Page 107 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

Matteo's return of the Wright Empire couldn't have come at a better time. Watching Marcus reclaim his family's legacy whilechanneling 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.

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