Page 56 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"Any last words?" I ask, voice steady despite the storm raging inside me.

His eyes open, meeting mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. "I loved you," he says simply. "In my own broken way. Even when I was hurting you. Maybe especially then."

The admission hits harder than any physical blow. For a moment, I'm that scared little girl again, wondering why my stepbrother's attention always came with pain. Why his love felt like drowning.

But I'm not that girl anymore.

The gun doesn't waver as I take careful aim. The crowd's tension is almost palpable – hundreds of breaths held, hearts seemingly paused mid-beat. Even Saint Joaquin leans forward slightly, genuine interest showing through his usual mask of casual indifference.

"I know," I say finally, letting him see the truth in my eyes. "That's what makes this perfect."

The gunshot rings out like thunder in the enclosed space. Several people scream. Others dive for cover, expensive jewelry clattering against marble floors. Through it all, Domino doesn't move – doesn't even flinch.

Slowly, realization dawns as he processes the fact that he's still breathing. That the bullet embedded itself in the floor mere inches from his knee instead of his skull.

"Death would be too kind," I say into the shocked silence, lowering the gun with deliberate grace. "Too quick. Too clean." My smile holds all the warmth of a winter storm. "No, myobsessed King. You're going to live. You're going to serve. You're going to watch as I become everything you feared I could be."

Understanding blooms in his eyes – beautiful and terrible. He sees it now – the true depth of my revenge. Not just destruction, but complete submission. Not death, but devotion.

"After all," I continue, letting my voice carry to every corner of the ballroom, "isn't that what obsession is? Wanting something so badly you'd die for it?" My laugh holds no humor. "Or in your case, live for it?"

My father's approving chuckle breaks the tension. "Well played, daughter," he says, real pride coloring his tone. "You truly are your mother's child."

"No," I correct him, eyes still locked with Domino's. "I'm something entirely new. Something you all helped create." The gun feels warm in my hand as I pass it back to him. "A Queen who brings not just havoc, but obsession. Who turns destruction into devotion."

"Rise," I command Domino again, and this time no one dares interrupt. He stands slowly, water still dripping from his clothes, eyes never leaving mine. "Your Queen has spared you. Your debt is now eternal."

The crowd watches in stunned silence as he takes the first step toward the stage. Toward his place among my Kings. Toward whatever fate I decide he deserves.

Watch over me, my love, I think, feeling Zander's presence like a phantom touch.Watch how your Queen makes them all kneel.

Behind me, I sense my other Kings adjusting their positions – Ares in his blood-red suit, Marcus with his calculated stillness, Ren with his dangerous grace. All of them accepting this new dynamic, this evolution of our court.

Because that's what this is – not just revenge or power or even obsession. It's transformation. Breaking somethingcompletely so it can be rebuilt into something darker, more dangerous.

More perfect.

"These are my official Ruthless Kings," I declare, gesturing to the men who stand behind me like shadows given form. "Ares Albrecht, Marcus Williamson Wright, Ren Augustus Hudson, and Domino Leighton." Each name carries its own weight, its own promise of power. "Along with my other two Kings – Matteo Leighton and Zander Benedict – who have already proven their loyalty beyond any doubt."

The crystal chandeliers cast dancing lights across the marble floor, making everything seem slightly surreal. Or maybe that's just Hannah's medicine making the world sharper, more focused than it should be.

"They have followed every rule, met every expectation, and survived every test thrown their way." My voice carries clear authority now – no longer the scared girl hiding behind pigtails and glasses. "So tell me, gentlemen," I address Saint Joaquin, Mr. Leighton, and my father directly, "is there anything else you need from us before we end this rather exhausting form of entertainment?"

A woman in the crowd – dripping in diamonds that probably cost more than most people's houses – steps forward with obvious reluctance. "Actually," her voice wavers slightly when my gaze finds her, "you're supposed to be represented this time."

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd, growing stronger as others remember this apparently crucial detail.

"She's right?—"

"The third Ascension requires?—"

"It's tradition?—"

I watch with carefully hidden amusement as the three men on stage exchange looks, realizing they've overlooked somethingin their elaborate game. Even Saint Joaquin seems momentarily thrown off balance.

"Care to elaborate?" I ask, though the growing smile on my face suggests I already know exactly what they've forgotten.

Saint Joaquin recovers first, his composure sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. "After two Ascensions," he explains smoothly, "tradition requires blessing from someone outside our immediate circle. A code that should have been acquired during your... preparation for this moment."

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