Page 86 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

Eva reaches the empty chair at the far end of the table, opposite Matteo. Her fingers trail along the polished wood,the gesture somehow both casual and deliberately provocative. "Well," she muses, that blood-red smile growing sharper, "we wouldn't want to be late on our first day, would we?"

She scans the room until her eyes seem to lock on mine. She doesn’t hesitate to walk over to me and how I simply move on instinct by pushing my chair back enough to invite her right onto my lap. The others are too far into their shock to care, but I’m already admiring her new cut up close, my fingertips running through the short locks.

God…she looks fuckable.

"The hair," Ren finally manages, his voice slightly strangled. "You... when did you..."

"This morning," she answers simply, though we all hear the satisfaction in her tone. "Hannah helped. Do you like it?"

The question hangs in the air like smoke, heavy with implications. Because this isn't just about hair, is it? This is about transformation. About shedding the last vestiges of innocence like a snake sheds its skin. About becoming something harder, deadlier, more perfectly suited to the game we're about to play.

"You look dangerous," Zander says finally, his voice carrying that edge of manic appreciation that means he's already planning exactly how to get her alone. "Like you could ruin someone's whole life with just a smile."

"Maybe I will," she responds tilting her head amusingly. The movement makes her new hairstyle catch light differently, creating shadows that emphasize the sharp edges of her cheekbones. "After all, isn't that what Queens do best? Create beautiful destruction?"

The words send a collective shiver through us all. Because she's right – this new look, this carefully crafted image of controlled danger, it's just another weapon in her arsenal.Another way to ensure that when she finally takes her revenge, it will be absolutely beautiful to watch.

Eva shifts in my lap, her new, shorter hairstyle brushing my cheek as she leans forward, reaching for the coffee I’d been drinking just moments before.

The proximity is deliberate, calculated—the kind of move only a predator with absolute confidence makes. Her subtle perfume—sharp, floral, with an undertone of something darker—fills my senses, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to react too openly.

The others are still staring at her, caught somewhere between awe and hunger. Matteo's fingers drum an uneven rhythm against the table's edge, his dark eyes tracking every movement she makes. Ren, for once, seems at a loss for words, though his gaze flickers between the soft line of her bare neck and the sharp curve of her smirk. Zander’s jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists on the table, the tension in him palpable.

Eva notices, of course. She always does. And she plays them like strings on a perfectly tuned instrument.

"Careful, darling," she murmurs, her voice a low purr meant only for me. Her hand brushes mine as she lifts the coffee cup from my grasp, bringing it to her lips in a move so effortless it feels almost intimate. "You might spill."

I watch, mesmerized, as she takes a sip, her lashes lowering just enough to give her expression an air of lazy triumph. When she sets the cup down, her fingers linger on the rim, her touch light but commanding. She turns her gaze to the rest of the table, tilting her head slightly, the movement casual yet deliberate, a silent reminder of who holds the power here.

"Do you all plan to sit there gawking, or shall we discuss our next move?" Her words are light, almost teasing, but there’s steel beneath the surface. A challenge.

"You're making it hard to focus," Ren admits, his voice rougher than usual. His grin returns, but there’s something sharper in it now, something less practiced. "That haircut should come with a warning label."

Eva arches a brow, feigning innocence. "Should it? What would it say?Approach with caution?"

"Something like that," Zander mutters, his voice a low growl. His gaze never leaves her, his expression caught between frustration and fascination. "Or maybe,Handle with care—or don't."

The room hums with unspoken energy, the kind that sets every nerve ending on edge. Matteo clears his throat, his calm mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of impatience. "If we’re done admiring the Queen’s new look," he drawls, his tone carefully measured, "perhaps we can discuss how we’re going to keep her safe now that the semester has begun."

Eva straightens, the movement slow and deliberate, but she doesn’t leave my lap. If anything, she settles more firmly against me, her body a perfect fit against mine. Her hands rest lightly on the table, the tips of her fingers brushing the polished surface as she regards Matteo with a slight, knowing smile.

"Safe?" she echoes, her tone deceptively soft. "That’s your concern, Matteo. Mine is making sure no one underestimates what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to us."

Us.

The word hangs in the air, as deliberate as her movements, as sharp as the glint in her eyes. It ties us to her, binds her to us—a declaration as bold as any crown she could wear.

"I don’t think anyone will," I murmur, my voice quiet but firm. My fingers trail up the line of her arm, a barely-there touch meant for her alone. "Not after today."

She glances at me, her expression unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in her gaze—approval, perhaps, or a silentpromise. Then she turns her attention back to the table, her posture commanding even as she remains seated in my lap.

"Good," she says simply. "Because I’d hate to waste all this effort just to play it safe."

A Queen's Exile

~GEMINI~

The Leighton University courtyard blooms with deadly beauty in the morning light. Climbing roses wind their way up ancient stone walls like veins of blood, their thorns gleaming with predatory promise. The groundskeepers have been busy over break – new varieties have been added to the already impressive collection, creating a natural maze of flowers that range from deepest crimson to palest pink.

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