Page 129 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

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 maintainedhatred 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.

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