The faint roar of an engine pierced the silence.
Her head snapped up.
A black vehicle pulled in slowly—
The gold lion crest on the hood glinted under the moonlight.
Her heart dropped.
She knew that car.
Daddy.
The door opened, and her father stepped out—Don Marcelo Latino. Impeccably dressed in black, tall, cruel, and terrifying even in silence.
He didn't say a word at first.
Just stared at her—his disappointment louder than a scream.
Then, slowly, he walked toward her.
"You embarrassed me," he began,calmly.
Raven swallowed hard. "Daddy—"
He raised a hand, and she froze.
"I watched you," he said coldly. "Every pathetic second. You think I didn't have cameras watching the only fucking heiress of the Latinos? My men saw everything—your towel, your giggling, your damn drink trick. What were you doing? Flirting? Dreaming?"
She looked down, tears burning her lashes.
"I gave you one job," he hissed, crouching to her level. "And you couldn't even seduce a drunk man?"
"Please—"
He slapped the dirt beside her and she flinched.
"Do you remember your sisters?" he asked. "Huh? Bianca? Liss? The ones who failed before you?"
She blinked, the memory slicing through her like a blade—blood on white tiles, her small body trembling behind the stairs, muffling her cries with her palm as her sisters' screams echoed.
She nodded slowly. "I remember…"
He leaned in, breath icy. "Then remember this—if you don't want to end up like them… you will give me a Luciano heir."
Raven shook with fear.
"This is your last chance, Raven. Don't waste it. Or next time, I won't just throw you in the dirt."
He stood tall again, turned, and left her sitting there—shaking, breathless, shattered.
The car drove off, leaving behind dust… and warning.
Raven stood up slowly, brushing dirt off her skin, lips trembling, but her eyes burning with fresh anger.
Her father's words still echoed in her ears—but right now, she needed someone to blame.
Someone like… that softie.
That damn softie.
She tightened the belt of her ripped silk robe, then turned and began walking barefoot along the side road, heels in hand.
Her legs ached, but she didn't stop—not even when a passing car splashed muddy water on her thigh. She was too pissed to care.
By the time she got back to the Luciano mansion, the ceremony had ended.
The lights had dimmed. Some guards were laughing by the gate. Music now slow and soft played from inside.
She didn't stop to greet anyone.
She stormed in like a ghost on fire.
Her eyes scanned the halls.
Where was he?
That soft-faced, weak excuse of a servant—
Her eyes locked on a familiar figure leaning against the balcony rail. The night wind played with his soft hair. He was alone, quiet, lost in thought.
Kyan.
Her jaw clenched.
She marched straight up and slammed her palm against his shoulder.
He turned, startled.
"You," she spat. "You useless little pretty boy. Can't even do one damn job right."
Kyan just stared at her, silent, tense.
"You were supposed to drop the damn drink. You had ONE job," she yelled, pushing at his chest. "But no, you just had to mess it all up—do you know what your mistake cost me?!"
He didn't answer.
"Are you dumb or just that soft? Because I swear—" she leaned in, fuming, "—I'll make sure you get fired. No, not fired—destroyed. You'll never serve a damn drink again in your life—"
Kyan's eyes darkened, but he still didn't speak.
Raven scoffed.
"Pathetic," she muttered, tossing her wet hair back. "I don't even know why I expected better."
And with that, she turned to leave, heels clicking on the marble, rage in every step.
Kyan stood still, fists clenched at his sides, heart thudding.
Kyan kicked a pebble on his way in, muttering under his breath, "I hate this damn place. Everybody blames me for everything."
His legs were tired. His head was spinning. And his heart? Exhausted.
He just wanted to curl up, bury himself under the sheets, and disappear for the night.
But the moment he opened the door to the shared room—
"SOFTIEEE!"
"Perfect timing!"
"Look who finally showed up!"
The room burst into chaotic cheers. Music played from someone's phone, snacks were scattered across the floor, and pillows were already being tossed around like they were five years old again.
"What the hell is going on…" Kyan blinked, confused.
Ace, lounging shirtless on the bed, grinned and threw a chip at him. "Truth and Dare night, softie ! And guess what? You're just in time."
Kyan sighed and dragged himself in, shutting the door with one last tired groan. "Kill me now."
"Don't be such a killjoy, softie," one of the boys teased. "We saved a spot just for you."
Kyan rolled his eyes but deep down… yeah, he kinda needed this.
Even if he was the punching bag of the house.
The circle got louder as the music dimmed a little. The bottle spun and landed right at Kyan.
Cheers erupted.
"Ouuuh, softie's up first!"
"Truth or dare?" Ace smirked from across the bed, licking chip dust off his fingers in a way that was way too extra.
Kyan groaned. "Truth."
"Ohhh, boring," someone muttered.
But Ace wasn't letting that slide. He got up slowly, walked over, and knelt behind Kyan—his breath warm against the back of his neck.
"Truth, huh?" Ace's voice dropped. Low. Deep. Dangerous.
Then, with one teasing hand, he brushed Kyan's soft hair aside and trailed his fingers gently along the side of his neck, just under his ear.
"Tell us, softie…"
His lips brushed the shell of Kyan's ear.
"Who gave you those hickeys?"
The room went dead silent.
Kyan's eyes shot up—wide, panicked. His heart skipped.
His lips parted but he couldn't speak.
Hickeys...?
His mind flashed—
The drunken kisses.
Those hot, lingering bites on his neck…
"Call me daddy."
"Strip for me, softie."
Kyan swallowed hard.
"The h-hickeys…" he stammered, voice barely a whisper.
"I— I don't—"