Page 82 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

"So," he'd said casually, fingers tracing patterns on my bare shoulder, "when exactly did you and Hannah start your little arrangement?"

I'd frozen for a moment, wondering how he'd figured it out. But there was no anger in his voice, just genuine curiosity tinged with something like admiration.

"The day you introduced us," I admitted, watching his reaction carefully. "We agreed it would be better if no one knew. Gave us more... flexibility in certain situations."

His laugh had rumbled through his chest, the sound rich with appreciation. "Cunning little thing, aren't you? Getting my most trusted associate on your side without anyone noticing."

"Did you expect anything less from your Ruthless Queen?" I'd challenged, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.

"No," he'd murmured, closing the distance between us. "No, my Sweet Precious Gem, I expected exactly this level of brilliant deception." His kiss had tasted like approval and dark promises. "It's one of the many reasons I love you."

The memory fades as Hannah's touch brings me back to the present. She's adjusting the kilt skirt now – black with subtle red and gold plaid, falling scandalously high on my thighs. I frown slightly, noticing how the fabric sits differently than it used to.

"I've lost too much weight," I observe, running my hands over the pronounced muscles of my legs. Two weeks of recovery, of proper meals and rest, haven't been enough to restore what stress and trauma stripped away. "The muscle definition isn't what it was."

Hannah's reflection shows a carefully neutral expression. "Your measurements indicate a twelve percent decrease inmuscle mass since the incident," she confirms. "Though you've regained approximately four percent in the past two weeks."

The 'incident' – such a clinical term for the night that nearly destroyed everything. For watching Zander bleed out in an alley, for thinking I'd lost him forever, for the warehouse confrontation that changed all our lives. Even now, the memory makes something dark stir in my chest.

"Mr. Benedict will be pleased to see you in the uniform again," Hannah notes, deliberately shifting my focus. "He was quite... vocal about missing certain aspects of your academic attire during his recovery."

A different kind of heat floods my cheeks at that reminder. Zander's appreciation for the Leighton uniform has always bordered on obsessive, especially the way the skirt rides up when I?—

"Miss Prescott?" Hannah's voice carries just a hint of amusement. "Your thoughts seem to have wandered."

"Just considering logistics," I lie smoothly, though we both know better. "Making sure everything's in place for today."

She hums noncommittally, making final adjustments to the blazer's fit. The embroidered crescent sits perfectly centered, a symbol of power that carries new weight now. Now that we're no longer just the Ruthless Kings of Havoc, but something darker, more dangerous.

The Kings of Obsession.

The title still feels strange on my tongue, though it fits like a perfectly tailored glove. Because that's what we are now – six broken men united in their obsession with their Queen. Each carrying their own darkness, their own demons, their own desperate need to possess and protect.

And me? I'm their Ruthless Queen, finally worthy of the crown they've placed so carefully on my head. No longer thescared girl hiding behind pigtails and glasses, but something altogether more lethal.

The uniform is just another piece of the mask – the perfect student, the devoted wife, the gracious Queen. But underneath, beneath the silk and embroidery and careful facades, something darker pulses with every heartbeat.

Vengeance, it whispers.Patience. Wait.

Because that's what Queens do, isn't it? They wait for the perfect moment to strike, to turn careful planning into devastating reality. They move their pieces with precision, with purpose, with absolute certainty that every step leads to victory.

Even if that victory tastes like ash and blood.

"You're doing it again," Hannah observes quietly, stepping back to survey her work. "Getting lost in thoughts of revenge."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Only to those who know what to look for." She meets my eyes in the mirror. "Your Kings will be waiting downstairs. Shall I tell them you're ready?"

I study my reflection one final time – the uniform sitting perfectly despite my changed physique, the silver hair falling in careful waves, the look in my eyes that speaks of secrets and shadows and carefully planned destruction.

"Two dress sizes," I murmur, running my hands over the blazer that Hannah had to take in significantly. The guys had been furious when they realized just how much weight I'd lost. Even Marcus, usually so clinical about everything, had shown genuine concern.

"This isn't sustainable," he'd said during one of my check-ups, his doctor's mask slipping to reveal real worry. "Your body can't keep burning through resources like this."

Zander had been more direct, pulling me into his lap despite his injuries. "I can feel your ribs, Sweet Dynamite," he'd growled against my neck. "This stops now."

Even Ares, who lived in a world of high fashion where thinness was celebrated, had looked troubled. "Models maintain their weight through careful diet and exercise," he'd explained, his perfect features arranged in disapproval. "This is just destruction."

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