King of Envy (Kings of Sin, #5)

by Ana Huang

To all the readers who like their fictional men a little unhinged. This one’s for you.

I knew all this already. I’d watched every interview and read every article she’d ever been mentioned in.

Something unspooled in my gut—a slow, insidious poison that crawled into my throat and made me choke. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t dispel it because of them. Because they were getting married. Because I saw her first. Because she was his when she should be mine.

I don’t hate you. But I wish I did.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. And the more I watched her, the deeper my obsession grew, until its vines were so twisted up inside me, I couldn’t hack them off without killing myself too.

Two months made me want to burn the whole fucking church down.

In a way, I owed everything I had to him, but I would give it all up for one thing—one person—in exchange.

Instead, I was trapped in a hellish limbo where I couldn’t act either way. I couldn’t have her, and I couldn’t kill him.

My obsession with Ayana was a double-edged sword. I craved her presence even when it drove me mad; I fixated on her absence even when it consumed my thoughts. Whether she was near or far, I suffered.

Vuk watched me quietly. If you were my fiancée, I wouldn’t look at another woman. Entertainment or not. Somewhere in my lungs, a bubble of oxygen collapsed. If you were my fiancée… The sentiment brushed over my skin, soft yet rough. I’d never heard Vuk speak. Few people had.

It was playing a video of Stella Alonso’s latest runway show. I’d already watched it, but I liked having it on while I worked.

Stella, Delamonte, Prada, Saint Laurent, Dior. They all had one thing in common.

A second later, Ayana appeared on the runway in an ethereal lavender dress. Her skin glowed effortlessly beneath the lights, and loose curls peeked out from an ornate headpiece. The headpiece shadowed half her face, but I’d watched her walk enough times to recognize her distinctive strut. The Ayana Kidane on the catwalk was a different person from the one who’d invited me for coffee and teased me about bingo. Her persona morphed with every show, oscillating from playful and flirty to haughty and regal. A goddess to suit every mood.

But no matter what role she slipped into, onstage or offstage, she maintained a spark that was entirely her own. It was that spark that kept me coming back over and over again. Waiting. Watching. Obsessing.

Jordan and Ayana. Ayana and Jordan. The walls of my office closed in. Pressure suffocated my chest, and I suddenly couldn’t stand to be inside anymore.

Five minutes later, I found myself in front of a familiar storefront. According to one of Ayana’s interviews, it was her favorite juice bar in the city.

Even so, she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.

I had a mile-long to-do list back at the office, but I could stay here with her forever. Just us, just like this.

I care about everything relevant to you. The thought passed, silent and fleeting, before I locked it away.

She gave me her address, and I put it in the GPS for appearance’s sake. I already knew where she lived.

perhaps I wanted her to feel what I felt when I was near her—unbearable, agonizing tension, the type that condensed the world into a bubble around us and made it hard to even fucking breathe.

I only wanted one person, and they weren’t her.

It happened so suddenly I hardly noticed it until the sound left my throat. A rumble of laughter—mine. My first genuine laugh in possibly years.

But no crowd or camera made me feel the way Vuk did—like I was myself again. Like I was seen.

If I couldn’t have all of her, then I’d hoard the piece of her that still offered me a glimpse of hope for redemption.

I love Jordan. A vicious pressure swelled in my throat. I forced it down, but the toxic green residue lingered like a stain that refused to fade.

I kept my eyes locked on hers while I reached over and slowly, deliberately, took Ayana’s hand. A noticeable hush fell over the table. I lifted her hand to my mouth, brushed my lips across her knuckles…and lingered. The faint scent of sweet almond filled my senses.

I’d imagined kissing her for so long that even the brief touch of my lips on her hand was enough to make my heart pound. Blood rushed in my ears, and every cell in my body ignited.

“Kada te konačno budem poljubio, nećeš više nositi njegov prsten na ruci.”

Six days of replaying the way Jordan kissed Ayana on the cheek and the way she’d smiled at him in response. One hundred and thirty hours of remembering the way her body arched into mine. Eight thousand-plus minutes of revisiting how she’d almost kissed me. And an eternity of what-ifs over what would’ve happened had I not stopped her.

“He touched you,” he said softly. There was no inflection or emotion. Just pure ice.

oddly enough, two jars of peanut butter. One creamy, one crunchy.

“And the peanut butter?” It was one of my guilty pleasures. You mentioned it in your sleep when we were in California. I figured you’d like it.

“This is almost exactly like the tea I gave you at my house.” Vuk shrugged. I liked it, so I had someone recreate it as closely as possible.

Because she’s fucking mine.

Jordan was her fiancé in name, but I was the one she’d turned to first. I was the one who understood what she needed—not comfort, but vengeance. I was the one who would kill and die for her in the same breath. No other man could match that, ring or no ring.

“Do you remember when you asked me whether I loved him?” My quiet question made Vuk’s eyes flare. “The truth is, I don’t. Not romantically.” This time, his body trembled from the force of his exhale.

stopped inches from me. “What you want me to do.” His tone was lethally soft. “And what might that be?”

I licked my lips again. My gaze touched his mouth, and a tortured noise rumbled past his throat. It was the first tangible sign he was losing control.

“Take off your ring.” Vuk’s harsh command was a shot of whiskey straight to my veins.

“Careful, srce moje.” His voice rasped against my sensitized skin. “Or you’ll fucking kill me.”

If I hadn’t kissed her, I wouldn’t have known. I’d have suspected, but I wouldn’t have known that she wanted me the way I wanted her. I wouldn’t have tasted her desire or heard her fucking moans.

Ayana was the only person on my Always Receive list.

Of all the people in the world, he had to choose her. The only one I wanted.

He envied me my “freedom” when I would trade it all for one person in his life.

The evidence was in the way he looked at me—like it physically hurt him to lay eyes on me, but he couldn’t bear to look away because that would hurt even more.

“You’re mine, Ayana. I teško onom koji pokuša da mi te uzme.”

“There’s one thing you should know about me, Ayana,” he said, his breath grazing my ear. “I. Don’t. Share.”

It was a cruel twist of fate that the worst day of my life also happened to be one of the most beautiful days New York had seen all year.

burned with so much envy I almost choked on it.