All Chapters of Is It Wrong I Want Daddy So Bad? : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Raven I enter the private fitting room and it feels like a stage set for someone else’s life. It should be beautiful. It probably is beautiful. But standing here, pressed against the wall with my arms crossed over my chest, it feels suffocating. Vivienne stands on the low podium at the center of it all, a queen holding court without even trying. The seamstress, a small, precise woman named Margaux, moves around her in careful circles, pins between her lips, hands ghosting over fabric with the kind of reverence reserved for sacred things. Two assistants orbit further out, adjusting, smoothing, waiting. And Roman stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching with that expression he always wears in public. Bored. Untouchable. Dangerous in the way that a storm is dangerous—not because it’s loud, but because it doesn’t care who it destroys. I haven’t spoken to him since I came back inside. Since he found Aria on her knees, crying, playing the perfect victim while

RavenNo one spoke the entire ride back home.The moment we step into the living room, Roman’s voice cuts through the air.“Raven. Aria. Sit down.”It’s a very stern command.Vivienne pauses halfway to the stairs, looking between us with that practiced social smile that never quite reaches her eyes. “Roman, darling, maybe this can wait.”“Now,” he says. Not to her. To us.Aria and I exchange a glance. Hers is triumphant. Mine is exhausted.We sit. Her on the cream sofa by the window. Me in the armchair across from Roman, as far from her as I can get without leaving the room entirely.Roman stands in front of the fireplace, hands in his pockets, his expression hard.“Raven is just having a hard time adjusting to the changes,” Vivienne says calmly, even though I can hear the venom hidden beneath her sweet smile. “Don’t be too hard on her.”“She still needs to learn not to take out her emotions on others,” Roman replies, his eyes fixed on me, blank.“I didn’t do anything,” I say firmly.

RavenThe walk to Olive Garden takes fifteen minutes.Anaya walks with me for the first ten, arm linked through mine, still muttering about Vivienne and Aria and all the creative ways she plans to destroy them both.“I’m serious about the blogger,” she says. “One article. That’s all it takes. She’ll be crying into her overpriced wine by tomorrow morning.”“I know you are.”“Good. Because I’m done watching people hurt you and getting away with it.”We stop at the corner where she needs to turn off toward her apartment.“Thank you,” I say. “For everything. For listening. For being furious on my behalf. For wanting to burn them all down.”“That’s what best friends do.” She hugs me tight. Pulls back and cups my face. “But Raven? Be careful with him tonight. Don’t let him sweet-talk you into forgetting what he did.”“I won’t.”“Promise me.”“I promise.”She doesn’t look convinced. But she kisses my cheek anyway and lets me go.I watch her walk away. Then I turn and continue toward the rest

Roman Stepping into the office this morning, I’m reminded of all the problems that has compounded for me. “You actually did it, boss?” Marcus’s voice is low, controlled, but I hear the shock underneath it. He has worked for me long enough to know better than to wear his reactions openly. He isn’t doing a good job of it right now. “You put ten bullets in Alexander Kingston’s son?” “I did.” I swirl the whiskey in my glass and watch the amber catch the light. “Ten times. I made sure he stayed down.” Marcus is quiet for a moment. The kind of quiet that means he’s choosing his words carefully. “Roman. The boy—” “The boy was a jackass,” I say. “Just like his father. Same arrogance. Same recklessness. Same belief that the world would simply rearrange itself around him because of whose blood runs through his veins.” I set the glass down. “He got exactly what that kind of thinking earns a man.” “This isn’t good.” Marcus runs a hand down his face. He looks tired. He always looks tir

Raven“Come on Cousin. Don’t embarrass me in front of my potential date. It was one incident—”“There were several incidents.”“The bucket thing was an accident.”I look between them. “The bucket thing?”Anaya’s eyes light up. “Oh, she doesn’t know.”“She doesn’t need to know,” Jack says, pointing his spoon at her.“She absolutely needs to know.” Anaya turns to me fully, the way she does when she’s about to deliver something she’s been waiting years to tell. “Okay. So. Jack. Year ten. School sports day. There is a relay race…”“I want to state for the record that the ground was wet.”“The ground was not wet, it was a completely dry day in June, and I was there.” She waves him off. “So there’s a relay race and Jack is on the last leg, right? He’s winning. Genuinely winning, which rarely happened—”“I was fast—”“You were occasionally fast. There’s a difference.” She takes a sip of her tea. “So he’s coming around the final bend, he’s got the baton, the whole year is cheering, and he som