Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

31. A Brothers Intervention

A Brother's Intervention

~ D OMINO~

Instinct moves me before thought can catch up. My hand strikes upward, forcing the barrel away from Eva's forehead just as the trigger clicks. Instead of the deadly report I expect, a pathetic pop fills the air, followed by a shower of confetti that rains down over my stepsister's perfectly styled pixie cut.

The fake weapon feels cheap in my grip, offensive in its artificiality. Eva doesn't move, doesn't even blink as colorful paper falls around her like some twisted celebration. Her new hairstyle makes it impossible to hide any reaction – every line of her face exposed, every micro-expression on display.

But there's nothing to read. No fear, no surprise, no acknowledgment of how close she just came to... to what? Being pranked? Humiliated?

Fucking hell, Iva.

"Well, well," our unwelcome visitor whistles, her artificial golden eyes glinting with barely concealed disappointment. "I actually wasn't expecting Domino Leighton to interfere versus his older brother." She tries for sweet, playful even, but the tone falls flat – revealing the bitter edge beneath her carefully constructed facade.

Rage burns through my veins like acid, making my fingers tighten around the fake gun until plastic protests. The sound of cracking material is oddly satisfying, but not enough to quell the fury building in my chest.

My free hand finds Eva's throat, not squeezing but definitely controlling as I force her to look up at me. "Why the hell didn't you move?" The words emerge as a growl, raw with emotions I don't want to examine too closely.

The courtyard holds its breath, waiting for her response. Students have formed a loose circle around us, phones discretely recording every moment of this confrontation.

Eva's lips – painted that devastating shade of red that makes my blood burn – curve into a smile that holds more danger than any weapon. "Why?" she asks softly, eyes gleaming with something like triumph. "Would you miss me?"

The words hit like physical blows, making something snap inside my chest. Before I can stop myself, I'm crushing my mouth against hers, tasting that blood-red lipstick and something darker beneath. The kiss is violent, possessive, a punishment and a promise wrapped in one desperate act.

"Pull stupid shit like that again," I snarl when I finally release her mouth, though my hand remains at her throat, "and you can enjoy having a real bullet in your head."

Her answering smirk carries echoes of madness that match my own. I let her go abruptly, turning my attention to our wannabe assassin. The fake gun is still in my other hand, and I use it to yank her forward – lifting her briefly off her feet before letting her drop unceremoniously.

Her shriek of indignation follows the weapon's arc as I throw it into the furthest fountain. Water splashes, creating ripples that distort the morning light while I let out a frustrated grunt that carries years of complexity.

The whispers start immediately, spreading through the gathered crowd like wildfire:

"Did you see that?"

"Domino Leighton just saved her..."

"I heard he begged Prescott for forgiveness..."

"Maybe the rumors about rehab were true..."

Their speculation means nothing compared to the way Eva watches me with those knowing eyes. The new haircut makes her gaze impossible to escape, highlighting every nuance of her expression as she catalogs my intervention.

The fountain swallows the fake weapon, turning it into just another piece of debris in its carefully choreographed rush of water.

Everything about this moment feels wrong – me playing protector, Eva standing fearless in the face of threat, our unwanted visitor's golden eyes watching it all with calculated interest. The roles have shifted, the game evolved into something neither of us fully understands.

But one thing remains absolutely clear: no one gets to threaten my stepsister except me.

The confetti continues to fall, coating Eva's shoulders like colorful snow, making this moment feel even more surreal. She tilts her head slightly, studying me with an expression I can't quite read – something between amusement and calculation, between recognition and warning.

The gathered students continue their documentation, their phones capturing every detail of this latest development in our complicated story. They'll analyze it later, frame by frame, looking for clues about what's really happening between their fallen King and risen Queen.

Let them look. Let them wonder. Let them try to understand the twisted bonds that make me save the very person I once tried to destroy.

Some obsessions transcend simple definitions of love and hate.

Some stories can't be captured in whispered rumors and social media posts.

Some madness demands both salvation and destruction, protection and possession, all wrapped in one continuous act of mutual assured devastation.

Domino turns to Matteo, frustration evident in every line of his body. "Why didn't you interfere?" The question emerges more accusation than inquiry, hanging in the confetti-dusted air between them.

Matteo's approach is pure calculated grace – each step measured, deliberate, carrying that same deadly elegance that makes their father so formidable. He moves like someone who knows exactly how much power he holds, who never needs to rush because the world will wait for him.

That quality has always made Domino's blood boil – the way Matteo can embody their father's most dangerous traits while making them entirely his own. Where Domino burns hot with obvious rage, Matteo simmers with something colder, more precise.

He takes his place behind Eva, smoothly replacing where Domino stood moments before. His hand finds her throat with practiced possessiveness, but unlike Domino's forceful grip, his touch carries an intimacy that makes several students shift uncomfortably. His fingers rest against her pulse point with deliberate pressure, not forcing but inviting her to tilt her head back and meet his gaze.

Eva complies without hesitation, looking up into eyes that hold equal parts ownership and appreciation. The morning light catches her new haircut, making the silver strands shimmer as Matteo studies her upturned face with obvious hunger.

"Is my wife okay?" he asks, deliberately drawing out each word so the gathered crowd catches every syllable. The possessive pronoun falls like a gauntlet between them all – a reminder of exactly who holds the strongest claim.

"I'm fine," Eva responds, her blood-red lips curving into a smile that holds secrets only Matteo seems to understand.

"Why didn't you freak out?" His thumb traces patterns against her throat, the gesture somehow more intimate than Domino's earlier kiss.

Her answer carries perfect logic wrapped in lethal grace: "Today everyone was scanned for weapons. Only those with blades were allowed in." Her voice remains steady despite Matteo's deliberately distracting touch. "All guns or forms of weaponry were forced to be left behind, only to be collected after class. If her gun was snuck in, she wouldn't have made it past the courtyard – especially given the metal detectors we just walked through."

The gathered crowd shifts as understanding dawns, whispers gaining new appreciation for their Queen's calculating mind. But Matteo's rare grin suggests he expected nothing less from his chosen match.

"Good girl," he whispers against her lips, the words carrying enough heat to make several students fan themselves. Without warning, he claims her mouth in a kiss that makes Domino's earlier display look almost chaste in comparison.

Matteo takes his time, his hand still possessive against Eva's throat while the other tangles in her newly shortened hair. The kiss deepens with deliberate intent – his tongue claiming, exploring, marking territory that's already undeniably his.

Students shift and whisper, phones recording every moment of this public display of ownership:

"The way he touches her..."

"Did you see how she just melted into him?"

"That's not just marriage, that's something else entirely..."

When they finally break apart, both breathing heavily, the tension in the courtyard has shifted from violent to something far more carnal. Eva's lipstick is smudged slightly, making her look thoroughly claimed in a way that sends new whispers through the crowd.

Matteo's voice drops to a register that makes several nearby students shiver as he declares, "No one would be foolish enough to touch what isn't theirs." His fingers flex slightly against Eva's throat, the gesture carrying obvious meaning. "Especially harm a single hair on my wife. Unless," his smile grows sharper, more dangerous, "they want to start a war."

The threat hangs in the morning air like smoke, turning the confetti-strewn courtyard into something more dangerous. The fountain continues its endless dance of water and light, but even its sound seems muted in the face of such obvious possession.

This isn't just about protection or ownership – it's about showing everyone exactly what happens when you threaten something Matteo Leighton considers his.

And judging by the way Eva looks at him with equal parts submission and triumph, she's exactly where she wants to be.

The girl steps forward with exaggerated confidence, brushing confetti from her uniform. "Perhaps I should introduce myself," she announces, those golden contacts catching morning light. "I'm from the Elwings’ Empire."

A dismissive snort comes from Ren's direction.

"Oh, that wannabe criminal organization?" He shrugs with casual elegance, everything about his posture suggesting complete disinterest. "Not particularly concerned about them, to be honest."

Her face contorts with fury at his dismissal.

"For a police dog," she snarls, "you should learn to kneel and behave. Maybe then you'll earn yourself a treat." Her gaze flicks meaningfully to Eva, making her implications crystal clear.

Something dangerous flashes across Ren's features, though his signature playboy smirk remains firmly in place. He moves with deliberate grace, each step calculated for maximum effect as he approaches Eva's right side.

The gathered crowd holds its collective breath, phones still recording as Ren claims his place beside their Queen. Matteo's grip remains possessively elegant around Eva's throat, a silent statement of primary ownership that Ren acknowledges with a slight nod before making his own declaration.

"If I have to kneel," he says softly, though his voice carries to every eager listener, "whine, and beg for a taste of this particular treat?" His actions speak louder than words as he claims his own territory with deliberate intent, marking Eva in a way that sends new whispers through the crowd.

Eva's sharp intake of breath, the way color floods her cheeks – it's clear she wasn't expecting this level of public claim from their usually casual King. Even Matteo's eyebrow raises slightly, though his grip never wavers.

"I'll do it every day," Ren finishes, meeting their challenger's golden gaze with absolute certainty. "Some prizes are worth any price."

The courtyard erupts in barely contained chaos:

"Did you see that?"

"Three Kings claiming her openly..."

"The way they just share her..."

"This can't be real..."

"I am Amara from the Elwing Empire," the golden-eyed messenger announces, and something in my gut twists with recognition. Her artificial irises catch morning light like warnings, making my hands clench involuntarily as she continues, "Our influence in the criminal underworld spans?—"

A cheerful phone alarm cuts through her practiced speech, and I've never been more grateful for an interruption. My eyes find Ares as he pulls out his phone with that perfect model's indifference that used to make me want to punch him. Now I just feel relief at anything that delays what this girl's presence might mean.

"Oh. I have a photoshoot," he announces casually, like he hasn't just saved us all from whatever choreographed threat she was about to deliver.

The change in Eva is immediate and absolute. I watch her transform from deadly Queen to excited sister in the space of a heartbeat, nearly dislodging both Matteo's possessive grip and Ren's lingering presence as she leans toward Ares's phone. "When did you schedule that?"

Something in my chest aches watching how naturally she shows enthusiasm for anyone but me. But then again, I gave up the right to expect her genuine emotions a long time ago, didn't I?

"Actually," Ares admits with a slight smile that carries none of his usual perfect posing, "I scheduled it before the game. When I got recruited."

The surprise that ripples through our group feels genuine – even Matteo's carefully maintained mask shows cracks of real interest. I find myself leaning forward slightly despite my growing anxiety about Amara's presence.

"Recruited by who?" Eva demands, and God help me but the new haircut makes it impossible to hide how her eyes light up with genuine curiosity. No more hiding behind curtains of silver – every micro-expression plays across her features with devastating clarity.

Ares's answering grin carries real pride as he announces, "IMG Models. The shoot's actually for TIME Magazine." He shrugs with deliberate casualness that doesn't quite hide his excitement. "Probably the rarest opportunity someone my age has gotten."

Eva's squeal of pure joy should irritate me. Should make me want to remind her of her position, her power, the careful image we've all worked to maintain. Instead, I find myself fighting a smile as she launches herself at Ares with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Stop wasting time!" She starts pushing him toward the parking lot, and the sight of our deadly Queen literally manhandling one of her Kings makes something warm unfurl in my chest. "Move your ass back to the car!"

This is what we took from her , a voice whispers in my mind. This pure, unfiltered joy. This ability to just be excited for someone else's success.

Ares laughs, the sound rich and genuine as he allows her manhandling. "Why are you pushing? I can just get Ren to drive me on his bike."

"Hell no!" Eva protests immediately, and there's my sister – the one who existed before I taught her to hide everything real behind careful masks. "I'm coming too!"

"You can't miss class?—"

"I can miss whatever I want," she declares with that absolute certainty that makes her such a dangerous Queen, "if it means supporting my Ruthless King's success."

Marcus's laugh carries genuine amusement that makes me shift uncomfortably. When did they all become so comfortable with each other? When did this strange family start forming around the girl I spent years trying to break?

"We might as well all skip at this point," Marcus observes, running a hand through his dark blue hair. "Damn, I'm tired anyway."

"Could use a nap," Zander agrees, and I have to force myself not to flinch at his voice. The memory of pulling that trigger still haunts me, even knowing he survived.

Matteo's shrug carries elegant indifference that reminds me too much of Father. "The first three periods aren't particularly important or mandatory." His eyes find mine, and I hate how easily he includes me: "Coming with?"

I should say no. Should maintain some distance from this strange family they've built. Should remember that I'm only here because Eva decided to make me another piece in her game.

But my muttered "sure" emerges before I can stop it.

As our group moves toward the parking lot, I can't help glancing back at Amara. The fury building in her golden gaze sends ice through my veins – not because of any threat she personally poses, but because I know exactly who sent her.

A guinea pig , my mind whispers traitorously, from the man I desperately don't want to face when payment comes due.

The morning light catches her artificial irises one last time before she disappears into the crowd, but the warning in them remains crystal clear: The Blind One hasn't forgotten what I owe.

I follow my strange new family toward the parking lot, watching Eva practically bounce with excitement over Ares's news. Her new haircut catches light with every movement, emphasizing how freely she expresses her joy. No more hiding behind long silver strands – every emotion plays across her features like art.

"TIME Magazine," she keeps saying, glowing with pride that makes my chest ache. "My King's going to be in TIME!"

When did she learn to love so freely? To support so completely? To move between deadly Queen and proud sister with such natural grace?

Not from you , that voice whispers again. You only taught her pain.

The whispers follow us like autumn leaves in the wind:

"Did they just decide to skip class?"

"For a photoshoot?"

"And they're taking Barbieri with them?"

"What about that girl with the golden eyes?"

But none of that matters compared to the weight settling in my chest. Because I know what Amara's presence means. Know that The Blind One is watching, waiting, preparing to collect on deals made in moments of desperate weakness.

Our progression toward the parking lot carries its own kind of beauty – each King finding their natural position around our Queen, with Scarlett somewhat awkwardly but definitely included in our orbit.

I remain slightly apart, my thoughts heavy with implications of golden eyes and debts coming due. Even as I follow this strange combustion of individuals toward whatever adventure awaits, I can't shake the feeling that everything is about to change.

Because that's what we are now, aren't they?

Some twisted, beautiful version of family.

Built on obsession and possession and things darker still, but family nonetheless.

The morning light follows us to the parking lot, turning Eva's silver hair almost white as she continues to vibrate with excitement.

My sister. My obsession. My Queen who somehow learned to love despite everything I did to break her.

And maybe that's why The Blind One's warning carries such weight. Because for the first time in years, I have something real to lose.

Something worth any price.

Even if that price is my own destruction.