Ravenna Lane was seated in the back of the black SUV, soaked in rain, skin cold, heart frozen. The leather seat beneath her stuck to her thighs through the thin fabric of her dress, and the windows blurred with droplets, making the world outside feel even farther away. 'Was this her end?' she wondered shaking from the cold or was it fear?
He hadn't said a word.
The man—Adrien Moretti, though she didn't know his name yet—sat beside her. She managed to scan him without turning her head, Adrien was seated there like a statue sculpted from smoke and steel. His jaw clenched, his hands rested on his thighs. His presence filled the entire space. Dangerous. Commanding. Unforgiving.
The car smelled like spice and blood and power.
Ravenna's fingers trembled as she clutched the edge of her seat. She wanted to scream, but the weight of fear pressed down on her lungs. She didn't dare move. Didn't dare breathe too loudly.
He killed a man. She saw exactly how it happened. And now she was in his car. Alone. With him.
"W-Where are you taking me?" she whispered, not recognizing her own voice. It sounded like a child's—broken and scared.
He didn't answer.
"I swear… I won't tell anyone. I'll forget it. I didn't even see clearly, it was raining and dark—"
"Stop talking," he said coldly, eyes still on the window.
Just two words. But they were sharp enough for Raveena to put herself in place
She flinched and then fell silent.
Time went by slowly, the car–suffocating and awfully quiet. The city blurred past, but they weren't headed downtown. No lights, no traffic. Wherever they were going, it was far away from anyone who could help her.
Her throat tightened.
Her head spun, she began thinking
'If she ran at the next stoplight—would she survive? Would he shoot her in the back? Would anyone even notice?'
The car turned through tall iron gates that groaned open at the sound of a code. The driveway was long and winding, decorated weirdly by shadowy stone gargoyles. The house ahead wasn't a house—it was a mansion. Three stories of black brick, sleek glass, and creeping ivy. Gothic xand modern, intimidating and silent.
A fortress.
Even she coming from a prestigious family had never felt so small.
The driver got out first. The back door opened on her side. A tall man in a long black coat motioned for her to get out. Ravenna looked to Adrien, who still hadn't moved.
She stepped out, with her legs giving up on her she falls to the floor
The rain had stopped, but her skin still felt drenched in cold. The man helped her up abd led her up the stairs, through a tall set of oak doors, and into the mansion.
It was breathtaking, definitely terrifying.
Tall ceilings. Chandeliers that looked like hanging thorns. Dark wooden floors. Stone sculptures that watched her like silent sentinels. The air was cold, like a cathedral stripped of god.
Adrien finally walked past her, slow and graceful like a wolf that didn't need to hurry for prey.
He looked over his shoulder. "Take her to the west quarters. Lock the door."
"But—what do you want from me?" Ravenna asked, her voice cracking.
He turned fully now, his dark eyes drilling into hers. "You saw something you shouldn't have. So until I decide what to do with you, you stay. Do what you're told, speak only when spoken to, and you just might keep your life."
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
"Clean her up. She looks like a stray dog," he added, then turned his back and disappeared into the shadows.
---
The room they put her in was nicer than she expected.
Four-poster bed, velvet curtains, soft lighting. But the door locked from the outside, and the windows were sealed shut.
Ravenna sat on the edge of the bed, finally alone. She stared at her reflection in the mirror—mascara-streaked cheeks, bruised lips, rain-matted hair. A shell of the girl she had been only two days ago.
First, disowned and now, kidnapped, was this her fate?
Tears slipped silently down her face. No one was coming for her. Not her parents. Not even her so-called friends. No one even knew she was here.
Adrien Moretti had taken her. And something told her he wasn't the kind of man who let things go.