Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

16. The Devils Redemption

The Devil's Redemption

~ D OMINO~

The grand ballroom of Leighton Manor feels like another world compared to the chaos I just escaped. Rain drips steadily from my clothes, creating dark puddles on the pristine marble floor as I stand in the shadows at the back of the crowd. Every breath hurts – ribs probably cracked from our earlier fight, various cuts still seeping blood through my torn clothes, muscles screaming from exertion. But physical pain is nothing compared to the magnetic pull drawing me forward, closer to the stage where she stands like vengeance incarnate.

I shouldn't be here. Everything in me screams to run, to take the escape she so mockingly offered and disappear into the night. But I've never been able to stay away from her – not when we were children and I first felt this twisted need to break her, not now when she's finally become strong enough to break me in return.

The crowd parts unconsciously as they notice my presence, creating a corridor of shocked faces and hastily averted gazes. Their immaculate formal wear and carefully maintained appearances make my destruction even more apparent. My designer clothes – now little more than bloody rags – drip steadily onto the floor, leaving a trail of pink-tinged water in my wake. The bruises from our warehouse fight are beginning to bloom across my skin, a rainbow of violence that matches the ones she wears like jewelry.

"Disgraceful—"

"How dare he show his face?—"

"After that video?—"

"Complete embarrassment to the family?—"

The whispers follow me like shadows, but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is Eva, standing on that stage like she was born to command it. The crystal-covered gown she wears shifts from midnight blue to blood red with every movement, making her appear both ethereal and deadly. Even from here, I can see evidence of our earlier fight – the split lip, the bruises she's somehow transformed into accessories, the slight favor of her left side where I know my hits landed.

She's never been more beautiful than she is right now, offering me up as a sacrifice to these vultures who call themselves society's elite.

"Ladies and gentlemen," her voice carries through the stunned silence, smooth as aged whiskey and just as intoxicating, "please welcome the final Ruthless King of Obsession... Domino Leighton."

The reaction is immediate – gasps of shock, murmurs of disbelief, the scrape of expensive shoes on marble as people scramble to distance themselves from me. But I can't tear my eyes away from her. Something's different in those haunting blue eyes – a clarity that wasn't there during our warehouse fight, a calculated precision that makes her even more dangerous.

"Of all the Kings I've encountered," she continues, her gaze never leaving mine, "none has been quite so... persistently obsessed as my dear stepbrother."

The word 'stepbrother' ripples through the crowd like a shock wave, triggering another round of scandalized whispers. But they don't understand – could never understand – the complexity of what exists between us. How do you explain that the person you've spent years trying to destroy has somehow become the center of your universe? That the line between love and hate became so blurred you can't remember which side you started on?

"I gave him the chance to run," she says, and I catch the slight tilt of her head – a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. "To disappear into the night and never look back. A mercy, some might say, after everything that's transpired between us."

A bitter laugh escapes my throat before I can stop it. Mercy? From my sweet stepsister who orchestrated my complete destruction with the precision of a master conductor? Who turned my own darkness against me and made it into something beautiful and terrible?

I take another step forward, drawn by whatever force has always existed between us. Water drips steadily from my hair, my clothes, marking my path of surrender across the pristine floor. The crowd continues to part, no one willing to stand between this force that's always pulled us together like magnets of opposing poles.

"And yet," she gestures toward me with elegant precision, "here he stands. Still drawn to the flame that's already burned him. Still unable to stay away, even knowing it might destroy him completely."

She's right. She's always been right about this – this toxic obsession that binds us together like a double helix of destruction. I could have run. Should have run. But the thought of existing in a world where I couldn't see her, touch her, fight her... it was worse than any punishment she might have planned.

"Isn't that the purest form of obsession?" she asks the silent crowd, though her eyes remain locked with mine. "To know something will bring nothing but pain, yet be unable to resist its pull? To understand that every step closer might be your last, yet take it anyway?"

The memories flood unbidden – years of calculated cruelty, of watching her break and rebuild herself stronger each time. The satisfaction I felt seeing tears in those beautiful eyes, the twisted pride when she finally started fighting back. How many times had I told myself it was hate driving my actions? That I tormented her because she was weak, because she didn't deserve Father's love, because her very existence threatened everything I thought I wanted?

But she was right about this too. It was never hate – not really. It was obsession, pure and consuming. The need to be the center of her world, even if it meant being the villain in her story. To own every tear, every scream, every moment of defiance. To break her so completely that she could never think of anything but me.

"You gave me a choice," I say, my voice rough from the rain and something else I refuse to name. Another step forward, water dripping steadily from my chin. "Run and live, or stay and face whatever game you're playing."

The crowd shifts uncomfortably at the raw honesty in my voice. They're used to masks and manufactured drama, not this stripped-bare truth between us. But I see Eva's lips curve into a real smile – the kind I haven't seen since we were children, before I taught her that happiness was a weakness to be exploited.

"And yet here you are," she responds, genuine curiosity coloring her tone. "Walking straight into what could very well be a trap."

A laugh tears from my throat – broken and wild and too honest for this place of careful facades. "Isn't that what obsession is?" My eyes never leave hers as I take another step closer. "Knowing the trap exists but walking into it anyway?"

Understanding passes between us like electricity. We're both caught in this web we've woven, both equally obsessed with this dance of destruction. Perhaps that's why she's chosen me as her sixth King – because no one else could understand this darkness quite like I do.

After all, I helped create it.

"Your obsession runs deeper than most realize," she continues, and something in her voice makes the entire room hold its breath. "Tell them, Domino. Tell them how many years you spent breaking me, shaping me, molding me into this creature they now fear."

Each word hits like a physical blow, but I force myself to keep walking forward. The crowd creates an even wider berth now, perhaps finally sensing the dangerous energy crackling between us. My soaked clothes leave puddles with every step, but I barely notice the cold anymore. Everything narrows to this moment, this confession she's demanding.

"Since we were children," I admit, my voice carrying clearly through the silent ballroom. "Every calculated accident, every orchestrated humiliation, every 'unfortunate incident' that left her broken but never quite destroyed." The words taste like ash in my mouth, but I force myself to continue. "I couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop. The more she survived, the more beautiful she became."

Shocked gasps ripple through the crowd, but Eva's smile grows sharper, more predatory. She knows what this confession costs me – knows that admitting this obsession in front of everyone who matters in our world is its own kind of destruction.

"And now?" she prompts, tilting her head in that way that's always made my blood burn. "Now that I've survived everything you threw at me, now that I've turned your lessons back on you... what does your obsession demand?"

I'm close enough to the stage now to see the slight tremor in her hands, the way she's fighting whatever drugs they must have given her to keep her standing after our earlier fight. Even now, she's the strongest person I've ever known.

"Whatever you want it to," I answer honestly, too far gone for pretense. "Death, destruction, devotion – I'll give you anything you ask for. Because you're right. I am obsessed. Have been since the moment Father brought you home and your existence threatened everything I thought I wanted."

The admission hangs in the air like smoke, making several people step back in alarm. But Eva's eyes spark with something that looks almost like triumph.

"Then kneel," she commands, her voice carrying all the authority of the Queen she's become. "Kneel before your Ruthless Queen and swear your obsession to me."

Without hesitation, I drop to my knees, uncaring of the wet marble against my already ruined clothes. Water continues to drip from my hair, my clothes, creating a growing pool around me like some twisted baptism.

"I swear it," I declare, loud enough for everyone to hear. "My obsession, my devotion, my very existence – it's all yours to command. To destroy or rebuild as you see fit."

The silence that follows is absolute, heavy with the weight of what's just transpired. Then Eva's laugh rings out – not the broken sound from the warehouse, but something darker, more satisfied.

"Rise, my obsessed King," she commands, extending one crystal-covered hand toward me. "Let's show them all what true devotion looks like."

As I stand and take my first step toward the stage, I catch my reflection in a nearby mirror. I barely recognize myself – soaked to the bone, covered in blood and bruises, eyes wild with a truth I've finally stopped trying to hide.

But maybe that's fitting. After all, obsession was never meant to be pretty.

It was meant to be this – raw and desperate and absolutely consuming.

Just like us.