Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

15. The Queens Entrance

The Queen's Entrance

~ G EMINI~

"Where is your Maiden?"

Saint Joaquin's question carries through the heavy curtains, making my lips curve into a smirk. The remnants of the hallucinogen still pulse through my system, but the shadows have retreated to more manageable whispers.

Hannah holds out a small tablet, pale blue and innocent-looking despite its potency. "This will give you about fifteen minutes of clarity," she says, her usual efficiency tinged with genuine concern. "It's fast-acting but intense. You should take it with?—"

I snatch the tablet and toss it back, swallowing dry before she can finish offering water. Her answering smirk is equal parts approval and exasperation.

"Show-off."

We both turn our attention to the crack in the curtains, watching Ares stand tall in his blood-red suit. The stage lights catch the gold threading, making him look like he's been dipped in flames.

"Is it truly necessary to have her present?" His voice carries just the right note of casual dismissal.

"She owes me a favor from our last encounter," Saint Joaquin responds smoothly, and I can hear the trap in his words. "She should fulfill my request to appear before this grand gala that has so patiently awaited your arrival."

Ares' head tilts slightly – a gesture I recognize from countless photoshoots when he's about to turn the tables. "Are you certain you wish to use your favor on such a... simplistic request?"

The crowd erupts in outraged whispers.

"How dare he?—"

"Questioning Saint Joaquin?—"

"Who does he think he is?—"

But I catch the slight tension in Joaquin's shoulders, the barely perceptible pause that tells me Ares has scored a point in whatever game they're playing.

"If the favor is to request our Ruthless Maiden's presence," Ares shrugs with elegant indifference, "so be it." He gestures toward the curtain with theatrical flourish.

"Break a leg," Hannah murmurs beside me.

A laugh escapes my lips, slightly wild from the drugs racing through my system. "Hopefully not. I need them both to show these vultures why I deserve to be their Ruthless Queen of Obsession."

The medicine hits suddenly, clearing my head with brutal efficiency. Every nerve comes alive, every sense sharpening to painful clarity. I can feel the weight of Knifey strapped to my thigh beneath the dress Hannah somehow procured, sense the lingering aches from the warehouse fight, taste blood from my split lip that no amount of makeup could fully hide.

But most importantly, I can feel the power thrumming through my veins – the same darkness that helped me orchestrate Domino's downfall, that drew these dangerous men to my side, that makes kings and queens whisper my name in fear.

The medicine surges through my system like liquid lightning, burning away the fog of hallucinogens and replacing it with crystal clarity. My thoughts sharpen, the pounding in my head receding to a manageable whisper instead of the deafening roar that had made consciousness a struggle.

The heavy curtains part before me like waves breaking, and I step into the spotlight with practiced grace. My entrance is met with audible gasps – some of appreciation, others of shock. The custom gown Hannah somehow manifested is a masterpiece of Swarovski crystals, an ombre creation that shifts from midnight blue to blood red with every movement. It hugs my frame like a second skin, though I catch the whispers about my recent weight loss.

"She's so thin?—"

"Look at those bruises?—"

"Are those cuts real?"

The black bandages adorning my arms match the ones worn by my Kings, a unified display of whatever battle we've supposedly survived. It's almost poetic how they complement the crystals, turning my wounds into deliberate accessories.

I catch Ares' gaze first – the way his eyes travel from my silver hair (artfully arranged to hide where blood had matted it) down to my stilettos. There's pride in his expression, but also concern hidden beneath his model's perfect mask. He knows exactly how much effort it's taking for me to stand upright.

His hand extends toward me immediately, and I place mine in his with deliberate grace. His lips brush my knuckles in a gesture that looks courtly but feels like a question: Are you okay?

The microphone appears in his other hand, offered with subtle support as I turn to address our audience. "Saint Joaquin, Mr. Leighton," I greet them with carefully measured respect. "I understand I owe you a favor, and I wouldn't dream of dwelling further after we've already taken so much of everyone's valuable time."

My voice carries just the right note of apologetic charm. "I must apologize for our tardiness. It's rather difficult to arrive punctually when someone attempts to assassinate you and your Kings." I gesture to my decorated injuries with a rueful smile. "But naturally, I couldn't let that succeed."

"She must be joking?—"

"An assassination attempt?"

"This has to be theatre?—"

A laugh escapes my lips, genuine amusement at their disbelief. "Would I really attend such a prestigious event sporting bruised arms? It would be a disservice." I pause for effect. "But alas, when Saint Joaquin requests a favor, one must honor it with utmost respect."

The crowd waits for Saint Joaquin's reaction to my borderline insolence, expecting anger or at least irritation. Instead, his smile spreads slowly, like a predator appreciating worthy prey.

"Well played, my dear," he chuckles, genuine amusement dancing in his dark eyes. "You remind me so much of another Queen from years past."

The whispers start immediately:

"He must mean Prescott's wife?—"

"The only other Ruthless Queen to make it this far?—"

"But she disappeared, didn't she?"

Saint Joaquin raises his hand for silence, commanding attention without effort. "Given the... extraordinary circumstances, I'll dismiss the absence of Mr. Leighton and Mr. Benedict."

The name sends a spike of pain through my chest that has nothing to do with physical injuries. I force the thought away – Zander, bleeding out in an alley, Zander's last kiss, Zander's final words – knowing if I let that reality sink in, I'll shatter right here on stage.

***"Focus on revenge. Focus on power. Grieve later."***

The voices in my head are right, for once. I can't think about Zander now. Can't think about how I'll never see that manic smile again, never feel his arms around me, never hear him call me his Sweet Dynamite?—

"My dear," Saint Joaquin's voice cuts through my dangerous thoughts, "are you ready to show everyone why you deserve to be crowned their Ruthless Queen of Obsession?"

I lift my chin, letting them all see the dangerous glint in my eyes that matches my Kings'. "I thought I already had."

The crowd shifts uncomfortably, no doubt thinking of the viral video that brought down Domino. Of the whispered rumors about disappearances and accidents that seem to follow in my wake. Of the way even their precious Saint Joaquin treats me with careful consideration.

A Queen who has nothing left to lose is the most dangerous piece on the board.

Saint Joaquin's eyes narrow slightly, a predatory smile playing at his lips. In the harsh spotlight, his perfectly tailored suit seems to absorb shadows, making him appear more demon than man. "The leaked footage... that was your doing, wasn't it?"

The crowd gasps collectively, the sound echoing through the ballroom like breaking glass. The crystal chandeliers seem to tremble with the force of their shock. The mere suggestion that someone would dare expose one of their own, especially in such a public manner, is beyond scandalous – it's practically sacrilege in their carefully maintained world of secrets and lies.

"Good heavens?—"

"She wouldn't dare?—"

"The absolute audacity?—"

"To expose a Leighton, of all people?—"

I take a deliberate step forward, each movement precisely calculated despite the drugs still coursing through my system. My crystaled gown catches the light like spilled blood, the ombre effect making it appear as though I'm walking through shadows into flame. The weight of Knifey against my thigh provides silent comfort as I face their judgment.

"What was my previous title again?" My voice carries clear and sharp through their shocked whispers, cutting through pretense like a blade through silk. "Remind me..."

"Ruthless Queen of Havoc," someone mutters from the crowd, the words heavy with new understanding. I catch sight of a Deviant Lord's wife clutching her pearls, as if saying the title might somehow taint her.

My laugh holds no warmth as I gesture around the opulent ballroom, taking in every horrified face, every whispered condemnation. "And isn't that exactly what I delivered?" Each word falls like a perfectly aimed blade, designed to cut through their carefully maintained facades. "Havoc in the lives of many by revealing uncomfortable truths?"

I can see them shifting uncomfortably, no doubt wondering what other secrets I might know, what other videos might exist. Good. Let them worry.

"Havoc in your carefully maintained schedules by making you wonder if I'd appear tonight?" I continue, watching fear replace indignation in their eyes. "Havoc in your sense of security by proving that even assassination attempts won't keep me from fulfilling my obligations?"

Behind me, I sense my Kings' presence like a physical force. Ares in his blood-red suit, Marcus with his calculating stillness, Ren with his dangerous grace – all of them ready to move at my signal, to turn this elegant ballroom into a battlefield if necessary.

My eyes find Saint Joaquin's, holding his gaze with dangerous confidence. The medicine Hannah gave me makes everything crystal clear, every sense heightened to painful perfection. I can see the subtle approval in his expression, the way he's enjoying this display of calculated defiance.

"I've done precisely what was requested of me," I declare, letting my voice carry to every corner of the room. "The real-life consequences of those actions more than justify the title I was given. Or perhaps you think exposing corruption, revealing hidden violence, and surviving attempted murder isn't enough havoc for one night?"

I take another step forward, feeling the power thrumming through my veins – whether from Hannah's medicine or pure adrenaline, I'm not sure. The crowd actually steps back, creating a small circle of empty space around me. They can sense it now – the darkness that's always lived inside me, the same darkness that drew my Kings to my side.

"But by all means," I spread my arms in a gesture that makes the crystals on my gown shimmer like stars, "test me if you believe I haven't shown proper diligence. I welcome the challenge." The smile I give them holds all the warmth of a winter storm. "After all, what's a little more havoc between friends?"

Behind me, I sense my Kings tensing, ready to move at my signal. They know as well as I do that challenges in our world often turn deadly. The weight of Knifey against my thigh feels more reassuring than ever – a reminder that I'm never truly defenseless, even in a ballgown.

Bring it on , I think, letting them all see the dangerous glint in my eyes. I've already lost everything that matters. What more can you possibly take from me?

The thought of Zander threatens to crack my carefully maintained facade, but I push it away. There will be time for grief later. Time for rage and revenge and burning the world to ashes. But right now, I have a point to prove.

"Well then," Saint Joaquin's voice carries a dangerous sort of amusement, "why don't you prove yourself worthy of your new title? Show us why you deserve to be the Ruthless Queen of Obsession, since you're so... confident."

The challenge hangs in the air like smoke, heavy with implications. The crowd leans forward, eager to see how I'll respond to such a direct challenge from their untouchable leader. But I've played too many games, survived too many tests to fall for simple provocation.

"I'm more than ready," I say, letting my voice carry clear confidence. "But I have one condition."

The collective intake of breath from the crowd is almost comical. Several people actually clutch their pearls, scandalized by the mere thought of someone daring to set conditions for Saint Joaquin.

"The audacity?—"

"Who does she think she is?—"

"To make demands of Saint Joaquin himself?—"

But before the whispers can build to outrage, Mr. Leighton steps forward, his presence commanding immediate attention. "Perhaps we should hear what she has to say." His voice carries the weight of generations of power. "After all, isn't negotiation part of our tradition?"

Saint Joaquin's smile grows wider, more predatory. "Indeed. Please, my dear," he gestures expansively, "share your... condition with us."

The crowd falls silent, forced to contain their commentary under the combined pressure of both men's authority. I can feel hundreds of eyes on me, judging every movement, every breath.

"You mentioned we need six Ruthless Kings now," I begin, measuring each word carefully. "Currently, we have four present or accounted for. I propose that before I prove myself worthy of my new title, we should complete our court."

"Interesting." Saint Joaquin inclines his head slightly. "You're correct that all four current Kings must confirm their association with the group. But as you know, we can't accept just anyone. There must be proven connection, history... relevance."

The crowd immediately begins questioning the validity of my current choices.

"How is she even connected to Hudson and Wright?"

"What possible history could justify?—"

Ren raises his hand with theatrical flair, his emerald suit catching the light. "Ex-boyfriend, remember?" His playboy grin makes several women fan themselves. "Rather memorable relationship, if I do say so myself."

I shoot him a side-eye that could freeze hell, making him chuckle with that insufferable charm that's probably gotten him out of more trouble than I want to know about.

Marcus steps forward slightly, his presence somehow both scholarly and dangerous. "Best friends since childhood," he states matter-of-factly. "I have photographic evidence if anyone requires proof." The casual shrug doesn't quite hide the steel in his voice – a reminder that the Wright family's influence extends far beyond mere medical research.

The crowd has no choice but to accept these connections, though I can see them reassessing everything they thought they knew about me. Good. Let them realize how little they actually understand.

"Very well," Saint Joaquin concedes. "But you still haven't told us who you propose as your sixth King." His eyes narrow slightly. "Or what favor you're requesting."

I draw myself up to my full height, feeling the weight of Knifey against my thigh like a promise. "The chosen individual must be granted redemption," I declare clearly. "Nothing from his past can be used against him. His slate must be wiped clean."

The whispers start immediately, speculation running wild through the crowd.

"It must be some criminal?—"

"A convict, perhaps?"

"Who could be worth such a request?—"

To everyone's shock, including my own, Saint Joaquin merely shrugs, a smile playing at his lips like he's enjoying a private joke. "Granted."

The crowd erupts in shocked murmurs, unable to believe he would agree so easily to such an open-ended condition. But I catch the calculating look in his eyes – he's playing his own game, one whose rules I'm only beginning to understand.

"Just like that?" someone dares to question.

"Just like that," Saint Joaquin confirms, his smile growing sharper. "After all, what better way to test our new Queen of Obsession than to see who she's willing to redeem?" He turns back to me, eyes glittering with dangerous amusement. "The question is, my dear, who are you so desperate to save?"

The answer catches in my throat, memories threatening to overwhelm me – childhood trauma, shared pain, years of complicated history leading to this moment. But I force myself to stay focused, to remember the end game.

"Before we proceed," I raise my hand with elegant precision, the movement causing my gown's crystals to cast blood-red reflections across the marble floors, "I believe a toast is in order. After all, we've kept you waiting so long – the least we can do is properly acknowledge your patience."

The request seems to catch everyone off guard, creating that delicious moment of uncertainty I've come to savor. Waiters appear from the shadows as if they've been waiting for this exact cue, moving with the practiced grace of people who've learned to be invisible until needed. Crystal glasses of deep red wine materialize on silver trays, the liquid looking almost black under the chandeliers' glow.

Hannah's medicine makes every detail sharp enough to cut – the subtle tremor in some guests' hands as they reach for glasses, the calculating gleam in Saint Joaquin's eyes, the way Mr. Leighton's posture shifts almost imperceptibly with interest.

"A toast?" someone whispers uncertainly.

"Now, of all times?"

"What could she possibly?—"

"This must be some kind of trick..."

The voices in my head are surprisingly quiet, as if they too are holding their breath for what's about to unfold. The drug coursing through my system makes everything feel heightened, more intense – every heartbeat a drum, every breath a symphony.

Saint Joaquin's eyes sparkle with dark amusement as he accepts his glass, the gesture carrying the weight of someone who knows he's watching a master play at work. Mr. Leighton follows suit with careful grace, his acceptance sending the crowd scrambling not to be left out of whatever's about to unfold.

Behind me, my Kings each take their glasses with perfect synchronization – Ares with model's grace, Marcus with clinical precision, Ren with dangerous playfulness. The crystals on my gown catch the light as I extend my arms, tilting my head back slightly in a pose that would make any runway photographer weep. The gesture deliberately showcases the bruises on my throat, making several guests flinch at this evidence of violence in their pristine world.

"Allow me," my voice carries smooth as silk, though inside my heart pounds hard enough to hurt, "to introduce our final Ruthless King." I pause, letting the moment stretch like spun glass, ready to shatter. "One who is, I must admit, humbly obsessed with me."

The energy in the room becomes electric, every breath held, every heart seemingly paused mid-beat. The red wine in hundreds of glasses trembles slightly, ripples catching the light like blood about to spill. I can feel the tension mounting, pressing against skin like a physical force.

Time seems to slow as I savor this moment – this perfect culmination of all my careful planning. Each second etches itself into my memory with painful clarity, courtesy of whatever cocktail Hannah gave me. I'm acutely aware of every detail: the slight shift in Ares' stance behind me, the way Marcus's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on his glass, the dangerous smile playing at Ren's lips.

Zander would have loved this , the thought intrudes without warning, threatening to crack my carefully maintained facade. But I push it away, channeling the pain into power. He taught me that – how to turn hurt into strength, weakness into weapons.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I continue, letting anticipation build to breaking point, feeling the crowd lean forward despite themselves, "please welcome the final Ruthless King of Obsession..."

The silence is absolute, pressing against eardrums like a physical force. I can hear individual heartbeats, catch the subtle intake of breath from a hundred throats. Even the chandeliers seem to hold still, crystals frozen in anticipation.

This is for you, my love , I think, preparing to detonate the bomb I've so carefully crafted. Watch how your Queen brings chaos to their ordered world.

"Domino Leighton."