Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

29. Breakfast With Kings

Breakfast With Kings

~ A RES~

The morning light streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the gold accents that seem to be everywhere in our new residence. Matteo's taste in real estate is as impeccable as it is excessive – the property sits in Leighton University's most exclusive neighborhood, where normally only distinguished alumni of particularly elite status are permitted to reside.

The breakfast room alone probably costs more than most people's entire homes. Vaulted ceilings adorned with intricate crown molding draw the eye upward, while custom chandeliers cast warm light across the massive table where we've gathered for our first morning meal as official residents. The walls are a subtle cream that makes the gold architectural details pop – every doorframe, every window trim, every carefully considered accent designed to remind visitors that this is a home built for royalty.

Or in our case , I think with carefully hidden amusement, for a very specific kind of obsession .

"The security features are impressive," Marcus comments, spreading butter on what looks like freshly baked bread. He sits across from me, his usual lab coat replaced with our university uniform that somehow makes him look even more clinical. "I noticed at least three different types of biometric scanners just between my suite and here."

"Four, actually," Zander corrects from beside me, not looking up from his phone. His recovery has been remarkably swift, though I catch the occasional wince when he moves too quickly. "There's an infrared system built into the doorframes that monitors body temperature and movement patterns."

I take another sip of my perfectly prepared coffee, savoring the rich flavor while studying our new surroundings. The breakfast table itself is a masterpiece of design – thick mahogany polished to a mirror shine, large enough to seat twelve comfortably but currently arranged for our more intimate group of six. Matteo sits at the head, naturally, his presence commanding even in early morning casualness.

"Did you see the garage?" Ren asks from his spot beside Marcus, practically bouncing with excitement. "There's space for at least twenty vehicles, plus a separate bay just for maintenance and customization."

"Perfect for working on the bikes," Zander muses, finally setting his phone aside. "Though we'll need to upgrade the ventilation system if we're going to do any serious modifications."

The conversation flows easily between us, discussing various features of our new home while pretending we're not all acutely aware of the empty chair at the opposite end of the table from Matteo. Our Queen's absence feels like a physical thing, making even this luxurious space seem somehow incomplete.

Golden morning light continues to pour through the windows, highlighting the incredible view of Leighton University's sprawling campus below us. The property sits on one of the highest points in the area, offering a perfect vantage point of our kingdom-to-be. From here, we can see everything – the historic academic buildings, the modern research facilities, the carefully manicured grounds where students will soon gather.

Our territory , something dark whispers in my mind. Our hunting grounds .

"The climate control is particularly innovative," Marcus continues, clearly impressed despite his usual clinical detachment. "Each suite can be individually adjusted for temperature, humidity, even ambient lighting. The system learns occupant preferences over time."

"The security grid extends underground too," Zander adds, reaching for more coffee. "Pressure sensors, motion detectors, the works. Nobody gets within hundred yards of this place without us knowing about it."

I notice how he emphasizes the security features, his protective instincts regarding Eva clearly on high alert after recent events. Not that I blame him – we're all still processing how close we came to losing everything.

"Speaking of knowing things," Matteo's voice carries that quiet authority that makes everyone immediately focus on him, "where is our Queen this morning?"

As if summoned by the question, Hannah appears silently in the doorway. Her presence is so seamlessly professional that sometimes I forget she's probably as deadly as any of us.

"Miss Prescott is almost ready," she announces smoothly. "She'll be down shortly. I encourage patience this morning."

Something in her tone makes us all exchange glances. We've learned to read Hannah's subtle inflections, to hear the messages hidden beneath her perfectly neutral delivery.

"Is she alright?" The question escapes before I can stop it, my carefully maintained composure cracking slightly.

"Perfectly fine," Hannah assures us, though her expression suggests there's more she's not saying. "Though we'll need two vehicles this morning. The Cybertruck, while impressive, cannot comfortably accommodate all six Kings plus your Queen."

"We should probably head out soon anyway," Ren suggests, checking his watch. "First day back, we don't want to make a bad impression by being late."

"And how exactly are you planning to get there?" Zander asks, arching an eyebrow at our newest brother.

Ren's answering smirk carries all his usual playboy charm as he casually announces, "Bicycle."

The silence that follows is absolute. All movement at the table stops as we collectively stare at him, trying to process this statement. Even Hannah's perfect composure shows a crack of surprise.

"What?" Ren asks innocently, though his eyes dance with mischief. "It's environmentally friendly. Plus, have you seen these thighs?" He pats his leg for emphasis. "They don't maintain themselves."

The breakfast room suddenly feels too small for the personalities within it. Matteo's expression suggests he's questioning every decision that led to including Ren in our brotherhood. Marcus appears to be calculating the statistical probability of our new brother having suffered a mental break. Zander just looks murderous, though that might be his default expression these days.

I take another sip of coffee, using the cup to hide my own reaction. The idea of one of the Ruthless Kings of Obsession arriving at Leighton University on a bicycle is so absurd it circles back around to being almost brilliant. Almost.

"You're not seriously—" Marcus starts, but Ren cuts him off with a raised hand.

"Relax, Doc. I'm just messing with you." His grin grows wider. "Though you should see your faces right now. Absolute perfection."

"I vote we leave him here," Zander mutters, reaching for more coffee. "Let him figure out his own transportation."

"Cruel," Ren pouts, though his eyes still sparkle with amusement. "And here I thought we were building something special."

The breakfast table gleams beneath platters of expertly prepared food – fresh fruit arranged with artistic precision, pastries that smell like they just came from a French bakery, eggs cooked exactly to each person's preference. Everything perfect, everything controlled, everything designed to remind us of our elevated status.

But something still feels missing. The empty chair at the far end of the table draws my eye again, making me wonder what's taking our Queen so long to join us. The uniform she'll be wearing, the same one we all sport now – black with subtle gold, orange, and red accents, the Leighton crest embroidered with perfect precision – somehow I know she'll make it look like battle armor rather than academic attire.

The morning light shifts slightly, making the gold accents in the room seem to pulse like captured flames. Everything in this space was chosen with deliberate purpose – from the security features hidden behind beautiful facades to the strategic positioning that lets us survey our domain. Even the chairs we sit in, with their subtle throne-like qualities, speak of power carefully contained but ready to be unleashed.

"You know," Ren breaks through my observations, that dangerous playfulness still evident in his tone, "I did actually bring a bicycle. Custom built, matte black frame, gold accents to match our new aesthetic. Even has a little bell."

"I will shoot you," Zander states calmly, not looking up from his phone. "Right here at this beautiful table. Won't even feel bad about ruining breakfast."

"You wouldn't," Ren grins. "You love me too much now. I'm part of the family."

"Family can still get shot," Matteo observes mildly, though something like amusement flickers in his eyes. "Just ask any of the Leightons."

The banter continues, but I find my attention drawn back to the empty chair. Somewhere above us, our Queen is preparing to make her entrance. Knowing Eva, it will be perfectly calculated for maximum effect.

"Wait," Marcus narrows his eyes at Ren, clearly still processing our brother's previous statement. "Are you actually serious about the bike?"

Ren's signature playboy smirk grows wider.

"2024 Harley-Davidson LiveWire S2 Del Mar," he announces with obvious pride. "Custom matte black finish, gold trim, modified suspension for better handling in urban environments. Zero to sixty in three point five seconds."

"Holy shit," Marcus whistles low, professional detachment cracking to reveal genuine enthusiasm. "Those things are basically lightning wrapped in carbon fiber. The neural response system alone is worth more than most cars."

"Fast cars are fun," Ren shrugs, though his eyes light up at Marcus's recognition, "but bikes? That's where you find real freedom. Nothing between you and certain death except skill and maybe a prayer."

"Speaking of bikes," Zander interjects, setting his phone aside completely, "we got Eva one as a survival gift. She hasn't had much chance to ride it yet, given everything that's happened."

"I'd be happy to take her out," Ren offers immediately, his grin turning dangerous. "Show her the ropes, maybe do some advanced handling techniques?—"

"No." The word comes from all four of us simultaneously, making Hannah pause in her silent reorganization of breakfast dishes.

Ren throws his head back and laughs, the sound rich with genuine amusement. "You guys are too easy," he chuckles, running a hand through his teal-streaked hair. "What, you don't want me enjoying your Queen on the first day of school? Afraid she might prefer?—"

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat as movement at the doorway draws all our attention. The morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows seems to hold its breath, as if even nature itself wants to witness this moment.

Eva.

But not Eva as we've known her. Not the girl with flowing silver hair and careful smiles. Not even the deadly Queen who orchestrated Domino's downfall.

This is something entirely new.

She stands in the doorway like an apparition made flesh, the morning light catching her transformed silhouette in ways that make my artist's eye ache with appreciation. Her silver hair, once falling past her shoulders like a war banner, has been cropped into a sophisticated pixie cut that emphasizes every elegant line of her face. The style is both edgy and feminine – longer on top where it sweeps across her forehead in a deliberately tousled look, shorter at the sides where it highlights her delicate bone structure.

The effect is devastating.

Gone is any trace of the innocent girl who once hid behind long hair and hesitant smiles. This woman – this Queen – radiates a dangerous kind of grace that makes my breath catch in my throat.

The Leighton University uniform, which looked merely expensive on us, transforms into something like armor on her frame. The black silk undershirt clings to curves that seem more pronounced now, perhaps due to the recent weight loss we've all been concerned about. The blazer, with its intricate embroidery and carefully chosen accents, sits perfectly on her shoulders like a second skin.

But it's the details that truly capture attention. The way the gold threading in the Leighton crest seems to pulse with each breath she takes. How the red and orange accents catch light like captured flames, making her seem to glow from within. The subtle adjustments Hannah must have made to ensure everything fits exactly right, creating an image of power carefully contained but ready to be unleashed.

The kilt skirt falls scandalously high on her thighs, revealing legs that despite recent weight loss still carry the kind of muscle definition that speaks of deadly capability. The entire ensemble walks a perfect line between academic propriety and something far more dangerous – exactly what you'd expect from the Queen of Obsession.

Her lips are painted a shade of red that makes my fingers itch for paint and canvas – not the bright artificial red of fashion, but something deeper, darker. The color of blood just before it dries, of violence carefully applied like art. It makes her pale skin seem almost luminous in contrast, highlighting the sharp intelligence in her eyes that the new haircut makes impossible to ignore.

Those eyes – God, those eyes. The pixie cut draws immediate attention to them, making their unusual blue seem even more striking. Without the curtain of long hair to hide behind, every micro-expression plays across her features with devastating clarity. Right now, I catch amusement, satisfaction, and something darker flickering in their depths as she takes in our collective shock.

"Good morning, Ruthless Kings," she says softly, her voice carrying that perfect blend of authority and seduction that makes her so dangerous. The words fall like stones into still water, creating ripples of tension that spread through the room. “Missed me?”

No one moves. No one speaks. Even Hannah seems frozen, watching our reactions with carefully hidden satisfaction.

Zander's hand tightens around his coffee cup hard enough that I hear the porcelain protest. Beside him, Matteo's usual composed mask shows cracks of raw hunger that he doesn't bother trying to hide. Marcus appears to be calculating something complex in his head, probably trying to quantify the statistical probability of surviving this level of attraction. And Ren – our usually verbose brother seems to have completely lost the ability to form words.

She moves into the room with liquid grace, each step measured and precise. The heels of her shoes – regulation height but somehow made to look lethal – click against marble floors like a countdown to something inevitable. The morning light follows her movement, making the gold accents in her uniform dance like flames.

"Hannah," she says without looking away from us, "I believe you mentioned something about vehicles?"

Hannah clears her throat softly – the first time I've ever heard her seem slightly off-balance. "Yes, Miss Prescott. We'll need two cars this morning, given the current number of passengers."

Eva reaches the empty chair at the far end of the table, opposite Matteo. Her fingers trail along the polished wood, the gesture somehow both casual and deliberately provocative. "Well," she muses, that blood-red smile growing sharper, "we wouldn't want to be late on our first day, would we?"

She scans the room until her eyes seem to lock on mine. She doesn’t hesitate to walk over to me and how I simply move on instinct by pushing my chair back enough to invite her right onto my lap. The others are too far into their shock to care, but I’m already admiring her new cut up close, my fingertips running through the short locks.

God…she looks fuckable.

"The hair," Ren finally manages, his voice slightly strangled. "You... when did you..."

"This morning," she answers simply, though we all hear the satisfaction in her tone. "Hannah helped. Do you like it?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke, heavy with implications. Because this isn't just about hair, is it? This is about transformation. About shedding the last vestiges of innocence like a snake sheds its skin. About becoming something harder, deadlier, more perfectly suited to the game we're about to play.

"You look dangerous," Zander says finally, his voice carrying that edge of manic appreciation that means he's already planning exactly how to get her alone. "Like you could ruin someone's whole life with just a smile."

"Maybe I will," she responds tilting her head amusingly. The movement makes her new hairstyle catch light differently, creating shadows that emphasize the sharp edges of her cheekbones. "After all, isn't that what Queens do best? Create beautiful destruction?"

The words send a collective shiver through us all. Because she's right – this new look, this carefully crafted image of controlled danger, it's just another weapon in her arsenal. Another way to ensure that when she finally takes her revenge, it will be absolutely beautiful to watch.

Eva shifts in my lap, her new, shorter hairstyle brushing my cheek as she leans forward, reaching for the coffee I’d been drinking just moments before.

The proximity is deliberate, calculated—the kind of move only a predator with absolute confidence makes. Her subtle perfume—sharp, floral, with an undertone of something darker—fills my senses, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to react too openly.

The others are still staring at her, caught somewhere between awe and hunger. Matteo's fingers drum an uneven rhythm against the table's edge, his dark eyes tracking every movement she makes. Ren, for once, seems at a loss for words, though his gaze flickers between the soft line of her bare neck and the sharp curve of her smirk. Zander’s jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists on the table, the tension in him palpable.

Eva notices, of course. She always does. And she plays them like strings on a perfectly tuned instrument.

"Careful, darling," she murmurs, her voice a low purr meant only for me. Her hand brushes mine as she lifts the coffee cup from my grasp, bringing it to her lips in a move so effortless it feels almost intimate. "You might spill."

I watch, mesmerized, as she takes a sip, her lashes lowering just enough to give her expression an air of lazy triumph. When she sets the cup down, her fingers linger on the rim, her touch light but commanding. She turns her gaze to the rest of the table, tilting her head slightly, the movement casual yet deliberate, a silent reminder of who holds the power here.

"Do you all plan to sit there gawking, or shall we discuss our next move?" Her words are light, almost teasing, but there’s steel beneath the surface. A challenge.

"You're making it hard to focus," Ren admits, his voice rougher than usual. His grin returns, but there’s something sharper in it now, something less practiced. "That haircut should come with a warning label."

Eva arches a brow, feigning innocence. "Should it? What would it say? Approach with caution ?"

"Something like that," Zander mutters, his voice a low growl. His gaze never leaves her, his expression caught between frustration and fascination. "Or maybe, Handle with care—or don't. "

The room hums with unspoken energy, the kind that sets every nerve ending on edge. Matteo clears his throat, his calm mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of impatience. "If we’re done admiring the Queen’s new look," he drawls, his tone carefully measured, "perhaps we can discuss how we’re going to keep her safe now that the semester has begun."

Eva straightens, the movement slow and deliberate, but she doesn’t leave my lap. If anything, she settles more firmly against me, her body a perfect fit against mine. Her hands rest lightly on the table, the tips of her fingers brushing the polished surface as she regards Matteo with a slight, knowing smile.

"Safe?" she echoes, her tone deceptively soft. "That’s your concern, Matteo. Mine is making sure no one underestimates what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to us."

Us.

The word hangs in the air, as deliberate as her movements, as sharp as the glint in her eyes. It ties us to her, binds her to us—a declaration as bold as any crown she could wear.

"I don’t think anyone will," I murmur, my voice quiet but firm. My fingers trail up the line of her arm, a barely-there touch meant for her alone. "Not after today."

She glances at me, her expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—approval, perhaps, or a silent promise. Then she turns her attention back to the table, her posture commanding even as she remains seated in my lap.

"Good," she says simply. "Because I’d hate to waste all this effort just to play it safe."