God of Ruin (Legacy of Gods, #4)(36)

My options are to toss and turn all night or go ruin Maya’s beauty sleep again. But considering I’ve been overdoing that the past week, I go with the former.

Flipping to my right, I retrieve my phone, and my finger hovers over Mom’s number, but then I think better of it and shake my head.

She’s still asking me about the real reason I called the last time and if there’s anything she can do to help.

If I do that again, Dad will definitely fly here to ship my ass back to New York.

So I open Instagram and check the comments from my last post.

the.maya.sokolov: Slay, queen.

killian.carson: Superior genes show.

gareth-carson: I’m here for Kill and Niko making fools out of themselves.

nikolai_sokolov: The scary guy in the pic who looks ready to snap some necks is me. Think about that before touching my baby sisters.

I smile to myself. He’s extra as hell and the worst part is that he doesn’t think he is.

I also spot comments from Bran and my recent friend from the Elites, Remi. Despite being a certified clown, he’s fun to talk to. It helps that he turns everything into a joke.

lord-remington-astor: Pretty lady with an even more beautiful personality.

brandon-king: Beautiful.

I like Bran’s comment and hit the little icon of his profile. My stomach clenches in uncomfortable intervals when I see the last picture Bran posted captioned Chelsea, anyone?

It’s a group picture in the Elites’ mansion, where they seem to be watching European football and enjoying some food. I recognize the familiar faces, namely Glyn, Killian’s girlfriend, Cecily, whom I met once when Maya was being unreasonable, and, of course, Bran and Remi.

I’m not familiar with the blonde girl who’s scowling at her food as a tall, dark, and handsome guy stands beside her, smiling at the camera.

The reason for my stomach acting out is none other than Landon, who’s grabbing Remi by the shoulder and pointing at the TV.

I zoom in on the picture to get a better look at him. He’s laughing, seeming to almost match Remi’s enthusiasm.

Almost.

Because where Remi seems genuinely excited, Landon is merely mirroring him. I’ve seen Killian do that often in the past, especially when he was younger. Since emotions don’t come from inside him, he’s perfected the art of emulating those around him, namely Gareth and Nikolai.

Landon is the same.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that I grew up in the presence of someone with antisocial behavior, but I can see the show he’s putting on so clearly.

It might also have to do with the fact that I haven’t been able to purge the asshole out of my thoughts ever since he flung through my walls and touched a part of me that’s been dormant.

I don’t know what came over me that day. I blame it on the haunted gothic vibe of the art studio dedicated to imperfections. But most of all, I blame it on the man himself.

The absolute enigma of a man who’s merely projecting an image onto the world, and they gobble it all up. It makes sense that he thinks of himself as an arrogant god. If they can love him for a personality he specifically created for them, why wouldn’t he become conceited and prideful?

The asshole probably thinks of his existence as a gift to humans.

I click on the tags and then go to his profile. landon-king. He actually has over a million followers. Wow.

Part of that must be due to his flourishing art career, and the other part is because he’s one of those annoying people who’s effortlessly popular.

His pictures are a translation of his posh rich boy/genius artist status. Some are taken at parties, others are with what I assume are family members. He has one picture where he’s kissing a statue on the mouth.

Jesus. The man is a lost cause.

And yet I can’t help but look at his expression, the euphoria in his mystic eyes, as if he could breathe a soul into the cold stone.

Which is ironic since he obviously lacks a soul.

He has pictures with what appear to be world-renowned artists, professors, mentors, business people, and half of the British aristocracy.

It’s like he has a hundred hours in a day.

The devil works fast, but Landon King works faster.

I scroll to the top of his profile and read the caption.

Landon King. The Prince Charming your nana told you fairy tales about.

More like the monster.

I wonder if he’s always been in control of the image he projects onto the world and what gave him the incentive to invent this image.

If he was born this way, like my cousin was, then there must be some form of a process that led him to where he is.

Not that I’m interested in his story. I am not.

I’m about to click the link to his website, but I accidentally follow him back.

Shit.

Jumping up into a sitting position, I unfollow him, hoping he doesn’t notice. Then again, an account like his must receive thousands of notifications, so he probably won’t pay attention.

With a sigh, I fall back against the bed and exit Instagram altogether. My phone lights up with a text and my breath catches.

Devil Lord: Playing hard to get?

What the hell is he doing up this late? But monsters don’t really sleep. What’s worse is that he actually noticed.

My cheeks heat and I curse internally. There goes my attempt to escape this shameful situation.