Ruthless Kings of Obsession (Leighton Royals University #3)

41. Whispers Of Sickness Part Ii

Whispers Of Sickness Part Ii

~ A RES~

The final camera flash feels almost blinding after hours under the studio lights. My muscles ache from holding precise poses, though years of modeling have taught me to never let discomfort show. The black silk mask feels damp against my skin as I bow slightly to the crew, maintaining the perfect balance of professional courtesy and subtle authority that's become second nature.

"Magnificent work as always," the photographer gushes, already reviewing shots on his monitors. "The mystery with the mask, the controlled danger in your eyes - it's exactly what the campaign needs."

I murmur appropriate thanks while gathering my personal belongings, mind already racing ahead to everything waiting beyond these carefully controlled walls. The cool evening air hits like a blessing as I push through the studio's heavy doors, heading toward my private trailer.

My phone vibrates in my pocket - probably Hannah with updated security protocols or Marcus with more concerns about the spreading illnesses. But when I pull it out, Eva's name flashes across the screen.

Something cold settles in my stomach at the sight. Because Eva doesn't call during shoots unless it's important. Unless something's wrong.

"Eva?" I answer immediately, already quickening my pace toward the trailer.

"Ares." Her voice comes through breathless, edged with panic I've rarely heard from her. "I- I don't- He's in surgery and I can't-"

"Slow down," I cut in, forcing calm into my tone despite how her obvious distress makes my heart race. "Breathe for me. What's happening?"

A shaky exhale crackles through the line. "It's Domino. His heart- it just stopped. They're operating now and I can't-"

The words hit like physical blows, making me stumble slightly. "What? When? How-"

"After practice." Her voice cracks slightly. "He was sick - really sick - but trying to hide it. Then some of the team cornered him in the locker room, dumped water on him while he was already weak..."

Understanding dawns as I remember the whispered conversations from the makeup chair. The hockey players getting mysteriously ill. The carefully engineered diseases targeting specific people.

"Matteo said-" Eva's breath hitches. "He said Domino just collapsed. Stopped breathing right there in the locker room. They barely got him to the hospital in time and now he's in surgery and I can't-"

"Eva," I cut in firmly, reaching my trailer and yanking the door open. "Listen to me. Focus on my voice. Where are you right now?"

"Hospital waiting room." A broken laugh escapes her. "Pacing like a crazy person while everyone watches. I probably look insane."

"You're not insane," I assure her, though something in her tone makes my chest tight. "You're worried about-"

"But that's just it!" she interrupts, real anguish coloring her words. "I shouldn't be worried! This is- isn't this what I wanted? What I've been working toward? Seeing him suffer, watching him pay for everything he's done?"

The raw confusion in her voice makes my heart ache. Because this is Eva - our fierce, dangerous Queen who orchestrated Domino's social destruction with terrifying precision. Who's spent years planning perfect revenge against her tormentor.

And now she's falling apart because that same tormentor might die before she's ready to let him go.

"I don't understand," she continues, voice cracking. "I don't understand why I can't stop shaking. Why I keep thinking about him alone in that operating room. Why I-" She breaks off with something between laugh and sob. "Why I'm terrified he might actually die."

"Eva-"

"He can't die!" The words explode from her with sudden vehemence. "He's not allowed to die like this - not from some mysterious illness or failed surgery or whatever the fuck is happening. That's not- that's not how this is supposed to end!"

I sink onto the trailer's small couch, understanding dawning as I listen to her unravel. "Because you're supposed to be the one who ends it," I say softly. "On your terms. When you decide it's time."

"Yes!" The relief in her voice suggests I've finally articulated something she's been struggling to express. "He's mine to destroy - mine to break or save or whatever I choose. But this?" Another broken laugh escapes her. "This feels like someone's stealing my revenge. Like they're taking away my right to decide his fate."

"Your right," I echo, hearing the possessiveness in her tone. The same darkness that draws all of us to her, that makes us want to own and protect and worship in equal measure.

"I know it's fucked up," she whispers, vulnerability bleeding through her usual careful control. "I know I should probably be glad he's suffering, should see this as karma finally catching up to him. But all I can think about is how wrong it feels. How this isn't- this isn't what I planned. This isn't how it's supposed to happen."

The words catch slightly, and I can picture her so clearly - pacing the sterile hospital halls, running hands through that shortened silver hair, radiating the kind of dangerous grace that always makes people step carefully around her.

"He's mine," she continues, voice dropping lower. "My tormentor. My nightmare. My stepbrother who broke everything good in my world. And now someone else is trying to take him from me before I'm ready to let him go."

The possession in her tone should probably worry me. Should probably make me question her stability, her ability to separate revenge from something darker and more complicated.

But all I feel is understanding. Because isn't that what draws us all to her? This capacity for both destruction and devotion, this ability to hate and own and protect all at once?

"Have you called Marcus?" I ask, trying to focus on practical concerns. "He might be able to-"

"He's already here," she cuts in. "In the operating room actually. Pulled some strings with his family name to observe the surgery. Said something about needing to document symptoms and progression..."

Her voice trails off, and I catch the unspoken implications. Marcus isn't just observing - he's gathering data. Trying to understand whatever carefully engineered illness has brought one of our Kings to his knees.

"What aren't you telling me?" I press gently, hearing the weight of everything she's holding back.

A long pause follows, broken only by the sound of her measured breathing. When she speaks again, her voice carries that dangerous edge that always makes my blood run cold:

"Marcus thinks this is a message," she says quietly. "A warning about what happens when you don't pay your debts on time."

"The Blind One," I breathe, remembering the whispered conversations from the makeup chair. The pattern of mysterious illnesses stretching back generations.

"He's collecting early," Eva confirms grimly. "And Domino- whatever deal he made, whatever price he agreed to pay..."

"It's coming due," I finish when she trails off. "And this is just the beginning."

Another broken laugh escapes her. "God, I hate this. Hate feeling so fucking helpless. Hate watching someone else hurt what's mine. Hate-" Her voice catches. "Hate that I actually care whether he lives or dies."

"Eva-"

"I'm supposed to hate him," she whispers, real anguish bleeding through her carefully maintained control. "Supposed to want him dead or broken or suffering. Not- not standing in this fucking hospital feeling like my heart might explode every time those surgery doors open. Not wanting to burn this whole place down if they don't save him."

The raw honesty in her voice makes my chest tight. Because this is Eva - our Queen who orchestrates perfect revenge while maintaining careful distance. Who plans destruction with clinical precision.

Who's finally admitting that maybe her feelings for Domino have always been more complicated than simple hatred.

"It's okay to care," I say softly, hearing how her breathing has grown more ragged. "It's okay to want him alive even if you also want him to suffer. It's okay for this to be complicated."

"Is it though?" She laughs again, the sound edged with something like hysteria. "Is it okay that I'm literally losing my mind because the stepbrother who tortured me for years might die before I'm ready? Before I've decided if he deserves redemption or destruction or something in between?"

"Yes," I say firmly. "Because he's yours. Your tormentor, your nightmare, your complicated piece in this game we're all playing. And no one gets to take that from you - not even The Blind One."

Her breath catches slightly at that. "Promise me something?"

"Anything."

"If- if something happens. If he doesn't-" She breaks off, swallowing hard. "Promise me we'll make them pay. Whatever this is, whoever's behind it - promise me they'll suffer for daring to touch what's mine."

The possession in her voice should probably frighten me. Should probably make me question everything about this twisted dynamic we've all built together.

Instead, I feel only fierce pride. Because this is our Queen - dangerous and protective and absolutely lethal when someone threatens what belongs to her.

Even if that something is the stepbrother she's supposed to hate.

"I promise," I say softly, letting her hear the darkness in my own voice. "Whatever you need, whatever it takes…we'll make them regret ever thinking they could steal your revenge."

I mean those words.

"If you need anything, I'm just a call away," I tell Eva, already gathering my things. "The shoot's wrapped and I can head over-"

"I'm home actually," she cuts in. "Hannah's with me. Matteo insisted I shouldn't be alone right now."

The protectiveness in Matteo's order makes my lips curve slightly despite everything. "He's right. None of us want you alone with all this happening." I shrug into my jacket one-handed while balancing the phone. "I'll come over now."

"You don't have to-"

"I want to," I interrupt firmly. "Just try to breathe until I get there, okay?"

A shaky exhale crackles through the line. "Okay. Just... be careful getting here. We don't know who else might be marked for collection."

The warning in her voice makes my skin prickle. "I will. I love you."

"Love you too," she whispers before the line goes dead.

I stare at the darkened screen for a moment, mind racing with implications. Because a few weeks ago, we were all invested in watching Domino's carefully orchestrated downfall. Had front row seats to Eva's perfect revenge playing out exactly as planned.

And now?

Now we're all hovering between concern and confusion, watching our reformed tormentor struggle for survival while questioning everything we thought we knew about hatred and redemption.

When did it get so complicated? I wonder, heading toward my trailer. When did we start caring whether he lived or died?

Maybe it was watching him actually try to change. Seeing him take his medicine, attend therapy, make genuine efforts to be better. Or maybe it was the way Eva's carefully maintained hatred started showing cracks - revealing something more complex beneath her desire for revenge.

The night air carries a bitter chill as I walk, though the cold barely registers through everything weighing on my mind. The parking lot is mostly empty now, crew members having cleared out quickly after wrap.

"You always take forever after these silly photoshoots."

The familiar female voice cuts through my thoughts like a blade. My hand moves instinctively to my pocket, fingers wrapping around the gun I never leave home without.

But then I see her - Scarlett Barbieri leaning against my trailer with casual grace that doesn't quite hide how carefully she's maintaining her balance. She's wrapped in a red coat that matches the knit cap covering her head, the fabric hanging slightly loose on her frame.

My steps falter as I process what's missing - the cascading red hair that was once her trademark. The realization hits like a physical blow, making my chest tight with understanding.

"Did you cut-" I start, but she cuts me off with a bitter laugh.

"Usually that's the route you have to take when cancer decides to make itself at home in your body," she says, aiming for casual though something darker lurks beneath her words. "Easier to do it yourself than watch it fall out in clumps."

The clinical detachment in her tone makes something in my chest ache. Because this is Scarlett - Eva's occasional ally, occasional rival, always fierce and perfectly put together. Seeing her like this - thinner, paler, trying to maintain her usual sharp edges while clearly struggling just to stand...

"How bad?" I ask quietly, letting my hand fall from the gun. There's no threat here - just another victim of whatever game The Blind One is playing with all our lives.

"Stage three and climbing," she says with forced lightness, though I catch the slight tremor in her hands. "Turns out failing to complete assigned tasks comes with steeper penalties than anyone warned me about."

Understanding dawns as I remember Eva's words about Scarlett being punished for not bringing Domino in line. About this being a demonstration of exactly what happens when you don't follow orders.

"The doctors seem impressed though," she continues, a ghost of her usual smirk playing at her lips. "Say they've never seen cancer progress quite like this. Almost like it's following some kind of pattern..."

"Engineered," I say softly, watching how she leans more heavily against the trailer. "Designed specifically for you."

"Got it in one." She attempts a casual shrug that doesn't quite hide her wince. "Apparently I'm quite the successful test case. Setting all kinds of records for progression rates and symptom manifestation."

The bitterness in her voice makes my hands clench. Because this isn't just illness - this is calculated cruelty. Watching someone waste away while knowing it's punishment for stepping out of line.

"Marcus is working on it," I say, though the words feel hollow even to me. "Trying to understand how they're doing this, how to counter it."

Her laugh holds no humor. "Your brilliant King better work fast then. Because from what I hear, I'm just the prototype. The test run for whatever they're planning next."

Ice floods my veins as her meaning sinks in. Because Domino's collapsed and now in surgery right now, fighting whatever carefully engineered poison was designed for him.

Who else has been marked? Who else is carrying diseases specifically tailored to destroy them?

"Why are you here, Scarlett?" I ask quietly, studying how she maintains perfect posture despite obvious exhaustion. "Why tell me this?"

She's quiet for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering across her features before her usual mask slots back into place. "Because someone needs to understand what's really happening. What these 'mysterious illnesses' spreading through campus actually mean."

"And you think I'm the right person for that information?"

"I think," she says carefully, "that you're one of the few people who might actually be able to do something about it. You and your Kings - you're not bound by the same rules and expectations as the rest of us."

"What do you mean?"

Her smile turns sharp, though exhaustion shows clearly in her eyes. "You haven't noticed? How your little family keeps breaking all the careful hierarchies our world is built on? Six Kings instead of three, a Queen who refuses to play by traditional rules, alliances that shouldn't be possible..."

Understanding dawns as I process her words. Because she's right - we've been systematically dismantling the carefully maintained power structures that have defined our world for generations.

"That's why they're targeting us," I realize, pieces clicking into place. "Why they're using these engineered diseases to maintain control. Because we're proving the old systems aren't as absolute as everyone believed."

"Got it in one again," she confirms, though speaking seems to cost her more energy now. "You're dangerous - all of you. Not just because of your individual power, but because you're showing others that change is possible. That the traditional hierarchies aren't as unbreakable as we've been taught."

"And The Blinded One can't have that," I say softly, watching how she struggles to maintain her composure. "Can't let anyone challenge the careful systems of control he's built."

"Exactly." She pushes off from the trailer with careful grace that doesn't quite hide how her legs shake. "So maybe keep that in mind while you're all trying to figure out why people keep getting mysteriously ill. Why some of us are being made into examples of what happens when you step out of line."

The implications of her words settle over me like a physical weight. Because this isn't just about individual punishment anymore - this is about maintaining control through carefully engineered fear.

"Be careful, Ares," she says softly, already turning to leave. "Watch your Kings, protect your Queen. Because whatever's happening with Domino right now? It's just the beginning."

"Scarlett." My voice makes her pause. "Let us help you. Marcus might be able to-"

"It's too late for that," she cuts in, though something like gratitude flickers in her expression. "I'm already marked. Already serving my purpose as a warning to others. But maybe..." She trails off, swallowing hard. "Maybe you can make sure I'm the last one. The last example they get to make before someone finally breaks their power over all of us."

Before I can respond, she's moving away with careful steps that speak of someone conserving every ounce of energy. Her red coat stands out against the darkness like a wound, like a warning, like everything we're all trying so desperately to survive.

"It's too late for that," she cuts in, though something like gratitude flickers in her expression. "I'm already marked. Already serving my purpose as a warning to others. But maybe..." She trails off, swallowing hard. "Maybe you can make sure I'm the last one. The last example they get to make before someone finally breaks their power over all of us."

Before I can respond, she's moving away with careful steps that speak of someone conserving every ounce of energy. Her red coat stands out against the darkness like a wound, like a warning, like everything we're all trying so desperately to survive.

But something's wrong. Her steps falter, becoming more unsteady with each passing moment. I watch in horror as her knees buckle, her body crumpling toward the asphalt like a marionette with cut strings.

"Shit!" The curse tears from my throat as I sprint forward, barely catching her before she hits the ground. The impact sends us both to our knees, her weight settling against my chest as I try to support her.

That's when I feel it - warm wetness seeping through her red coat, staining my hands dark in the dim lighting. My heart stops as understanding dawns.

Blood. So much blood.

"Scarlett?" My voice emerges barely above a whisper, terror making my hands shake as I try to find the source of the bleeding. "Jesus Christ, Scarlett!"

Her eyes flutter open, and somehow she manages a smile despite everything. Blood stains her teeth pink as she looks up at me, something like wry amusement dancing in her gaze.

"You know," she mumbles, voice growing weaker, "always envied how lucky Gemini got it. All the men around her... had to be so fucking gorgeous." A weak laugh escapes her, followed by a wet cough that sends more blood trickling from her lips. "Guess it's a privilege... but if I have to die... at least I get to see a pretty face while I do it."

"Don't talk like that," I snap, finally finding the bullet wounds hidden beneath her coat. Multiple entry points, precision shots designed to cause maximum damage while allowing the victim to walk away briefly - to deliver whatever message they were meant to carry. "You're not dying. Just hold on."

"It's okay," she whispers, her hand finding mine where I'm trying desperately to apply pressure to the worst wounds. "Not like... anyone's going to cry if I die anyway. No Kings... no real friends... just another nobody who wanted... somewhere to belong."

"Shut up." The words come out rough as I fumble for my phone with bloody hands. "Save your strength. I'm getting help."

My fingers move on autopilot, dialing Kian's number. It feels wrong somehow - calling in favors for someone outside our immediate circle. But something about Scarlett's sacrifice, about her desperate attempt to warn us despite knowing she was already marked for death... I can't let her die like this.

Won't let her become another example of what happens when you dare question the carefully maintained hierarchies controlling our world.

"You have to protect the next target," she gasps suddenly, her grip on my hand tightening with surprising strength. "Or it's game over... all of you... thrown into the den... like scorpions ready to play death games."

"What?" I press harder against her wounds, trying to understand her fevered rambling. "Scarlett, what do you mean? What den?"

A ghost of her usual sharp smile plays at her bloodstained lips. "Funny thing about scorpion venom..." she manages between increasingly labored breaths. "How it lingers... how it plays with its food before delivering the final strike. Some victims... take days to die... organs shutting down one by one while the poison spreads..."

Understanding hits like a physical blow as I process her words. Because that's exactly what's happening across campus - carefully engineered diseases acting like poison, spreading through targeted populations with devastating precision.

"We're all just lab rats," she continues, her voice growing fainter. "Test subjects... experiments to perfect their methods before... before the real game begins."

"Like Domino," I breathe, pieces clicking into place. "Like whatever's happening to him right now..."

"Smart cookie," she murmurs, blood bubbling at the corners of her mouth. "You'll figure it out... without me... just remember... scorpions always... always save their deadliest poison... for the final strike..."

Her eyes roll back as consciousness finally slips away, her body going limp in my arms. The phone rings endlessly in my ear as I try to maintain pressure on her wounds while supporting her head.

"Come on," I mutter, watching her skin grow paler with each passing second. "Come on, Kian, pick up. Please..."

Because I can't let her die like this - alone in a parking lot, bleeding out from wounds meant to serve as warnings to others. Can't let her become another statistic in The Blind One's carefully orchestrated demonstration of power.

She deserves better than being reduced to a message. Deserves more than dying in the arms of someone who barely knows her, who's only just beginning to understand the depth of her sacrifice.

"Hold on," I whisper, though I'm not sure she can hear me anymore. "Just hold on a little longer. Please."

Blood continues to seep between my fingers as I wait for help that might already be too late. The night air carries bitter promises of everything still to come - every carefully planned destruction, every engineered illness, every poison designed to break us piece by piece.

But all I can focus on is the girl dying in my arms. The one who dared question the system. Who tried to warn us even knowing it would cost her everything.

The one who might become another example of exactly what happens when you step out of line in a world where even breathing wrong can mark you for destruction.

And something in my chest burns - not just with grief or anger, but with terrible purpose. Because she's right - we have to be the ones to break this. Have to be the ones to finally shatter the carefully maintained systems of control that have claimed too many lives for too many generations.

No matter what it costs.

No matter what poisons they design to try to stop us.

No matter how many scorpions they throw us to in their desperate attempt to maintain power.

Scarlett's blood stains my hands like a promise as I hold her, waiting for help that might come too late. But maybe that's what she wanted - to make sure we understood exactly what we're fighting. What we're all marked for if we dare continue challenging the careful hierarchies that have defined our world for so long.

The night grows colder as I cradle her broken body, my mind racing with implications and possibilities. Because this isn't just about revenge anymore. Isn't just about personal power plays or carefully orchestrated destruction.

This is about survival in a world where questioning the wrong things gets you marked for execution. Where daring to step out of line means having poisons engineered specifically to destroy you.

Where even trying to warn others about the danger means accepting that you might become another example of exactly what happens when you challenge the system.

"I promise," I whisper to Scarlett's unconscious form, watching her breath grow shallower with each passing moment. "I promise we'll make this mean something. Make your sacrifice worth it."

Because this is what this truly id.

A sacrifice that will force the pendulum to move…