The mansion had a rhythm, and Ravenna was starting to hear it.
Footsteps meant movement. Silence meant danger. And muffled voices behind closed doors? That meant secrets—ones she wasn't supposed to hear.
She had just finished polishing the grand staircase when she realized her key was missing. She must have dropped it. Panicking, she retraced her steps, gripping her skirt with dust-stained fingers, heart pounding.
She searched so intensely she didn't know when she walked down a long hallway that looked... forbidden. Dim lights. Velvet walls. No staff in sight. She paused near a door slightly ajar—voices spilled through like smoke.
She should have turned back. She should have walked away.
But as curious as Ravenna was, she edged closer, close enough to catch pieces of the conversation.
"You should've killed the girl, Adrien."
That voice wasn't his. It was older, raspier, laced with venom. She held her breath.
"And make noise over a civilian?" Adrien's voice replied—low, cold. "She saw what she wasn't meant to. Now she's contained."
"You're slipping," the first man snapped. "Ever since your mother's health went downhill, you've been... soft."
Adrien paused. A dangerous pause.
Then a sharp bang—like a fist slammed against the desk.
"I'm not soft," Adrien growled. "And I'm not reckless either. The girl stays until I decide what to do with her. If she steps out of line, I'll handle it."
"Just don't let her become a weakness. We both know you have the power to silence her and the city."
Silence again. Then footsteps. The sound of a glass being set down.
"I don't have weaknesses," Adrien said darkly.
Ravenna backed away, heart hammering. Her palm trembled as it touched the hallway wall. Every word felt like a noose tightening around her neck.
She ran back.
—
She found the key near the edge of the music room floor, under the piano bench. She didn't even remember dropping it.
Her legs felt boneless by the time she reached her room. The walls seemed to close in, the shadows long and heavy.
She collapsed onto the bed.
The tears came quietly.
Tears for everything: her father's face the night he told her to leave, her mother's silence and the disgust in her eyes. For the cruel twist of fate that brought her here. For the fear that kept her breathing in shallow gulps like prey. For the twisted reality that Adrien Moretti, the man who had abducted her, was somehow the only constant now.
She cried until her chest hurt. Until her throat burned. Until her body gave up and she slipped into unconsciousness.
—
The dream was suffocating.
She stood in the alley again—rain pouring, her hair drenched, eyes wide as they met Adrien's. He held a gun. A man was bleeding at his feet.
Then Adrien looked at her.
Only this time, he smiled.
"You weren't supposed to see this," he whispered.
She tried to run but her feet wouldn't move. Chains wrapped around her ankles. The alley became a ballroom. Guests spun past her like phantoms. Adrien appeared behind her, whispering in her ear, "You belong to me now."
She screamed.
—
She woke up with a gasp.
She looked toward her door, and there he was—standing in the doorway, black suit sharp against the hallway light, and a drink in his hand.
Adrien.
He stoop there, watching her keenly.
Not with amusement. Not even with anger.
Just… studying her.
"You're late," he said simply.
Ravenna blinked, still trying to separate dream from reality. Her skin was damp with sweat. Her heart thundered, her hair all over her face.
"I—I overslept," she stammered, sitting upright.
He didn't move. "Clearly."
"Why are you in my doorway?"
"I only knock when it matters. It didn't," he replied coolly.
She glanced at the clock. She had less than fifteen minutes to be ready. Her body jolted into motion, scrambling off the bed. "I-I'll get dressed." she managed to say while puttin on her footwear.
Adrien watched her. His gaze flicked to her pale face, her trembling hands, the way she refused to meet his eyes.
Then, with a tone she hadn't heard before—low, deliberate—he said, "Nightmares?"
She froze.
"Yes," she whispered. "You were in it."
A silence stretched between them.
He looked at her for a moment longer. Then he stepped into the room, set the glass of whiskey on her desk, and turned toward the closet.
Without a word, he pulled out a midnight-blue velvet gown. Elegant. Backless. Far too expensive.
He handed it to her. "Wear this."
She hesitated.
"Why?" she asked, voice quieter than before.
"Because I don't want to be embarrassed by you tonight," he replied, turning to leave.
But just as he reached the door, he added without facing her: "You're a pretty one."
And with that he walked out, his footsteps echoing along the hall. The door shut silently.
Ravenna stood there stunned, the velvet dress in her arms, heart pounding louder than ever.
What was happening to her?