Raven's POV
The first thing I noticed was the smell.
Leather. Cigarette smoke. Something faintly metallic.
The second was the throbbing pain behind my eyes.
I groaned, attempting to lift my head, but a sharp wave of dizziness forced me back against the pillow. For a few seconds, I lay perfectly still, trying to understand where I was.
This wasn't my bedroom.
The ceiling above me was unfamiliar, decorated with intricate gold patterns that disappeared into the dimness. Heavy curtains covered the windows, allowing only a thin strip of daylight to slip into the room.
I pushed myself upright.
My memories returned in fragments.
The gala.
The gunshots.
The screaming.
Cyprian.
His face.
The look in his eyes when I told him I hated him.
And then the hands that grabbed me.
I remembered struggling, screaming, trying to get away. I remembered someone pressing something against my face before everything went dark.
My breathing quickened.
"Claire."
Her name escaped my lips before I could stop it.
I threw the covers aside and swung my legs over the edge of the bed. My bare feet touched the cold floor, and I immediately stumbled toward the door.
It was locked.
"Claire!" I screamed, pounding against it. "Somebody! Open this damn door!"
Nothing.
I tried the handle again, twisting it violently as though my desperation could somehow force the lock to surrender.
"Claire!"
A metallic click sounded from the other side.
I stepped back as the door opened.
Two men stood outside, both dressed in black. One of them looked at me briefly before stepping aside.
"You're awake."
I stared at him.
"Where is my friend?"
He didn't answer.
"Where is Claire?" I repeated, my voice rising.
"Come with us."
"Go to hell."
His expression didn't change.
I tried to push past him, but another guard appeared behind me, blocking the hallway.
"You're making this unnecessarily difficult, Miss Hayes."
I froze.
Miss Hayes.
I hadn't heard anyone call me that in years.
Before I could respond, the first guard gestured toward the corridor.
"Your father wants to see you."
My stomach tightened.
Father.
The word felt foreign, almost laughable.
I had buried that man in my mind long before I ever learned he was still breathing. I had grown up believing my parents died in an accident, leaving behind nothing but photographs, unanswered questions, and memories that had become increasingly difficult to hold on to.
And now, after all these years, he wanted to see me.
"Tell him I'm not interested."
"That wasn't a request."
I looked between the two men, searching for an opening. There wasn't one.
I had no weapon, no phone, and no idea where I was.
For now, I had to play along.
I walked between them, my bare feet making almost no sound against the polished wooden floor.
The house was enormous. Dark paintings decorated the walls, expensive furniture occupied the corners, and armed men stood at intervals along the corridor.
This wasn't some random hideout.
Whoever Arthur had become, he had built himself an empire.
We descended a staircase and stopped outside a set of double doors.
One of the guards knocked.
"She's awake, sir."
"Bring her in."
The doors opened.
And there he was.
Arthur.
He stood beside a large window, dressed in a charcoal suit with a glass of whiskey resting loosely in his hand. His hair was darker than I remembered, with streaks of silver near his temples. Time had changed his face, sharpening features I barely remembered from childhood.
But his eyes were the same.
I hated that I recognized them.
He turned.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
His gaze travelled over my face, lingering as though he were searching for something familiar.
"Raven."
I almost laughed.
He said my name as if he had earned the right.
"Where is Claire?"
His expression barely shifted.
"Good morning to you too."
"Where is she?"
"She's alive."
My shoulders loosened for the briefest second.
"Where?"
"She's being looked after."
"By your men?" I asked bitterly. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
He placed his glass on the table.
"You're both unharmed."
"You drugged us and dragged us out of a building while people were being shot. Don't stand there and pretend you've done us a favour."
His jaw tightened.
"I brought you here because I had no other choice."
"You had fifteen years to find another choice."
The room went silent.
Something shifted in his expression.
For a second, I saw something that almost resembled regret. It was so brief that I wondered whether I had imagined it.
Then he turned away.
"You're upset. I understand."
"No, you don't."
My voice cracked.
"You don't get to disappear for fifteen years, let me believe you were dead, and then drag me into your house like I'm some possession you've finally decided to reclaim."
He said nothing.
I hated that silence. It reminded me of all the questions I had carried as a child.
Where was he?
Why didn't he come home?
Why did everyone avoid talking about the accident?
Why did I have to grow up with the certainty that both my parents were gone?
I had spent years trying to remember the sound of his voice. Now that he was standing in front of me, I wished I could forget it all over again.
"Why?" I whispered.
His eyes returned to mine.
"Why what?"
"Why did you leave us?"
He looked toward the window.
"Some things are better left buried."
A bitter laugh escaped me.
"That's convenient. You get to decide what gets buried, and I get to spend my entire life wondering why my parents died."
"Raven—"
"Don't."
I raised a trembling hand.
"Don't say my name like you have any right to comfort me."
My stomach suddenly tightened.
I pressed a hand against it, instinctively.
The movement didn't escape him.
His eyes dropped to my hand.
"How is the baby?"
I went still.
For a moment, I couldn't hear anything beyond the pounding of my heart.
"Don't."
His gaze lifted.
"I asked a simple question."
"You don't get to ask me about my child."
"Your child," he repeated, almost thoughtfully.
I took a step back.
"Stay away from me."
He didn't move, but his expression changed. The casual indifference disappeared, replaced by something far more difficult to read.
"You're carrying a Moretti heir."
The words made my skin crawl.
"That is none of your business."
"It became my business the moment you were taken from that building."
"No. You made it your business when you ordered your men to kidnap me."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're carrying a child in a dangerous world, Raven. You should be more concerned about keeping yourself calm than picking a fight with everyone around you."
I stared at him in disbelief.
"Don't you dare lecture me about my health."
My voice trembled with anger.
"You have no idea what this pregnancy has been like. You weren't there when I was told how easily stress could put me and my baby at risk. You weren't there when I had to sit through appointments, worrying about every little pain. You weren't there when I was terrified that one bad day could take away the only innocent thing in this entire mess."
My eyes burned.
"And you certainly weren't there when I needed a father."
For the first time, he seemed to have no immediate answer.
I turned away, trying to steady my breathing.
My chest felt tight. My head was still aching, and the room seemed to shift whenever I moved too quickly.
I needed to sit down.
I hated that I needed to sit down.
I hated that he could see it.
"There's a chair behind you," he said.
"I don't need your help."
"Then don't take it."
I gripped the edge of the desk.
A wave of dizziness washed over me.
Before I could stop myself, my knees weakened. I caught the desk with both hands, gasping.
One of the guards moved forward.
"Don't touch me!" I snapped.
Arthur raised a hand, stopping him.
"Get her some water."
"I don't want anything from you."
"Whether you want it or not, you need to drink."
I looked at him, tears gathering in my eyes.
"You don't get to decide what I need."
He studied me for a moment before pulling out a chair.
"Sit down, Raven."
I wanted to refuse. I wanted to prove that he couldn't control even the smallest thing about me.
But my body was beginning to betray me.
Slowly, I lowered myself into the chair.
A guard placed a glass of water on the desk. I ignored it.
Arthur returned to his position beside the window.
"Let's stop pretending this is a family reunion."
"Trust me, I wasn't under that impression."
A faint, humourless smile touched his lips.
"Good."
He picked up his whiskey.
"I want something from Cyprian Moretti."
My stomach sank.
"Then speak to him."
"I intend to."
"Leave me out of it."
"Unfortunately, that's no longer possible."
I looked at him carefully.
"What do you want?"
He took a slow sip.
"Something his family has spent years protecting."
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Everything."
I shook my head.
"I'm not interested in your war."
"Yet you married into it."
"Because I loved him."
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
For a moment, I saw Cyprian again. His hands on my face. His voice when he promised he would protect me. The way he looked at me when everything was still good between us.
Then I remembered the lies.
The secrets.
The blood.
My eyes filled, and I quickly looked away.
I didn't want Arthur seeing what Cyprian could still do to me without even being in the room.
"Love makes people careless," Arthur said.
I turned sharply.
"Don't talk about him."
"You're defending a man who has brought you nothing but danger."
"You know nothing about my marriage."
"I know enough."
"No, you don't!" I snapped. "You know his surname. You know his family. You know what he can do. But you don't know what happened between us, and you don't get to use my pain as an excuse to speak about him."
Arthur watched me quietly.
Then he placed his glass down.
"Your husband will come looking for you."
My fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.
"Let him."
"He won't stop at a few questions. He'll tear apart every city, every warehouse and every territory until he finds you."
"Then I hope he does."
"And when he arrives?"
I lifted my chin.
"That will be between him and you."
Arthur's expression hardened.
"You're still thinking like a woman who believes she has a choice in this."
I stood too quickly.
The room tilted.
I reached for the desk, my breath catching as another wave of dizziness hit me.
"Raven."
"Don't."
I shut my eyes, concentrating on breathing slowly.
One breath.
Then another.
I could almost hear the doctor's voice in my head, reminding me that I couldn't afford to let my body become overwhelmed. That I needed to avoid unnecessary stress.
But how was I supposed to remain calm when my entire life had been turned upside down?
I pressed my palm against my stomach.
"Please," I whispered, barely audible.
I wasn't sure whether I was speaking to myself or my baby.
When I opened my eyes, Arthur was watching me.
"Get a doctor," he ordered.
"I don't need a doctor."
"You're pale."
"I said I'm fine."
He turned to the guard.
"Call the doctor."
The guard left immediately.
I stared at Arthur.
"Don't pretend you care."
His face remained unreadable.
"Whether I care or not, I won't have you collapsing in my house."
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
"Your house."
The words tasted bitter.
"You speak as if this is where I belong."
He didn't answer.
I looked around the office. The expensive furniture, the dark walls, the armed guards. Everything about the place felt cold.
There was no warmth here. No sign of a family. No photographs of a little girl growing up. No evidence that the man standing before me had ever missed a single birthday.
I had spent my childhood mourning two parents.
Now one of them was standing in front of me, and I felt more alone than I had ever felt before.
"Can I see Claire?" I asked.
Arthur looked at me.
"Not yet."
My throat tightened.
"Why?"
"Because I need to know that you understand your situation."
"What situation?"
"You're not leaving."
I stared at him.
"You can't keep me here."
"I already have."
"Cyprian will find me."
"Perhaps."
His calmness frightened me more than a threat would have.
"And what happens when he does?"
Arthur stepped closer.
"That depends on what he's willing to sacrifice."
I felt cold all over.
"You want to hurt him."
"I want him to understand that the Moretti family isn't untouchable."
"Then go after him. Leave me and my baby out of it."
For the first time, his expression became openly displeased.
"You're making the mistake of believing those two things can be separated."
I shook my head.
"You are sick."
"Maybe."
He returned to his desk and pressed a button on the telephone.
"Bring the doctor upstairs. And have the girl moved to the east wing."
My head snapped up.
"Claire?"
He didn't respond.
"Arthur!"
He continued speaking into the telephone.
"Make sure they're both kept comfortable. No unnecessary disturbances."
He ended the call.
I moved toward him, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to return.
"I want to see her. Now."
"You will."
"When?"
"When I decide it's safe."
"She's not your prisoner to move around like furniture!"
His eyes met mine.
"Neither are you, Raven. But here we are."
I felt tears slip down my cheeks.
I hated him.
I hated that I was crying in front of him. I hated that my hands were shaking. Most of all, I hated that I couldn't simply run out of that room and find the people I loved.
I wanted Claire.
I wanted Cyprian.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted to wake up and discover that the gala had been a nightmare.
Instead, I was standing in front of a man I had spent my entire life believing was dead.
A man who looked at me as though my pregnancy were a weapon.
A man who had returned too late to be my father, but somehow still had the power to make me feel like a child begging for answers.
The door opened.
A man in a dark suit entered carrying a medical bag.
"Doctor," Arthur said. "Examine her."
The doctor approached cautiously.
"Miss Hayes, may I?"
I looked at him, then at Arthur.
"I don't want to be here."
"I understand," the doctor replied gently.
His voice was the first kind thing I had heard since waking up.
He checked my pulse and asked about my dizziness, the headache, and whether I had experienced any pain or bleeding.
I answered quietly, keeping one hand over my stomach.
When he asked about my pregnancy, I told him it was high risk.
His expression became serious.
"Then she needs proper monitoring. Stress and physical strain are concerns, especially after what appears to have been a traumatic event."
Arthur's jaw tightened.
"See that she gets everything she needs."
The doctor nodded.
I looked at Arthur.
"Don't act like you're doing this for me."
He didn't answer.
The doctor finished his examination and asked to arrange further checks. I agreed, because I wasn't willing to gamble with my baby's safety just to spite the man who had brought me here.
As the doctor packed his equipment, another guard appeared at the doorway.
He leaned toward Arthur and whispered something.
I couldn't hear the words.
But I saw Arthur's expression change.
Only slightly.
His eyes narrowed, and his fingers tightened around the glass on his desk.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
The guard nodded.
Arthur looked toward me.
For a brief moment, I thought he was going to tell me something about Claire.
Instead, he said, "Take her upstairs."
I stepped back.
"What's happening?"
"Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"Then why do you look like that?"
His gaze sharpened.
"Take her."
The guards approached.
I backed away, one hand still protecting my stomach.
"Don't touch me."
One of them reached for my arm, but Arthur stopped him.
"Carefully."
I looked at him with disgust.
"Don't pretend you're protecting me."
He said nothing.
The guards escorted me out of the office and into the corridor.
As we reached the staircase, I looked back.
Arthur was still standing beside his desk, staring at the man who had whispered to him.
Something was happening.
Something he didn't want me to know.
And for the first time since waking up, I wondered whether I was the only person in this house who had no idea what was coming.
I reached the upper floor, my head still aching and my heart heavy with fear.
Claire was somewhere in this house.
Cyprian was somewhere out there, searching.
And my baby was caught between two families whose hatred had existed long before I understood what either name meant.
I lowered my eyes to my stomach.
"Hold on, sweetheart," I whispered.
I didn't know how much longer I could keep pretending I wasn't terrified.
But I would.
For my baby.
For Claire.
And for the chance to see Cyprian again, even if I wasn't sure what I would say when I finally did.
Because whatever war Arthur believed he was fighting, I refused to let him decide how it ended.
Not with my child.
Not with my life.