Page 85 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"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. Shehasn'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 hidebehind, 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."

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