MasukROMANRaven is still a little red around the eyes when she reaches me, holding herself with that particular dignity she’s always worn like armor, the kind that doesn’t ask to be acknowledged.“You okay?” I ask.“More than okay.” And she means it. I can always tell.I open the door for her, watch her settle inside, and close it gently. Then I turn back toward the graves and walk the last stretch alone, back to Mario.“Hey, buddy.” My voice comes out rougher than I intend. “It’s been a while.”The quiet here has always felt less like absence and more like attention, the way Mario used to listen even when he wasn’t saying anything. Nothing about that has changed.“I stopped coming,” I tell him. “Told myself it was timing, then kept finding reasons to put it off. Truth is I couldn’t face you. Not after what happened between me and your daughter.”I say it plainly, because there’s no version of this conversation where I get to soften it.“I know exactly what that looks like from w
RavenI’ve been carrying the thought of this visit for weeks, the way you carry something fragile you’re afraid to set down wrong. I know the location. I know every name on every stone. What I haven’t had, until now, was something worth bringing them besides grief.Today I have that.I chose white lilies. Roman mentioned once, quietly, almost in passing, that Amara loved them, and I’ve held onto that small fact like it was mine to keep.He walks beside me from the car without a word, his hand resting light against my back, and when we reach the edge of the plot he stops.“I’ll be right here,” he says, nodding toward the car. “Take whatever time you need.”I nod, grateful he knows not to follow, and watch him walk back before I turn toward the five stones waiting for me.Mario. Amara. Jeffrey. Logan. Lucy.I kneel and lay a lily against each one, starting with my father’s, and for a long moment I just look at his name, trying to make the letters carved into granite mean somethi
RavenI’m laughing, breathless, tugging Roman by the hand through the crowd still buzzing with applause, past waiters and champagne trays and half the city’s elite still staring after us, until we duck through a side door into a narrow storeroom stacked with folded linens and extra chairs.The door clicks shut behind us.I’m on him instantly, both hands fisting in his lapels, kissing him hard and messy, more teeth than technique, like something in me has finally been let off a leash it’s been straining against all night. He catches me by the waist, kissing me back just as fierce, and for a moment neither of us is breathing right.I pull back just enough to look up at him, chest heaving. “Are we really getting married? You’re actually going to make me your wife?”“Isn’t that what you wanted?”“But what do you want?”“I’ve wanted to put a ring on your finger more times than I can remember.” His voice is rough, low, his forehead dropping to rest against mine.“So I’ll be Mrs. Bel
RavenThe ballroom doors open at exactly one o’clock, and I stand at the top of the staircase for one long breath before I start down it.The dress is red I’m wearing is red. I chose it intentionally, over the safer golds and blush tones the stylist kept steering me toward. Red is bold. Red doesn’t apologize for taking up space in a room, and after everything it’s taken to get here, I’m done apologizing for existing.Every head in the ballroom turns as I descend.Roman meets me at the bottom of the staircase, offering his hand, and the moment my fingers close around his, a ripple of murmurs spreads outward through the crowd.“You look extraordinary,” he murmurs, close to my ear.“I feel extraordinary.”“Mr. Bellerie,” an older man in a blue suit calls out to Roman.“Mr. Silas.” Roman turns to me and lowers his voice. “I’ll be back.”Anaya appears at my side almost immediately, a glass of wine already in hand, eyes wide as she takes in the room, the chandeliers, the string qua
Raven The lake house comes into view at the end of a long gravel drive, all glass and pale stone, the kind of place built to be photographed rather than lived in. I remember Vivienne posting about it once, some caption about peace and privacy, right around the time she was telling the entire country I stole her fiancé.Roman’s hand finds the small of my back as we approach the front doors, two of my security officers a step behind us, and a third figure beside them, a man in a plain grey suit carrying a folder, the court-appointed officer here to make sure today ends the way it’s supposed to.Roman stops just before we reach the entrance and turns to me.“Can you handle this?”“I want to enjoy this.” I meet his eyes, steady. “Don’t get involved unless I need you. Trust me to look after myself.”He studies me for a moment, then nods once, stepping back just slightly, close enough to intervene, far enough to let this be mine.The door opens before we even knock.Vivienne stands
RavenI sit up, pulling the sheet around me. “I finally know what was in the envelope.”His hand stills in my hair. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I told you it was yours to handle.”“I want to tell you.” I take a steadying breath. “I’m going to tell you everything.”“Okay,” he says quietly.“But first…” I glance down at my hands. “I need to tell you I did something really stupid. You’re probably going to be pissed.” I force out a small, nervous smile. “It’s okay, though. I probably deserve a little scolding.”I reach for the nightstand drawer, pull it open, and take out the photograph, holding it out to him.He takes it carefully, his eyes scanning the image. I watch his expression change as recognition settles in.“That’s Erica,” I say quietly. “And the little girl with her… that’s her daughter, Roman.”He goes completely still, staring at the photograph as if it might somehow change into something that makes sense.“So… how is this our business?” he asks, flipping
Raven In a few minutes, I’ll see Roman again after three years apart, and God help me, I might lose my mind just thinking about it. James drives smoothly and unhurriedly, as if there is no such thing as urgency in the world. I’d forgotten that about him. I’d forgotten a lot of things about Boston
RavenHis hand closed over my wrist and guided it gently away. Then his fingers were there instead, and the difference was immediate — the difference between trying to tickle yourself and someone else doing it. He found my clit with easy, unhurried pressure and I gasped so hard I almost choked on i
Raven I was having a wet dream. Again. This time I was grinding my soaked pussy on something very solid. It felt good. So good. Better than anything I managed on my own. Not until I woke up. The realization hit me slow, the way sleep peels away in layers; first the warmth, then the frict
Roman I have been in rooms with presidents. I have negotiated deals that made grown men sweat through their suits. I have buried a woman I loved and kept my composure at her graveside because my daughter needed me to be steady and I was. I am not steady right now. I knew she was coming. I had







