to take hold. Pain was real. And pain, Kian knew, was the only thing keeping him tethered to his body right now.
With blood trickling from his palm, he forced himself to stand upright. His senses were still dulled, but the pain cut through the fog enough for him to regain control. The world felt distant, but his mind remained sharp. For now, that was enough.
Kian took a few more steadying steps, his gaze flickering to the grand doors leading out of the ballroom. No one was watching him. The guests were too absorbed in their conversations, the music, the laughter, and the glassy-eyed smiles around him. No one would notice the subtle changes in his movement—the slight stutter in his walk, the way his hands trembled as they rested by his side.
The drug was taking hold, but Kian was already planning his escape. He didn't need to stay in the ballroom any longer. His actions were deliberate, slow, but calculated. He could feel the weight of the eyes around him, but none of them would know. No one would see.
Meanwhile, Dmitri was enjoying the attention he was receiving. The eldest son of Victor Fenix, and the one the world believed to be the rightful heir to the Fenix empire, Dmitri stood at the center of the ballroom with a relaxed smile, soaking in the admiration that came with his title. His broad shoulders, the confident swagger, and the easy charm of his smile made him seem larger than life. He was untouchable, or so he liked to think.
Tonight, Kian's image was slipping—and Dmitri was the one to watch it happen. He had been waiting for this moment, biding his time. He had orchestrated everything to perfection, from the moment Kian had taken the drink to this very second, when he could see his brother starting to falter, starting to crumble. Kian was still the object of attention—young, handsome, his striking features nearly flawless—but Dmitri could see the faintest hints of struggle in his younger brother's eyes. His movements were slower, his face a little paler than usual.
Dmitri's smirk deepened. This was it. Tonight, the world would finally see Kian for what he truly was—not the golden boy, the untouchable heir—but a fragile boy, vulnerable and powerless.
The whispers were already beginning—people murmuring among themselves, noticing Kian's uncharacteristic behavior. Dmitri's heart swelled with satisfaction. He watched as Kian's figure slowly moved toward the door, his footsteps uneven, his face still locked in that perfect mask of composure. But that mask was slipping. Dmitri knew it. The drug had done its job. Kian's perfect image was about to crumble, and Dmitri couldn't wait for the world to see it.
Kian, however, had no intention of letting that happen.
With every step he took, his senses fought against the haze that had started to blur his surroundings. The cool air outside the ballroom helped, but his hand, still clutching the broken shard of glass, was the only thing keeping him grounded. The blood from his palm smeared across his suit, but it didn't matter. He needed to focus. The drug was still in his system, but he wasn't about to let it control him. Not here. Not now.
He stepped into the hallway, his chest heaving slightly as he pressed his bleeding palm against the cool wall. The sharp pain was enough to bring his mind back into focus for a moment, but it wasn't enough to erase the fog completely. Still, it was something—something to cling to.
Behind him, the sounds of the ball continued. Dmitri didn't know that Kian was gone. No one did. The whispers about his fall were just beginning, but Kian had already slipped away, hidden in the shadows, still fighting, still determined. He wasn't done. Not yet.
Dmitri would enjoy his moment, thinking that his plan had succeeded, that Kian's reputation would soon be in ruins. But Kian wasn't finished yet.