Page 91 of Ruthless Kings of Obsession

The roses climb their ancient walls, thorns gleaming like promises in the morning light. Their beauty remains constant, unchanging, while beneath them everything shifts and evolves and transforms.

Kind of like us, really.

Students continue to whisper and speculate, but their words feel distant, and unimportant compared to the weight of this moment. Because this isn't just about saving one former enemy from a fate she didn't choose. It's about showing everyone exactly what happens when you try to control a Queen's game.

"Hey Barbieri, move," a female voice cuts through our moment of potential alliance like a blade.

Everything happens in slow motion after that. Scarlett is yanked backward by an unseen force, her gasp of surprise barely audible over the sudden thundering of my own heartbeat. She hits the ground hard, the impact driving air from her lungs in a way that sounds painful even from where I stand.

The cold press of metal against my forehead registers before I fully process what's happening. The barrel feels impossiblyheavy for something so small, its presence transforming the beautiful morning into something darker, more dangerous.

The courtyard erupts in chaos – students scrambling backward, books dropped in panic creating a percussive soundtrack to this unexpected violence. Somewhere behind me, I sense my Kings' collective tension, their instinctive move toward protection frozen by the precariousness of my position.

But I don't move. Don't flinch. Don't give any indication that having a gun pressed to my forehead is anything other than a mild inconvenience.

My would-be assassin's smile spreads wider, teeth gleaming unnaturally white in the morning sun. "Boom," she whispers, the word carrying both playfulness and promise.

The roses continue their relentless climb up ancient walls, their red blooms suddenly seeming less like decoration and more like omens. The fountain plays its endless game of light and water, the sound now feeling like mockery rather than music.

But what captures my attention – what holds my gaze steady despite the weapon pressed against my skin – are her eyes. They're an impossible shade of gold, too perfect to be natural. Colored contacts, obviously, but chosen with deliberate purpose. Chosen to make an impression, to be remembered.

How interesting, something dark whispers in my mind.She wants to be seen.

The morning light catches her artificial irises, making them seem to glow from within. Like a predator's eyes in darkness. Like warnings. Like threats.

But I've faced worse threats than pretty eyes and steady hands. Have survived more dangerous games than this display of casual violence.

So I stand perfectly still, letting her see nothing in my expression but calm assessment. Let her search my face for fear she won't find, for weakness that doesn't exist.

Two predators locked in silent evaluation, while around us the world holds its breath, waiting to see who moves first.

Waiting to see who survives.

A Brother's Intervention

~DOMINO~

Instinct moves me before thought can catch up. My hand strikes upward, forcing the barrel away from Eva's forehead just as the trigger clicks. Instead of the deadly report I expect, a pathetic pop fills the air, followed by a shower of confetti that rains down over my stepsister's perfectly styled pixie cut.

The fake weapon feels cheap in my grip, offensive in its artificiality. Eva doesn't move, doesn't even blink as colorful paper falls around her like some twisted celebration. Her new hairstyle makes it impossible to hide any reaction – every line of her face exposed, every micro-expression on display.

But there's nothing to read. No fear, no surprise, no acknowledgment of how close she just came to... to what? Being pranked? Humiliated?

Fucking hell, Iva.

"Well, well," our unwelcome visitor whistles, her artificial golden eyes glinting with barely concealed disappointment. "I actually wasn't expecting Domino Leighton to interfere versushis older brother." She tries for sweet, playful even, but the tone falls flat – revealing the bitter edge beneath her carefully constructed facade.

Rage burns through my veins like acid, making my fingers tighten around the fake gun until plastic protests. The sound of cracking material is oddly satisfying, but not enough to quell the fury building in my chest.

My free hand finds Eva's throat, not squeezing but definitely controlling as I force her to look up at me. "Why the hell didn't you move?" The words emerge as a growl, raw with emotions I don't want to examine too closely.

The courtyard holds its breath, waiting for her response. Students have formed a loose circle around us, phones discretely recording every moment of this confrontation.

Eva's lips – painted that devastating shade of red that makes my blood burn – curve into a smile that holds more danger than any weapon. "Why?" she asks softly, eyes gleaming with something like triumph. "Would you miss me?"

The words hit like physical blows, making something snap inside my chest. Before I can stop myself, I'm crushing my mouth against hers, tasting that blood-red lipstick and something darker beneath. The kiss is violent, possessive, a punishment and a promise wrapped in one desperate act.

"Pull stupid shit like that again," I snarl when I finally release her mouth, though my hand remains at her throat, "and you can enjoy having a real bullet in your head."

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