Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

36. The Calm Before Chaos?

The Calm Before Chaos?

~ G EMINI~

Sunlight streams through towering windows, painting golden paths across marble floors that cost more than most people's yearly salaries. I pause in the grand foyer of our new mansion, letting my fingers trail along a perfectly polished banister. The irony of our current residence isn't lost on me – we quite literally burned our last home to ash, yet here we stand in an even more impressive dwelling, one typically reserved for Leighton University's most distinguished alumni.

But then again, nothing about us has ever been typical.

"Did you seduce the realtor?" I'd asked Matteo when he first showed us the property, earning that dangerous smirk that always makes my heart race.

"Something like that," he'd replied, though the gleam in his eyes suggested methods far more creative than mere seduction.

Now, walking these halls alone, I can't help but marvel at how perfectly the space has been tailored to each of my Kings' evolving interests. Every renovation, every modification speaks to the men they're becoming rather than just the roles they once played.

Zander's domain draws me first – a technological wonderland that would make most Silicon Valley startups weep with envy. Multiple screens line the walls, some displaying scrolling code while others show what I pretend not to notice are surveillance feeds of various campus locations. His "observation hobby" hasn't diminished, but it's evolved into something more purposeful, more focused.

"Sweet Dynamite," he'd murmured against my neck the first time he showed me his setup, "wait until you see what I can do with these systems."

The space flows seamlessly into a gaming room that puts professional esports arenas to shame. Every latest console, VR setup, and gaming rig imaginable fills the carefully designed space. I smile, remembering how his eyes lit up explaining the technical specifications – terms like "overclocked processors" and "custom water cooling" that meant nothing to me but everything to him.

Who would have guessed my dangerous King would find such joy in coding and virtual worlds?

The fashion wing – as I've taken to calling it – is pure Ares. The photography studio rivals professional setups, with lighting rigs that cost more than cars and a small runway that's hosted impromptu midnight shows. Watching him work here is like witnessing art come to life. He commands attention without effort, his natural grace making even practice sessions look magazine-worthy.

"Your turn," he'd said last week, trying to coax me onto the runway. "Let me photograph you in that new Versace piece."

I'd refused, of course, but the way his eyes had darkened suggested the conversation wasn't over. My Kings can be terribly persistent when they want something.

The underground garage might be our most ambitious renovation. What started as standard parking has been transformed into a car enthusiast's paradise. The upper level houses our daily vehicles – a collection impressive enough on its own. But below...

I descend the spiral ramp, my heels clicking against polished concrete as I enter Ren's domain. His growing collection of motorcycles gleams under custom lighting, each bike meticulously restored or modified to his exacting standards. I'm still learning new things about him – like his encyclopedic knowledge of vintage engines and his preference for working with his hands.

"Want to learn how to ride?" he'd offered yesterday, his signature playboy smirk firmly in place. "I'm an excellent teacher."

The memory makes heat flood my cheeks. Because with Ren, everything carries double meaning, every offer weighted with possibility. I'm discovering he has depths I never fully appreciated during our wild days together – skills and interests that make him far more than just the charming facade he presents to the world.

Marcus's section of the mansion tells its own story of evolution. Hockey memorabilia lines the hallway leading to his personal lab – a space that rivals professional research facilities. The lab has taken on new urgency since learning about Scarlett's condition. My heart clenches remembering the diagnosis, but knowing Marcus has both the resources and motivation to investigate offers a thread of hope.

"I'll figure out what they used," he'd promised, his usually clinical demeanor cracking to reveal real anger. "And then we'll make them pay for playing god with people's lives."

Matteo's return of the Wright Empire couldn't have come at a better time. Watching Marcus reclaim his family's legacy while channeling it toward helping others – it feels like karma finally working in our favor.

The gym makes me pause, a laugh bubbling up as I pass the reinforced sparring area where Matteo and Domino regularly work out their "differences." The similarities between them are striking – their shared intensity, their drive for physical excellence, their need to establish dominance. But watching Matteo consistently pin Domino brings me a special kind of satisfaction.

"Your husband fights dirty," Domino had complained last week, nursing what looked like a dislocated shoulder.

"You're just mad because he's better at it than you," I'd replied, earning a glare that carried no real heat. Because that's what we've become – this strange, dysfunctional family built on shared darkness and carefully maintained boundaries.

Standing in the center of it all, I marvel at how this collection of broken pieces has somehow formed something that works. We're far from conventional – our relationships defy normal boundaries, our pasts are soaked in violence, and our future remains uncertain. Yet somehow we've created this space where each of us can grow, evolve, and explore new aspects of ourselves while maintaining the core of what makes us dangerous.

The mansion hums with quiet energy even empty. Each room holds echoes of unexpected moments – Ren and Marcus discussing engine modifications while covered in grease, Ares coaching Domino on his public image between photo shoots, Zander teaching us all about network security during late-night gaming sessions.

"We're all mad here," I whisper to the quiet halls, smiling at the thought. But maybe that's what makes it work – our collective darkness creating something unexpectedly bright.

The sound of the front door opening pulls me from my reverie.

Soon these halls will fill with my Kings' presence, their chaotic energy bringing the space fully to life which I’m coming to get addicted to. Having been here alone for a few hours made me realize how empty it is without any of their presence

I’ve gotten so used to the constant fighting and the instances of lust that silence and quietness dares to be… frightening. Despite it, I savor this moment of quiet appreciation for our strange, beautiful home that somehow manages to house all our obsessions under one roof.

The front door swings open wider, revealing not one of my Kings as expected, but Hannah struggling with what appears to be enough groceries to feed a small army. Her usual perfect composure remains intact despite the precarious balance of bags in her arms.

"Hannah?" I move instantly to help, though she gives me that look – the one that somehow manages to be both professionally blank and mildly judging. "Let me?—"

"I'm perfectly capable of managing groceries, Miss Prescott," she says, her tone carrying that familiar dry amusement that always makes me feel like I'm missing some private joke. Still, I grab several bags from her arms despite her protest.

"You shouldn't have to balance all this," I argue as we head toward the kitchen. The marble countertops quickly disappear under an impressive array of supplies. "Where's the regular grocery service?"

Hannah's lips twitch slightly – the closest she usually comes to showing emotion. "Mr. Leighton terminated their contract this morning." She begins unpacking bags with methodical precision, each item finding its designated place as though she's memorized our entire kitchen layout. Knowing Hannah, she probably has.

"He what?" I pause in helping her unload, a package of expensive coffee beans frozen halfway to the counter. "Why would he?—"

"The head of service expressed..." Hannah pauses, choosing her words with deliberate care, "concerns about certain activities occurring in shared spaces."

Heat floods my cheeks as understanding dawns. "He didn't."

"Oh, he most certainly did." That ghost of a smile plays at her lips again. "Apparently finding various states of undress and compromising positions during scheduled delivery times was, quote, 'beyond the scope of their contractual obligations.'"

"Oh God." I drop my head into my hands, mortification warring with something that feels dangerously close to laughter. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I never joke about terminated contracts, Miss Prescott." Hannah continues unpacking as though we're discussing the weather rather than my apparently inappropriate sexual escapades. "Though I must admit, this morning's tableau was particularly... creative. I don't believe I've ever seen the dining table utilized quite so thoroughly."

The blush spreads down my neck as memories of this morning flood back – how it started as innocent breakfast before evolving into something far more primal. "That wasn't— I mean, I didn't plan—" I stutter, trying to find words to defend the indefensible.

"Of course not," Hannah agrees smoothly. "I'm sure you had no intention of ending up sprawled across the table while your Kings took turns demonstrating their... enthusiasm."

"Hannah!" I nearly choke on embarrassment, though her perfectly maintained composure only makes it worse. "It just... happened. I didn't know breakfast would turn into... that."

She hums noncommittally, organizing produce with military precision. "The handcuffs were an interesting touch."

"Oh God." I slump against the counter, remembering how Ren had produced them from seemingly nowhere. "I still can't believe he just carries those around."

"Actually," Hannah corrects, her tone still professionally neutral despite the subject matter, "he carries several pairs. Different styles for different occasions, I believe."

That particular detail sends an unexpected surge of heat through me. "That's... actually really hot," I admit before I can stop myself.

"So I gathered from your reaction this morning." Hannah's eyebrow raises slightly as she continues organizing. "Though I believe Mr. Domino found the experience somewhat less enjoyable."

Another groan escapes me as I remember Domino handcuffed to his chair, forced to watch as the others claimed me on the table. His fury had been palpable, making everything more intense somehow.

"That was Matteo's idea," I protest weakly. "He said something about teaching Domino his place."

"By making him watch while you?—"

"Please don't finish that sentence." I cut her off, though the ghost of a smile playing at her lips suggests she's enjoying my discomfort far too much. "I can't believe you saw all that."

"Miss Prescott," Hannah says with that perfect blend of professionalism and amusement, "I see everything that happens in this house. It's quite literally my job."

The implications of that statement make me pause and shyly whisper, "Everything?"

"Everything."

She doesn't elaborate, but her tone carries volumes of meaning.

I think about all the moments I thought were private – all the encounters in supposedly secluded corners, all the "spontaneous" meetings that perhaps weren't so spontaneous after all. "Even the time in Zander's gaming room when?—"

"The incident with the controller vibration settings?" Hannah supplies helpfully. "Yes, that was quite innovative."

"Kill me now," I mutter, sliding further down the counter as mortification threatens to consume me entirely. "Just... put me out of my misery."

"That would be counterproductive to my primary objective of keeping you safe," Hannah observes mildly, though I swear I catch a hint of real humor in her tone. "Besides, I believe your Kings would be quite upset if anything happened to their favorite form of entertainment."

"Entertainment?" I sputter, straightening slightly. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

Hannah's expression remains perfectly neutral as she responds, "Would you prefer 'educational demonstrations of physical flexibility and creative use of household furniture'?"

A startled laugh escapes me before I can stop it.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're actually hilarious when you want to be?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Miss Prescott." But there's definitely amusement dancing in her eyes now. "I merely observe and report relevant information. Speaking of which," she adds, her tone shifting slightly, "perhaps we should discuss alternative locations for future... activities. Ones less likely to traumatize innocent delivery personnel."

The blush returns full force. "It's not like we plan these things," I protest. "They just sort of... happen."

"Spontaneously?" Hannah's eyebrow raises skeptically. "Like this morning's carefully orchestrated scene with the handcuffs that Mr. Hudson just happened to have readily available?"

"I—" The defense dies on my lips as I process her words. "Wait. Are you saying they planned that?"

Hannah's smile turns knowing. "Let's just say certain preparations were made well in advance of breakfast. The timing of the grocery delivery was... not coincidental."

"Those bastards," I breathe, though I can't quite suppress the thrill that runs through me at the thought of them plotting together. "They set the whole thing up?"

"Your Kings are nothing if not thorough in their planning," Hannah confirms, her tone carrying a hint of approval. "Though I believe the particular use of the maple syrup was an improvisation."

"Oh God." My hands cover my face again as that specific memory resurfaces. "I can never look at breakfast the same way again."

"Perhaps that was the point." Hannah finishes organizing the last of the groceries with perfect efficiency. "Your Kings do seem to enjoy marking their territory in creative ways."

The casual observation makes me pause, remembering the possessive glint in their eyes as they took turns claiming me on the table. The way Matteo had made sure Domino had a perfect view of everything. The calculated precision of their movements despite the apparent spontaneity.

"They're impossible," I mutter, though there's no real heat in the words.

"They're obsessed," Hannah corrects mildly. "It's rather the point, isn't it? Being the Ruthless Kings of Obsession?"

I can't argue with that logic, especially when memories of this morning make heat pool low in my belly despite my embarrassment. The way they'd worked together, taking turns but somehow making it feel like one continuous act of possession. Even Domino's forced observation had added something to the intensity, his fury only feeding their determination to prove their claim.

"Still," I say, trying to regain some semblance of dignity, "maybe we should try to be more... discreet?"

Hannah's expression suggests she doesn't believe that resolution will last five minutes. "Of course, Miss Prescott. Though perhaps we should wait to hire new delivery staff until after you've worked through this particular phase of territorial marking?"

The way she says it – so professionally matter-of-fact – makes another laugh bubble up. "How are you so calm about all this?"

"Years of practice," she replies simply. "Though I must admit, your particular situation provides unique challenges to maintaining professional detachment."

"Unique challenges?" I echo, not sure I want to know what she means.

"Let's just say the security footage requires very careful handling." Her lips twitch again. "Especially the dining room cameras from this morning."

"There's footage?" The word emerges as barely more than a squeak.

"There's always footage, Miss Prescott." Hannah's tone suggests this should be obvious. "Though in this case, I believe Mr. Benedict has already acquired copies for his personal collection."

"Of course he has," I groan, though I can't quite suppress the shiver that runs through me at the thought of Zander watching the recordings. "Is there anything in this house that isn't monitored?"

"That would be inefficient," Hannah observes mildly. "Though I do maintain strict protocols about data security and access limitations."

I'm not sure whether to be horrified or impressed by her thoroughness. "So you really see everything?"

"Everything relevant to maintaining the safety and security of this household." Her professional mask slips just slightly as she adds, "Though I must admit, this morning's performance exceeded even my usual expectations for creative use of breakfast condiments."

"I give up," I sigh, watching Hannah continue her methodical organization of our kitchen. "I'd apologize for future incidents, but we both know I have absolutely no control over their... appetites."

A ghost of a smile plays at Hannah's lips as she arranges imported spices with military precision. "That would be like apologizing for the tide, Miss Prescott. Some forces simply can't be contained."

The casual observation makes me pause, studying her profile as she works. Despite years of witnessing her quiet efficiency, I realize I know very little about the woman who manages our chaos with such unflappable grace.

"Hannah?" I venture carefully, settling onto one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. "How long have you been working with Matteo?"

Her movements pause briefly – so briefly I almost miss it – before resuming their steady rhythm. "That depends on how you define 'working with,'" she says, her tone measured. "I've been aware of Mr. Leighton since his early teens, though our formal arrangement began when he left the family estate."

"When he broke away from the Leightons?" The thought of teenage Matteo striking out on his own makes something in my chest ache. "That must have been... intense."

"That's one word for it." Hannah's voice carries a weight I've rarely heard from her. She turns to face me fully, her usual professional mask softening slightly. "Imagine, if you will, a sixteen-year-old boy deciding to challenge not just his family's authority, but the entire power structure of our world. Most people called it suicide. Some called it rebellion. I saw it for what it was – evolution."

My breath catches at the pride in her tone. "What made you choose to help him?"

"Choice implies I had other options." Her smile turns sharp, reminding me that beneath her composed exterior lies someone equally dangerous as any of my Kings. "I recognized in him something I'd been searching for – a force capable of genuine change. Not just the superficial power plays that pass for progress in our circles, but real, systemic transformation."

She moves to the coffee machine, her movements precise as she prepares what I know will be a perfect brew. "Our world," she continues, "particularly enjoys crushing those who dare to rise above their assigned stations. Women especially face... unique challenges in establishing any real authority."

"Tell me about it," I mutter, remembering my own struggles. The years of training, the carefully calculated moves required just to be considered for the position of Ruthless Maiden. "Sometimes it feels like we have to work twice as hard just to be taken half as seriously."

"Precisely." Hannah's nod carries years of shared understanding. "Which is why I found Mr. Leighton's approach so refreshing. He never saw gender as a limitation – only capability mattered. When he discovered I could outthink most of his father's security team while serving them coffee, he didn't hesitate to offer me a position more suited to my skills."

The coffee machine hums as she works, the rich aroma filling the kitchen. "I watched him build his foundation from nothing," she continues. "Watched him navigate betrayals, assassination attempts, and countless efforts to force him back under the family's control. Through it all, he never wavered from his vision."

"Which was?" I lean forward, fascinated by this glimpse into Matteo's past.

"To create something new. Something that wasn't bound by old prejudices and outdated power structures." She sets a perfectly prepared cup of coffee before me. "He understood that true power isn't about dominance – it's about adaptation. About recognizing potential in unexpected places."

I wrap my hands around the warm mug, letting her words sink in. "Is that why you've stayed? All these years?"

"I stay because this role gives me exactly what I need – control." Her admission carries no shame, no hesitation. "In our world, women are typically relegated to decorative positions or behind-the-scenes manipulation. I prefer a more... direct approach to maintaining order."

A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "Direct is one word for it. I've seen some of your 'maintenance' techniques."

Her answering smile holds real warmth. "Sometimes the most effective solutions require creative interpretation of traditional methods."

"Is that what we're calling that incident with the sewer and Domino?" I tease, remembering how she'd assisted Matteo in that particular negotiation.

"That was simply practical problem-solving," she responds primly, though amusement dances in her eyes. "Sometimes perspective shifts require physical repositioning."

We share a moment of understanding, two women who've carved out their own forms of power in a world that prefers us powerless. The kitchen feels suddenly intimate despite its grand size, a space where masks can slip just slightly.

"It feels too calm lately," I admit softly, voicing the concern that's been nagging at me. "Like we're in some kind of bubble, with the holidays approaching and everything seeming so... normal."

Hannah's expression turns knowing. "You feel it too? The quiet before the storm?"

I nod, grateful she understands. "Everything's going too smoothly. The Kings are settling into their roles, the mansion feels like home, even Domino's behaving – mostly." I pause, remembering this morning's table incident. "Well, sort of."

"The holidays tend to bring out interesting dynamics in powerful families," Hannah observes carefully. "Particularly ones with as much... complexity as yours."

"Complexity," I echo with a wry smile. "Is that what we're calling this collection of obsessions and power plays?"

"Would you prefer 'creatively arranged chaos' or 'strategically managed madness'?" Her tone remains perfectly professional despite the teasing glint in her eyes.

"I'd prefer advance warning if any more dramatic scenes are being planned," I grumble, though there's no real heat in it. "Especially ones involving breakfast furniture."

"I'll add it to my list of security considerations," she says smoothly. "Though I suspect your Kings enjoy the element of surprise too much to provide detailed itineraries."

The casual way she references their scheming makes me pause. "How do you do it?" I ask suddenly. "Stay so calm through all of this? The violence, the politics, the constant power plays?"

Hannah considers the question carefully, her movements slowing as she wipes down an already spotless counter. "I suppose," she says finally, "it comes from understanding my role in the larger game. I'm not just maintaining order – I'm protecting something vital. Something that could actually change how our world operates."

"You really believe that?" I can't keep the wonder from my voice. "That we're building something different?"

"Miss Prescott," she turns to face me fully, her expression more open than I've ever seen it, "look at what you've already accomplished. Six Kings bound by obsession rather than traditional power structures. A Queen who rose from victim to victor without losing her capacity for growth. Even Mr. Domino's transformation speaks to possibilities our world hasn't seen before."

Her words settle over me like a weight and a blessing simultaneously. "Sometimes I forget," I admit quietly, "that we're not just playing house here. That what we're building could actually matter beyond our own chaos."

"It matters," Hannah confirms with quiet certainty. "Which is precisely why these calm moments concern me. Our world rarely allows true innovation without violent resistance."

The truth in her words makes something cold settle in my stomach. "You think something's coming?"

"I think," she says carefully, "that you've created something unprecedented. Six Kings of Obsession, each powerful in their own right, united under a Queen who defies every traditional expectation. That kind of change doesn't go unnoticed – or unchallenged."

I think about Scarlett's cancer, about The Blind One's warnings, about all the pieces moving in shadows we can barely perceive. "The holidays are going to be interesting, aren't they?"

Hannah's smile carries equal parts warning and promise. "Let's just say I've increased security protocols and stocked additional medical supplies. It never hurts to be prepared."

"Prepared for what exactly?"

"For whatever comes next, Miss Prescott." She begins gathering her things with that efficient grace that marks everything she does. "After all, isn't that what we do best? Adapt, overcome, and rewrite the rules that were meant to bind us?"

Looking at her – this woman who's helped shape Matteo into the man he is, who manages our chaos with terrifying competence – I can't help but feel a surge of hope despite my concerns.

Because maybe that's what we really are: not just Kings and Queens playing power games, but architects of something new. Something that could actually change the rigid structures that have defined our world for so long.

Even if we have to break a few breakfast tables along the way.