Chapter 37
LIA
The espresso martini slides down smooth, warming me from the inside. Xavier's living room is stunning—all cream and gold, sophisticated without being pretentious.
“This is delicious,” Sadie says, examining her glass with appreciation. “What's your secret?”
“Homemade vanilla syrup,” Mira replies, settling into an armchair with her own drink.
Bianca curls up on the opposite end of the couch from me, tucking her legs beneath her. “So, Lia. How does it feel being back in Ravenwood after spending years in New York?”
“Strange,” I admit. “Everything's familiar but different. The town's grown, it's hardly recognizable.”
“And you're with Vane now.” Sadie's eyes sparkle with curiosity. “That must be... intense.”
“You have no idea.” The words come out before I can stop them, making all three women laugh.
“Oh, I think we do,” Bianca says, sharing a knowing look with Mira. “The Blackwood brothers aren't exactly what you'd call low-key.”
Mira raises her glass in agreement. “That's putting it mildly.”
There's something comforting about this—sitting here with women who understand what it's like to be claimed by men like the Blackwoods. My old friends from high school could never comprehend this world. Hell, I barely comprehend it myself most days.
“It's nice,” I say quietly. “Having people who get it.”
“The Hunt changes things,” Mira agrees. “Creates bonds that are hard to explain to outsiders.”
“Like Keira,” I add. “We've gotten close since the Hunt ended.”
Sadie nods enthusiastically. “She's great. A little wild, but in the best way.”
The conversation flows easily between us—about the gallery, about Bianca's current commission, about Sadie's tech projects. It's refreshing, this easy camaraderie. No judgment, no pretense.
“I need to use the restroom,” I state, setting down my empty glass. “Where—”
“Down the hall, second door on the left,” Mira directs.
I slip out of the living room, heels clicking softly on the marble floors. The hallway is quiet, elegant. As I pass the dining room, voices drift through the partially open door.
“—torture him slowly,” Vane's voice cuts through the silence. “Make him suffer for every fucking thing he's done. I want to hear him scream.”
My steps falter.
“We need information first,” Xavier responds, his tone measured. “Then you can have your fun.”
“I want him to beg,” Vane continues, and there's something in his voice I've never heard before—something dark and eager. “Want to make it last for days before I finally put him down.”
Ice floods my veins. My hand grips the wall for support as nausea churns in my stomach.
This isn't some abstract business deal. He's talking about torturing someone to death. Enjoying it.
I force my legs to move, hurrying past the dining room before anyone notices me. My hands shake as I push open the bathroom door, locking it behind me with trembling fingers.
I brace my hands against the marble sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. The woman looking back at me appears perfectly composed—dark hair still elegantly styled, lipstick intact, designer dress fitting like it was made for me.
But inside, I'm falling apart.
I want to hear him scream.
Vane's voice echoes through my mind, casual and eager. Like he was discussing what to have for dinner instead of prolonged torture. Murder.
I turn on the faucet, splashing cold water on my face. The careful makeup I applied earlier runs in dark streaks down my cheeks, but I don't care. My stomach churns violently.
I knew. Some part of me always knew that Vane and his brothers hadn't built their empire through legitimate means.
You don't amass that kind of power, that level of influence, by playing by the rules.
The exclusive clubs, the connections to Ravenwood's elite, the way people both respected and feared the Blackwood name—it all pointed to something darker beneath the surface.
But I'd convinced myself it was just business. Maybe some illegal dealings, tax evasion, bribery. White-collar crimes allowed me to maintain the fiction that the man I loved wasn't truly dangerous.
How naive. How fucking stupid.
Want to make it last for days.
My hands shake as I grip the edge of the sink.
I'd surrendered everything to him. My independence. My carefully constructed life in New York. My sense of self-preservation. All because I'd convinced myself that what we had was love—intense, obsessive, all-consuming love.
But love doesn't plan torture sessions over dinner with family.
The bathroom door feels a million miles away. I need to get back to the living room, act normal, pretend I didn't hear anything. But my legs won't move.
What am I supposed to do with this knowledge? Pretend I didn't hear? Continue living in willful ignorance while Vane does—what? Kills people who cross them?
My reflection stares back at me, mascara-stained and hollow-eyed.
I splash more cold water on my face, erasing the evidence of my shock.
With shaking hands, I reapply my lipstick, blot away the mascara smudges, and force my breathing to slow.
One breath in. One breath out. The composed gallery owner stares back at me from the mirror, but her eyes hold a new resolve I've never seen before.
Who is this man I've given myself to? The boy I ran from fifteen years ago has become something I can barely comprehend.
As I step into the hallway, I can still hear their voices drifting from the dining room—casual discussions of violence as if planning a business merger. I quicken my pace, desperate to put distance between myself and those words.
I've been living in a fairy tale since returning to Ravenwood. The obsessive lover who waited fifteen years, who arranged my perfect job, my perfect apartment—all to bring me back to him. I'd found it romantic, thrilling even. But now I see the darker reality beneath that devotion.
What else don't I know about Vane Blackwood? About the empire he and his brothers have built?
By the time I reach the living room doorway, I've made my decision. I won't run this time—that never worked before. But I won't remain willfully blind either.
I'm going to discover exactly who Vane is. What he does. How far does his obsession truly extend? I'll use every resource at my disposal—my position at the gallery, my newfound friendships with these women, my access to his home, his life.
I paste on a smile as I rejoin the group, accepting another espresso martini from Mira with steady hands.
“Everything okay?” Bianca asks, studying my face.
“Perfect,” I lie, raising my glass. “Just thinking about how nice this is.”
But beneath my smile, the vow hardens like concrete in my chest. I'm going to uncover every secret Vane's kept from me, no matter what it costs.