Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

26. Broken Pieces Of Our Past

Broken Pieces Of Our Past

~ M ARCUS~

Years Ago…

The chemotherapy drugs make everything too sharp and too fuzzy at the same time. Colors blur at the edges but sounds pierce like needles, each footstep in the hospital corridor feeling like an ice pick to my skull. The cocktail of medications they pump through my veins turns time elastic – stretching endlessly during treatment, then snapping back like a rubber band until whole days disappear into fog.

I hate everything.

The constant nausea. The way my bones feel hollow but somehow still ache. The pitying looks from nurses who've known me since I was born. The fact that the cure I developed for my parents' cancer – the one that put them both in remission – does nothing for the particular mutation eating away at my marrow.

But most of all, I hate that she won't stop coming.

The door opens with its familiar squeak (everything in hospitals squeaks, like pain needs a soundtrack), and I don't need to look to know it's her. The scent of her shampoo – something floral and sweet that makes my stomach roll – reaches me before her footsteps do.

"Hi Marcus," Eva's voice carries that forced cheerfulness I've come to despise. "How was treatment today?"

I stare resolutely at the window, watching rain trace patterns on glass. My reflection shows what the disease has done to me – hollow cheeks, dark circles under sunken eyes, skin that looks like paper stretched too thin over bone. The drugs make my hands shake as I clench them in the hospital blanket, fighting another wave of nausea.

She moves into my peripheral vision, and I catch a glimpse of pigtails tied with pale blue ribbons. She's wearing them again, despite everything. Despite Domino's mockery, despite my betrayal, despite the fact that everyone says they make her look childish.

She's wearing them for you , a voice whispers in my head. Trying to remind you of better days in the lab, when you both wore matching coats and solved impossible equations together.

The thought makes fury surge through my veins, hotter than any chemotherapy drug. How dare she try to manipulate me with memories? How dare she persist in being kind when I've done nothing to deserve it?

"I brought your homework," she continues, unfazed by my silence. The rustle of papers feels like sandpaper against my raw nerves as she sets a stack on the bedside table. "I already completed your copy, so you can just submit it whenever you feel up to it. Your grades won't drop this way."

My hands shake harder as I continue to ignore her, the medication making every emotion feel amplified to breaking point. The latest round of experimental treatments has my body at war with itself – trying to kill the cancer while not killing me in the process. Each heartbeat feels like a battle, each breath a negotiation.

"I also did some research," she adds, and I hear more papers being arranged. "I found some interesting studies about alternative treatment protocols. There's this team in Switzerland working with genetic markers similar to what you identified in your parents' case. I thought maybe?—"

"Stop." The word emerges as a growl, the first I've spoken to her in days.

"Marcus—"

"Just fucking stop!" I still won't look at her, can't look at her. "Stop bringing homework, stop doing research, stop pretending you care! You're like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe – no matter how hard I try to scrape you off, you just won't let go!"

More rustling as she unpacks what smells like food – probably another attempt at finding something I can keep down. The scent makes bile rise in my throat, medication and rage and bone-deep exhaustion combining into something explosive.

"I made that soup you used to like," she says quietly, either not hearing or choosing to ignore my outburst. "The one with?—"

The fury peaks suddenly, dramatically, like a wave cresting after building for days. Before I can stop myself, I'm lashing out – sweeping the table with an arm that feels too weak to cause such destruction. Papers fly everywhere like confused birds, food splatters across sterile floor tiles, containers crash with sounds that send spikes of pain through my skull.

The silence that follows feels absolute, broken only by my ragged breathing and the steady beep of monitors recording my racing heart. For the first time in days, I'm forced to actually look at her, to see what I've done.

The words die in my throat.

Eva stands amid the chaos I've created, papers still drifting around her like snow, but it's her face that stops my heart. Her left eye is swollen nearly shut, mottled purple and yellow spreading across her cheekbone. A butterfly bandage holds together a split in her eyebrow, while another covers what looks like a deep cut along her jaw. Her bottom lip is split and swollen, like someone hit her hard enough to make her teeth cut into it.

Tears spill down her cheeks, but I know instinctively they're not from my outburst. These are older tears, the kind that come from deeper wounds than just scattered papers and spilled soup.

"Who the fuck hurt you?" The question emerges as barely a whisper, all my previous anger transmuting instantly into something darker, more protective.

She doesn't answer immediately, just stands there letting tears fall silently. One hand comes up to touch her split lip like she's forgotten it was there, while the other clutches a research paper now stained with soup.

The medications in my system make everything too bright, too intense, but I can't look away from the evidence of violence on her face. Each bruise feels like an accusation – while I've been wallowing in self-pity, while I've been pushing her away and following Domino's lead, while I've been trying to scrape her off like gum on a shoe, someone has been hurting my Evergreen.

And I think I know exactly who that someone is.

The fury returns, but this time it has a proper target. This time it's not just the impotent rage of illness, but something focused and sharp like a scalpel.

I did this , I realize with sickening clarity. By choosing Domino's side, by abandoning her, by letting her face his cruelty alone – I might as well have put those bruises there myself.

"Please tell me," I try again, my voice cracking. "Please, Eva. Who did this to you?"

But I already know the answer. Can see it in the way she won't meet my eyes, in how her fingers tremble slightly as she tries to gather the scattered papers.

My brilliant Evergreen, still trying to help me even when she's the one who needs saving.

"I'll clean this up," she says quietly, that broken smile somehow worse than any accusation could be. "And I'll rewrite the projects so they don't have soup stains. The teachers won't even notice."

I watch helplessly as she kneels to gather scattered papers, her movements careful like someone trying not to aggravate hidden injuries. Each tear that falls onto the papers she collects feels like another weight added to my chest, making it harder to breathe than even the chemotherapy does.

"The soup..." she pauses, voice wavering slightly. "I probably can't go home to make another batch tonight, but I'll try to bring some tomorrow. I can leave it at the nursing station so I don't..." she swallows hard, "so I don't bother you."

The guilt is crushing now, making the constant nausea from my medications feel trivial in comparison. Every tear she tries to hide, every wince she can't quite suppress as she bends to clean my mess – they're all evidence of my betrayal. The drugs in my system amplify every emotion until I feel like I might shatter from the weight of what I've done.

She works methodically, gathering soggy papers and broken containers with the same careful precision she used to show in the lab. Even now, even after everything, she maintains that inherent grace that first drew me to her – that ability to create order from chaos, to find solutions where others see only problems.

When everything's cleaned up, she turns that heartbreaking smile on me again. "I'll come back later, okay? But you should rest tonight. The new treatment protocol they're trying looks promising – I saw your charts, and the preliminary numbers suggest your body's responding better than?—"

She cuts herself off, probably remembering how I just raged at her for caring. For trying to help. For being the one constant in my increasingly uncertain world.

"Just... keep fighting," she finishes lamely, turning away. "You've got this."

But as she spins toward the door, I catch sight of something that makes my blood run cold despite the fever burning through me. Through her white uniform shirt, I can see distinct circular burns – the kind that could only come from cigarettes being deliberately pressed against flesh.

"Who the fuck hurt you?" I demand again, voice stronger now despite how the drugs make my tongue feel too thick. "Was it Domino?"

She shrugs, the movement making her wince slightly. "You need to rest," she says instead of answering. "And eat something when you can. Your body needs fuel to fight."

"Stop." The word comes out rawer than I intended. "Stop coming here. Stop... stop pitying me."

She pauses at the door, one hand on the frame like she needs the support. "I don't pity you at all, Marcus." Her voice carries something I can't quite identify – sadness maybe, or resignation. "Why would I pity someone who's capable of surviving anything they put their mind to?"

The words hit like physical blows. Here I am, surrounded by the best medical care money can buy, with parents who'd burn down the world to save me, and I'm drowning in self-pity. Meanwhile, she comes to school with cigarette burns and split lips, goes home to God knows what kind of horror, and still finds time to do my homework and make me soup.

The medication makes my vision blur, but I can still see how carefully she holds herself – like someone used to hiding pain, used to pretending everything's fine when nothing is fine at all.

"Eva..." I start, but what can I say? Sorry I abandoned you? Sorry I chose popularity over loyalty? Sorry I watched Domino's cruelty escalate and did nothing to stop it?

"Rest," she says again, already pulling the door open. "I'll bring fresh notes tomorrow."

"Why?" The question tears from my throat before I can stop it. "Why do you keep coming back when I've been nothing but awful to you?"

She pauses in the doorway, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of something in her reflection in the glass – something deeper than the bruises, more permanent than any physical wound.

"Because," she says so softly I almost miss it, "someone has to remember who you were before the world made you cruel."

Then she's gone, leaving me alone with my guilt and my nausea and the steady beep of machines that can't measure the kind of sickness eating away at my soul.

The drugs make everything too sharp again – the memory of her tears, the sight of those cigarette burns, the way she still wears pigtails like a reminder of better days. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes until I see stars, trying to block out the evidence of what I've become.

Someone has to remember who you were.

But I don't want to be remembered.

Don't want her carrying that weight along with all her other burdens.

Don't want her kindness making me feel worse than any cancer ever could.

Tomorrow, I decide as the medications pull me toward uneasy sleep. Tomorrow I'll find a way to make her stop coming. To make her give up on me like I gave up on her.

It's the only gift I have left to give – freedom from the obligation to care about someone who doesn't deserve it.

Even if it means destroying the last green thing in my withering world.

"After my treatment," I continue, still holding the faded bows like a confession, "remission came suddenly. One day I was dying, the next my numbers started improving. The experimental protocol we developed – it worked. Not like the cure I found for my parents, but enough to give me a future again."

The night presses against the hospital windows as I pace, unable to stay still under the weight of these memories. Eva remains curled against Zander's side, oblivious to the secrets being spilled about her past.

"I threw myself into research," I say, each word feeling like broken glass in my throat. "Different types of cancer, different treatment approaches. Everything had to be kept quiet – you don't announce experimental cures without years of documentation and trials. But Eva knew."

My reflection shows a bitter smile. "She was my outlet. I'd tell her about breakthroughs, failures, theories that kept me up at night. And she'd talk to me too – about everything happening in her life, about the darkness she was facing. We had this... understanding. This shared space where we could both be broken and it was okay."

The bows swing gently from my fingers as I move, catching the artificial light like memories trying to escape. "Then the leg incident happened."

The room grows very still. Even the medical equipment seems to beep more quietly, as if sensing the gravity of what's coming.

"Everything changed after that," I continue, watching Eva's sleeping form in the reflection. "Pigtails just... broke. Not just physically – though watching her learn to walk again was..." I trail off, the memory still too sharp. "She was hurt in ways that went beyond bones and nerves."

"I felt responsible," I admit, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. "Started telling Domino off, refusing to help with his schemes. He got mad. Frustrated." A broken laugh escapes me. "God, we were all so angry back then. But Eva... she didn't deserve any of it. Didn't deserve to have her mobility stolen, to be ridiculed while struggling just to stand."

The words come faster now, like poison finally being drawn from a wound. "When I put those cigarette burns on her back – fuck, I hate myself for that – I actually managed to beat myself up over it. Gave myself a black eye and split lip because the guilt was eating me alive. Domino actually felt sorry for me, thought someone else had done it." My hands shake slightly. "But what he did to her legs..."

I turn to face my brothers, seeing varying degrees of horror and understanding in their expressions. "That was unforgivable."

"What did you do?" Ren asks, all traces of his usual playboy facade gone.

"I couldn't figure out how to hurt him enough at first," I confess, moving away from the window. "Nothing seemed adequate. Breaking his bones wouldn't equal months of physical therapy. Burning his skin wouldn't match the psychological trauma of being trapped in a wheelchair while people mocked your recovery."

My pacing becomes more agitated. "I felt helpless. Here I was, brilliant enough to cure cancer, but I couldn't protect one girl from systematic cruelty. Couldn't shield her from the monster I'd become, from the even bigger monster I'd helped create in Domino."

The bows feel heavier now, weighted with the gravity of what I'm about to confess. "Until finally," I say softly, "I figured out how to hurt him back."

I look at Eva one more time, remembering the girl with pigtails who brought me soup when I was dying, who did my homework when I couldn't lift my head, who forgave betrayal after betrayal until finally...

"What did you do, Marcus?" Matteo asks, though something in his tone suggests he already knows.

The silence stretches like a wire about to snap. Outside, rain begins to fall, providing a gentle backdrop to this moment of terrible truth.

"I did the one thing," I whisper, "that would hurt him more than any physical pain could."

I study Eva's peaceful expression, wondering not for the first time if I made the right choice. If the price of protection was worth what was lost.

"I made her forget,” I quietly confess. "That was the initial goal anyway," I continue, watching how the rain traces patterns on the dark windows. "Making her forget. But it went wrong. Everything went so terribly wrong."

"What do you mean?" Ren asks, leaning forward in his chair. The playboy facade has completely vanished, replaced by genuine concern.

My reflection shows a grimace as memories surface – sharp and clear despite the years between then and now. "I had invited Eva to the lab to try the serum. A controlled experiment, carefully measured doses." I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I've never quite broken. "Something had happened that day to set Domino off. I still don't know what exactly, but he came storming into the lab, absolutely furious."

The bows in my hand feel heavier with each word. "My parents were upstairs in the scanning facility. We were checking if their cancers had truly gone into remission or if they were showing signs of return – we'd started seeing some unusual side effects from the treatment." The medical terminology feels safe, clinical, a shield against the emotional weight of what comes next.

"The scans are intense," I explain, resuming my restless pacing. "The team has to put the patients under complete sedation. So they didn't hear when Domino arrived. Couldn't have known what was about to happen."

I pause near Eva's sleeping form, watching how she unconsciously curls closer to Zander. "I had just administered the trial dose to Eva. We were testing dosage levels, trying to understand the parameters. When Domino burst in..." A bitter laugh escapes me. "She had no idea who he was. None at all."

"It actually worked?" Matteo's eyebrow arches in surprise.

I nod slowly, remembering that moment with perfect clarity. "Temporarily, but yes. Despite all his outrage, his mocking accusations that she was pretending not to recognize him – she genuinely didn't know him. You could see it in her eyes." My voice drops lower. "It was amazing, really. Like all those years of trauma, all that pain and torment he'd inflicted – it was just gone. Wiped clean."

The monitors beep steadily in the background as I continue. "The effects weren't permanent, but seeing it work, even briefly..." I shake my head. "It set Domino off completely. He was disgusted that I was using 'his Iva' as some sort of test subject."

"Looking back now," I admit, "I suppose it did look bad. But I never forced Eva into anything. She wanted to help with the research. She understood what we were trying to achieve – the possibility that for some people, forgetting trauma might be better than carrying it forever. No more letting past pain hold you back..."

My reflection shows a twisted smile. "But Domino couldn't handle it. The idea of being erased, even temporarily, from her memory – it drove him into a rage. 'How dare you try to heal wounds you didn't even make,' he said. Called me a traitor for attempting this when I was supposed to be his friend. His right-hand man."

The bows tremble slightly in my grip as I reach the hardest part. "He said my actions would have consequences. That I'd crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. And that's when..." I trail off, the memory making my chest tight.

"What happened?" Ares asks softly, but there's something dangerous in his tone – like he already suspects where this story is heading.

The rain falls harder outside, matching the growing tension in the room. Eva shifts slightly in her sleep, as if even unconscious she can sense the weight of these revelations.

"That's when everything changed," I whisper, watching my brothers' reflections in the dark window. "That's when I learned exactly how far Domino would go to maintain his control over her."

"The fire," Zander says quietly from his hospital bed, his hand still rhythmically stroking Eva's hair. "She talks about a fire sometimes. When she thinks no one's paying attention."

"I've noticed how she watches flames," Ares adds, setting aside his tablet completely. "The way she gets transfixed by the fireplace at the manor, or during those bonfires we had at the lake house."

Matteo nods slowly, understanding dawning in his expression. "Even at formal events – she always seems... different around open flames. More alert. Almost hypnotized."

"I asked her about it once," Ren admits, running a hand through his teal-streaked hair. "At some charity gala where they did that lantern ceremony. Everyone had to light matches, and I caught how her hands trembled." He looks down at his own hands, remembering. "Asked if she was afraid of fire. She said no, but..." He trails off, shaking his head. "Her body language told a different story."

They all turn to me expectantly, waiting for the piece of the puzzle that will make sense of their observations. The bows feel impossibly heavy in my hands now, each one carrying the weight of choices made in moments of crisis.

"Domino was smoking during our confrontation," I say finally, my voice harder than intended. "Obviously, it was strictly forbidden – we had 'No Smoking' signs everywhere, even outside the building. But he never gave a shit about rules that didn't suit him."

The rain continues its steady pattern against the windows as I force myself to continue. "He stormed out after seeing the serum's effects on Eva. Just... walked away in disgust, flicking his cigarette onto the floor like it would magically extinguish itself."

My hands clench around the bows, feeling the delicate fabric strain against my grip. "People don't understand why research facilities ban smoking so completely. They think it's excessive, paranoid even. But labs... labs are different. The very air is saturated with chemicals, compounds that are necessary for our work but highly volatile under the wrong conditions."

"Eva said she'd follow him," I continue, the memory sharp enough to cut. "Said she'd make sure he didn't destroy anything in his anger. I let her go – stupid, so fucking stupid – because I was more concerned about monitoring the serum's effects than considering what one carelessly discarded cigarette could do in an environment like that."

I turn to the window, unable to face their expressions as I reach the worst part. "I didn't realize what was happening at first. Was too focused on my notes, on documenting the temporary memory loss, on planning next steps." A bitter laugh escapes me. "Then the fire alarms went off."

The bows twist in my grip as anger surfaces – at myself, at Domino, at the cruel twist of fate that forced an impossible choice. "By the time I understood what was happening, the entire lab was already engulfed. The chemicals... they made the fire spread faster than normal, created toxic fumes that made it hard to think clearly."

I watch their reflections in the dark glass, seeing the moment they grasp what's coming. "I had to make a choice," I say quietly. "My parents were still sedated upstairs, helpless in the scanning facility. And Eva..." My voice catches. "Eva was somewhere in the building, probably still following Domino, probably already trapped."

"Fuck…" Ren whispers, horror evident in his tone.

The silence that follows feels heavy enough to crush bones. Even Eva seems to grow more still in her sleep, as if some part of her consciousness recognizes the story being told.

"Save my parents," I continue, each word feeling like glass in my throat, "or save the girl who'd stood by me through everything. The one person who never gave up on me, even when I betrayed her again and again."

The bows crumple slightly in my clenched fist as the full weight of that moment comes rushing back – the heat, the smoke, the split-second decision that would haunt me forever.

"The choice that defines you," Matteo says softly, understanding in his voice. "The moment that shapes everything that comes after."

A single tear falls onto the crushed bows in my hand, and I realize I'm crying. Actually crying for the first time since that day, finally letting myself feel the full magnitude of what happened.

"I went after Eva," I admit, the words falling like stones into still water. "I thought... God, I actually thought I had enough time to save everyone. The fire had only spread to certain areas, and I knew the building's layout perfectly. Figured I could shut down specific halls, create barriers to control the spread."

The crushed bows in my hand feel like evidence of all my failures as I continue. "I knew exactly which room held my parents. All I had to do was find Eva first, make sure she wasn't trapped in the wrong sections. Then I could..." My voice catches. "Then I could save them all."

Rain continues its steady rhythm against the windows as I force myself to continue. "I found her in my main lab. And of course – of course – my selfless Pigtails wasn't trying to save herself. Wasn't even chasing after Domino anymore." A broken laugh escapes me. "She was gathering all my research notes. Years of work on cancer treatments, experimental protocols, everything I'd dedicated my life to understanding. She cared more about saving that than herself."

My head drops, the weight of memory too heavy to bear. "We made it out just before the whole building went up. But my parents..." The words stick in my throat. "The lab, the research, my parents – everything burned to ash. Everything."

Silence fills the hospital room, broken only by the steady beep of monitors and Eva's soft breathing. No one seems to know what to say in the face of such loss.

Finally, Matteo asks quietly, "Then why make her forget? The fire, your involvement – why erase all of that?"

I lift my head, meeting his gaze with a bitter smile. "Because Domino found out about my parents' debts. All those experimental treatments, the private medical care – it hadn't come cheap. There were loan sharks involved, people you don't want knowing your weaknesses."

"He threatened you," Zander observes from his bed, voice carrying dangerous understanding.

"Said he'd make sure those debts found me," I confirm. "Would destroy any chance I had of attending medical school, of continuing my research, of solving anything ever again." My laugh holds no humor. "I'd already lost my parents. The thought of losing my only chance to continue their work..."

"So you agreed to use your experimental drug on Eva," Ares concludes, his perfect features arranged in careful neutrality.

"The choice seemed simple at the time," I say softly. "Use what was left of the serum to make her forget me, forget everything about that night."

"Does the medicine use some specific hypnosis technique?" Ares asks, scientific curiosity evident in his tone. "To target certain memories?"

I shake my head. "It works on trauma. That first trial dose made her forget Domino because he was her current source of psychological damage. After the fire..." I glance at Eva's sleeping form. "It made sense to administer it when the trauma was fresh. She'd forget the immediate traumatic event and anyone closely associated with it – mainly me and my family."

"But she remembered pigtails," Zander observes, his hand still gentle in Eva's hair.

"Yeah," I look at her current hairstyle with a sad smile. "Guess she did."

"Could her memories be returning?" Matteo asks carefully. "Now that you're back in her life?"

"I'm not sure," I admit. "I used the last of the serum that night, so I couldn't measure proper dosage or long-term effects. And after that..." My hands clench around the bows again. "Prescott pulled her out for homeschooling. I never saw her again until now."

"What about your empire?" Ares asks suddenly. "I had no idea your family was involved in the society."

The laugh that escapes me sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Domino took that too, in the end. Leighton bought everything for pennies after the fire. Left me parentless, empire-less – completely fucking useless."

"What?" Matteo sits forward, genuine shock crossing his features.

"Had to start from scratch," I explain, moving restlessly near the windows again. "Left town, rebuilt myself piece by piece. Only came back because of a full scholarship to Leighton University." My reflection shows a twisted smile. "Ironic, right? Leaving the place that destroyed you only to return to the people who took everything."

"Fuck me," Ren whistles low. "You either have a heart of gold or a serious concussion. No way in hell I could dine with the motherfucker who ruined my life like that."

"Maybe I just believe in karma," I say quietly, watching Eva curl closer to Zander in her sleep. "In vengeance served cold. In waiting for the perfect moment to reclaim what's mine." My smile grows sharper. "Maybe I'm just patient enough to wait for my own happy ending."

The room falls silent as they process everything I've revealed. Outside, the rain continues its steady pattern, marking time like tears against glass.

Everything I've lost, everything I've sacrificed – it all led to this moment.

To standing in this room with these broken men who love our Queen in their own dangerous ways.