Chapter 34 Lia
LIA
My fingers trace the rope marks on my wrists as I wait for my coffee. Every movement reminds me of Vane—his touch, his voice, his possessive grip. After fifteen years of running, I've surrendered completely to him, and the most terrifying part is how right it feels.
When Vane left this morning—his brothers blowing up his phone about missing some meeting—the silence in my apartment felt suffocating. I needed to get out, to breathe, to process the Hunt and the hours following.
“One oat milk latte,” the barista calls, sliding my cup across the counter.
As I turn to find a seat, I collide with someone, nearly spilling my drink.
“Shit, sorry!” A woman with striking violet-blue eyes steadies my cup with graceful hands. “I’ve got good reflexes,” she explains with a quick smile. “Saved your caffeine.”
I recognize her immediately—one of the other Hunt participants, Keira, I think her name was. She was claimed by two twin brothers.
“You're Lia, right?” She extends her hand. “I'm Keira Valentino. We met at the Hunt briefly.”
“I remember,” I confirm, shaking her hand.
“Listen, I don't know about you, but I could use some company with my coffee.” Keira gestures to a small mark visible on her collarbone. “Hunt aftermath and all.”
There's something immediately likable about her directness. “You read my mind.”
We find a quiet corner table, and I notice the fluid way she moves.
“I've been in Ravenwood about a year,” Keira explains, stirring her tea. “Choreographing for some high-end clubs. That’s how I got invited.”
“How are you... after everything?” I ask.
Her expression shifts. “Processing. It was intense being hunted by two brothers.” She studies me. “What about you? Word is you and Vane have history.”
I laugh softly. “That's one way to put it. Fifteen years of history condensed into seventy-two hours of...” I trail off.
“Reckoning?” Keira suggests with a knowing smile. “Listen, there's a bar around the corner that makes killer martinis. What do you say we continue this conversation somewhere we can feel a little more comfortable talking about what happened?”
“You know what? That sounds perfect,” I say, draining the last of my coffee. “After what we've been through, I think we've earned a drink, even if it's barely noon.”
Keira grins, and we gather our things. The short walk to the bar gives me time to adjust to being out in the world again after the intensity of the Hunt.
Everything feels strangely normal—people walking to lunch meetings, checking phones, living ordinary lives—while I'm vibrating with the aftershocks of how drastically my life has changed.
The bar is dimly lit and nearly empty this early. We slide into a booth in the corner, and a bartender approaches with a raised eyebrow.
“Two dirty martinis,” Keira orders. “Extra olives.”
When he walks away, she leans forward. “So, you seemed to know exactly what you were doing in there. Most of us were terrified, but you walked through that maze like you owned it.”
I trace the condensation on the water glass. “I had experience from The Red Room in New York. But also... I knew who was coming for me.”
The bartender returns with our drinks, and I take a sip, welcoming the burn.
“And?” Keira asks. “Do you still feel that confident now that it's over? I’m still trying to process what happened.”
“Honestly?” I swirl the olive in my glass. “I loved every second of it. Being hunted, being caught, being claimed—it was exactly what I expected.” I take another sip. “Maybe better.”
“Even with the audience? The orgy room was...”
“Intense,” I finish for her. “But yes, even that. Maybe especially that.”
Keira studies me with curious eyes. “You and Vane have history—that much was obvious. But there's more to it, isn't there?”
I nod, feeling my face flush slightly. “He was my first in high school, and then I ran. I've been running ever since.”
“Until now,” she says, raising her glass.
I clink my glass against hers. “To surviving dangerous men,” I state.
Keira takes a long sip of her martini, her eyes studying me over the rim of her glass. “So what happens now? After all that running, all that waiting—the Hunt is over. You're claimed.”
“We move in together,” I say, surprising myself with how easily the words come. “After these years of distance, now there's... nothing between us. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once.”
“Tell me about it,” Keira laughs, touching the mark on her collarbone. “Try having two men planning your future. Ace and Cyrus have very... specific ideas about our arrangement.”
I lean forward, curious. “What's that like? Being claimed by two brothers?”
“Complicated,” she says, twirling the olive in her glass. “They function as a unit, two halves of the same whole. But they're so different—Ace is very controlling, while Cyrus burns hotter, more volatile. Together they're...” She trails off, a flush creeping up her neck.
“Overwhelming?” I suggest.
“Perfectly balanced,” she corrects. “Like they were designed to complement each other—and somehow, I fit between them.” She shakes her head. “What about Vane? The whole Hunt, he looked at you like you were the only woman who existed.”
I feel warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the alcohol. “He's been obsessed with me since we were teenagers.”
“And that doesn't bother you?” Keira asks, genuine curiosity in her voice.
“It should,” I admit, running my finger along the stem of my glass. “But after spending so many years pretending I didn't want him, there's something freeing about being with someone who knows exactly what he wants. Who wants me enough to wait this long?”
“Not just wait,” Keira points out. “Pursue. Plan. Orchestrate.”
“Yes,” I acknowledge. “And it's that intensity that fascinated me from the beginning.”
Keira signals the bartender for another round. “So, besides being hunted by possessive men, what do you actually do in Ravenwood? I noticed your name on the gallery downtown.”
“I run Elliot's gallery—which I found out is actually Vane's gallery,” I say with a rueful smile. “Triple my New York salary was apparently his way of making sure I couldn't refuse.”
“Clever man.” Keira nods.
“Do you dance any shows?” I ask.
“I prefer choreography.” She shrugs modestly. “Dance has been my sanctuary since I was a kid in foster care. It gave me structure when nothing else did.”
“I get that. Art was my escape, too, just in a different way.” I finish my martini, feeling the pleasant warmth of alcohol. “Growing up here, I always felt trapped. Organizing exhibitions gave me control—deciding where each piece belongs, creating a narrative through arrangement.”
“And now you're back in the place you ran from.”
“With better pay than New York.” I laugh. “And honestly? It feels different now. Less suffocating.”
“Because of Vane?”
“Partly.” I pause, considering. “Also, because I've grown up. New York taught me I was running from myself as much as from him.”
“I know what that's like—finding yourself.” She hesitates, then adds, “Listen, I don't really know many people in Ravenwood outside of work and, well, the Dexters. Would you want to grab dinner sometime? Maybe check out that new Thai place on Maple?”
“I'd like that,” I say, genuinely pleased. “It would be nice to have someone who understands...” I gesture vaguely.
“Being claimed by terrifyingly intense men?” Keira finishes with a laugh.
“Exactly that. Plus, I could use a friend who isn't tied to my high school days. Everyone else here still sees seventeen-year-old Lia.”
“Well, I only know claimed-by-Vane Lia, so you're getting a fresh start with me.” She raises her glass. “To new friendships forged in unusual circumstances.”
I clink my glass against Keira's, feeling a surprising wave of relief. The Hunt ended less than twenty-four hours ago, and everything still feels dreamlike—the rope burns, the possessive words, the way Vane looked at me like I was his world.
“My high school friends texted this morning,” I admit, setting my glass down. “They want to meet for brunch tomorrow to catch up and hear all about the gallery.”
Keira gives me a knowing look. “But not all about the Hunt.”
“God, no.” I laugh, but it comes out strained. “Megan, Zoe, James, Dani—they'd never understand. We were the good kids, you know? Student council, debate team.”
“And now you're the woman who was suspended from the ceiling in front of a room of people while your first claimed you.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “Exactly. They still see me as predictable, organized Lia who color-codes her planner and never takes risks. They'd be horrified.”
“But it's who you've always been underneath,” Keira observes, stirring her drink. “The organized exterior kept that part of you safe.”
I stare at her, struck by how accurately she's read me after one conversation. “Yes. That's... exactly right.”
“I get it,” she says simply. “We all have masks.”
"Does the possessiveness ever scare you?" I ask. "How absolute it is?"
"I'm figuring that out day by day," Keira admits. "But it helps having someone who understands the contradiction—wanting independence but craving surrender."
I nod, grateful beyond words for this chance encounter. My high school friends would try to stage an intervention if I told them half of what happened in that maze. They'd never understand how right it feels to finally stop running from Vane, from myself.
“It's strange,” I say quietly. “I feel more like myself now than I have in fifteen years.”