"He must be hideous under that veil. Then again, everyone looks ugly next to us," she joked, dripping with vanity
Ash sighed, relieved they were in the VIP room where no one else could hear her words.
She might have been easier to deal with than Ashley, but she was still spoiled—born into royalty, gifted with talent, unrivaled beauty and used to having things handed to her.
His own case was different. Her mother often reminded him that his bloodline wasn't as strong as his step-siblings'.
To stand on the same level, he had to rely on both talent and effort, not privilege.
In addition, being called the worst of his generation so often made him a little more humble.
When his gaze focused to the hooded stranger in the arena, an odd feeling stirred in him.
The man looked like a mirror—someone who climbed higher not by birthright, but by persistence and hard work.
He saw the man look up at him, and his hand instinctively trembled for a reason he couldn't tell.
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