Page 53 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"Allow me," my voice carries smooth as silk, though inside my heart pounds hard enough to hurt, "to introduce our finalRuthless King." I pause, letting the moment stretch like spun glass, ready to shatter. "One who is, I must admit, humbly obsessed with me."

The energy in the room becomes electric, every breath held, every heart seemingly paused mid-beat. The red wine in hundreds of glasses trembles slightly, ripples catching the light like blood about to spill. I can feel the tension mounting, pressing against skin like a physical force.

Time seems to slow as I savor this moment – this perfect culmination of all my careful planning. Each second etches itself into my memory with painful clarity, courtesy of whatever cocktail Hannah gave me. I'm acutely aware of every detail: the slight shift in Ares' stance behind me, the way Marcus's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly on his glass, the dangerous smile playing at Ren's lips.

Zander would have loved this, the thought intrudes without warning, threatening to crack my carefully maintained facade. But I push it away, channeling the pain into power. He taught me that – how to turn hurt into strength, weakness into weapons.

"Ladies and gentlemen," I continue, letting anticipation build to breaking point, feeling the crowd lean forward despite themselves, "please welcome the final Ruthless King of Obsession..."

The silence is absolute, pressing against eardrums like a physical force. I can hear individual heartbeats, catch the subtle intake of breath from a hundred throats. Even the chandeliers seem to hold still, crystals frozen in anticipation.

This is for you, my love, I think, preparing to detonate the bomb I've so carefully crafted.Watch how your Queen brings chaos to their ordered world.

"Domino Leighton."

The Devil's Redemption

~DOMINO~

The grand ballroom of Leighton Manor feels like another world compared to the chaos I just escaped. Rain drips steadily from my clothes, creating dark puddles on the pristine marble floor as I stand in the shadows at the back of the crowd. Every breath hurts – ribs probably cracked from our earlier fight, various cuts still seeping blood through my torn clothes, muscles screaming from exertion. But physical pain is nothing compared to the magnetic pull drawing me forward, closer to the stage where she stands like vengeance incarnate.

I shouldn't be here. Everything in me screams to run, to take the escape she so mockingly offered and disappear into the night. But I've never been able to stay away from her – not when we were children and I first felt this twisted need to break her, not now when she's finally become strong enough to break me in return.

The crowd parts unconsciously as they notice my presence, creating a corridor of shocked faces and hastily averted gazes. Their immaculate formal wear and carefully maintainedappearances make my destruction even more apparent. My designer clothes – now little more than bloody rags – drip steadily onto the floor, leaving a trail of pink-tinged water in my wake. The bruises from our warehouse fight are beginning to bloom across my skin, a rainbow of violence that matches the ones she wears like jewelry.

"Disgraceful—"

"How dare he show his face?—"

"After that video?—"

"Complete embarrassment to the family?—"

The whispers follow me like shadows, but I barely hear them. All I can focus on is Eva, standing on that stage like she was born to command it. The crystal-covered gown she wears shifts from midnight blue to blood red with every movement, making her appear both ethereal and deadly. Even from here, I can see evidence of our earlier fight – the split lip, the bruises she's somehow transformed into accessories, the slight favor of her left side where I know my hits landed.

She's never been more beautiful than she is right now, offering me up as a sacrifice to these vultures who call themselves society's elite.

"Ladies and gentlemen," her voice carries through the stunned silence, smooth as aged whiskey and just as intoxicating, "please welcome the final Ruthless King of Obsession... Domino Leighton."

The reaction is immediate – gasps of shock, murmurs of disbelief, the scrape of expensive shoes on marble as people scramble to distance themselves from me. But I can't tear my eyes away from her. Something's different in those haunting blue eyes – a clarity that wasn't there during our warehousefight, a calculated precision that makes her even more dangerous.

"Of all the Kings I've encountered," she continues, her gaze never leaving mine, "none has been quite so... persistently obsessed as my dear stepbrother."

The word 'stepbrother' ripples through the crowd like a shock wave, triggering another round of scandalized whispers. But they don't understand – could never understand – the complexity of what exists between us. How do you explain that the person you've spent years trying to destroy has somehow become the center of your universe? That the line between love and hate became so blurred you can't remember which side you started on?

"I gave him the chance to run," she says, and I catch the slight tilt of her head – a gesture so familiar it makes my chest ache. "To disappear into the night and never look back. A mercy, some might say, after everything that's transpired between us."

A bitter laugh escapes my throat before I can stop it. Mercy? From my sweet stepsister who orchestrated my complete destruction with the precision of a master conductor? Who turned my own darkness against me and made it into something beautiful and terrible?

I take another step forward, drawn by whatever force has always existed between us. Water drips steadily from my hair, my clothes, marking my path of surrender across the pristine floor. The crowd continues to part, no one willing to stand between this force that's always pulled us together like magnets of opposing poles.

"And yet," she gestures toward me with elegant precision, "here he stands. Still drawn to the flame that's already burned him. Still unable to stay away, even knowing it might destroy him completely."

She's right. She's always been right about this – this toxic obsession that binds us together like a double helix of destruction. I could have run. Should have run. But the thought of existing in a world where I couldn't see her, touch her, fight her... it was worse than any punishment she might have planned.

"Isn't that the purest form of obsession?" she asks the silent crowd, though her eyes remain locked with mine. "To know something will bring nothing but pain, yet be unable to resist its pull? To understand that every step closer might be your last, yet take it anyway?"

The memories flood unbidden – years of calculated cruelty, of watching her break and rebuild herself stronger each time. The satisfaction I felt seeing tears in those beautiful eyes, the twisted pride when she finally started fighting back. How many times had I told myself it was hate driving my actions? That I tormented her because she was weak, because she didn't deserve Father's love, because her very existence threatened everything I thought I wanted?

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