If you ask the world who Ravena Wyldemore is, they'll say I'm everything a woman could ever want to be.
They'll say I'm powerful. Beautiful. Untouchable. The kind of woman other women dream of becoming and men dream of marrying.
They'll talk about my billion-dollar fashion empire, the private jets, the silk gowns, and the cameras that never stop flashing whenever I walk into a room.
But nobody ever asks me how it feels to go home to an empty house.
To eat dinner alone at a long table made for twelve.
To wake up in silk sheets and feel… nothing.
Money gives you comfort, not peace.
Fame fills the air around you, not the space beside you.
I learned that a long time ago.
It was another busy Friday morning at Wyldemore Empire, my fashion and beauty company. My office on the top floor was made of glass, I could see the entire city stretching far below me.
People always said they wanted to stand where I stood. But if they knew how lonely it felt up here, they'd never wish for it.
My assistant, Celine, walked in with a tray of coffee and a nervous smile.
"Ma'am, the investors from France are waiting for your approval," she said.
"Send the documents to my screen," I replied, typing without looking up.
I'd been in meetings all week. Endless voices. Endless numbers. Everyone wanted something from me, except something real.
Then my phone buzzed, and the name on the screen made me smile a little.
Elara, my little sister.
"Pick it up," I said.
The moment I heard her voice, my heart softened.
"Ravena! Guess what?" she squealed. "He proposed! I'm getting married!"
I stopped typing. For a second, the world stood still.
Elara was younger, freer, and she always found happiness so easily. I was proud of her… and a little jealous.
"That's wonderful, Elara," I said softly. "Who's the lucky man this time?"
She giggled. "His name's Callen. He's a pilot, Ravena. You'll love him. He's planning to come over for dinner on Sunday!"
I smiled, forcing excitement into my voice. "I'll clear my schedule. You deserve all the happiness in the world."
After she hung up, I stared at my reflection in the glass wall.
My eyes looked tired. My lipstick is perfect. My soul is empty.
That night, our Aunt Meredith came to dinner. Aunt Meredith had been in charge of us since our parents died in that mysterious car accident years ago. Everyone said it was an accident. I believed it too, until lately, when strange dreams began to visit me.
Dreams of blood.
Dreams of wolves.
"You're thirty-three now, Ravena," Aunt Meredith said as she sipped her wine. "Your sister is getting married. Don't you think it's time you settled down too?"
I kept my fork steady. "I've been busy running a company."
She chuckled. "That's exactly what your mother used to say before your father married her. You're too much like her, proud, cold, and alone."
Her words stung.
"I'm not cold," I whispered.
Aunt Meredith leaned forward. "Then prove it. Find someone before it's too late. You can't buy companionship."
Elara nudged me under the table, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, Aunt Meredith. Maybe she'll meet someone at my wedding."
Aunt Meredith smirked. "I hope so. It would be embarrassing if the younger sister marries before the elder."
I laughed weakly, but inside I felt small. For years I had told myself that love was overrated, yet, at that moment, I realized I wanted it more than anything.
When dinner ended, I went out to the balcony alone. The night air was cold, and the moon was full, huge and strange.
For a second, I thought it pulsed faintly red.
I blinked, and it was gone.
The next morning, I attended a charity gala for young fashion designers. It was one of those events where everyone pretended to care about "art" while secretly judging each other's outfits.
I wore a simple black gown, my hair pinned in a low bun. Cameras flashed as soon as I stepped out of the car.
"Ravena Wyldemore! Over here!" reporters shouted.
I smiled for the photos, answered a few questions, and then slipped inside.
The room sparkled with chandeliers. Music played softly. I was scanning the new designs when a voice behind me said,
"Excuse me, Miss Wyldemore. You dropped this."
I turned around.
He was tall, lean but strong, with sharp cheekbones and dark eyes that looked like they could read my thoughts.
He held out my pen. I hadn't even realized I'd dropped it.
"Thank you," I said, taking it.
He smiled. "I'm Draven Thornhart. One of the designers is competing tonight."
There was something different about his smile.
It wasn't fake like most. It was calm. Real.
He looked at me like he wasn't intimidated by my name, my wealth, or my reputation.
"What kind of designs do you make, Mr. Thornhart?" I asked.
He shrugged. "The kind that tells the truth."
"The truth?" I echoed.
"Yes," he said. "Most people wear masks, clothes are just fancier masks. But real design shows who you are, not what you want people to think."
I laughed softly. "That's… oddly deep for a fashion gala."
He smiled again. "Maybe I just see too much."
For a moment, I couldn't look away from his eyes. They were dark brown, but when the stage lights flashed across his face, I could've sworn they shimmered gold for half a second.
Probably just the lighting.
At least, that's what I told myself.
Later that evening, after the fashion show, Draven's collection got a standing ovation. His clothes were elegant yet haunting, dark silks, silver threads, and symbols that looked ancient.
Everyone was talking about his "mystical touch."
When I went backstage to congratulate the winners, I found him alone, folding his jacket.
"You were incredible," I said.
He looked up, surprised. "You watched?"
"I watched everything," I replied. "And I think you're exactly the kind of talent my company needs."
He raised an eyebrow. "You want to hire me?"
I smiled. "Maybe. Or maybe I just want to know who you really are."
For a second, something unreadable passed through his eyes.
Then he chuckled softly. "You don't want to know me, Miss Wyldemore. People who get close to me… end up regretting it."
I frowned. "Why would you say that?"
He didn't answer. He just picked up his bag, walked past me, and whispered as he went by,
"Because the moon always takes back what it gives."
That night, I couldn't sleep.
His words played over and over in my head.
I walked out onto my balcony again, staring at the moon.
It looked red this time, faintly glowing through the clouds.
And for a moment, I thought I heard a low growl echo through the wind.
Soft. Animals. Near.
My heart pounded. I stepped back from the edge, staring into the dark trees behind my mansion.
Nothing moved.
But when I turned to go inside, I froze.
There, on the glass door, were five faint claw marks, sliding down the surface like something had tried to scratch its way in.
I touched the marks, and they were warm like fresh blood.
And then, from somewhere deep in the night, I heard it again.
A whisper.
My name.
"Ravena…"