Ravenna Lane had always known her family loved their image more than they loved her, but she hadn't expected them to choose shame over blood and be so direct about it.
"You've humiliated us," her father spat, his voice sharp, piercing through her eardrums "Do you even understand what you've done"
Ravenna stood frozen in the grand marble-floored foyer of the Lane estate. Her hands trembled at her sides, clutching the straps of her worn leather bag. Her hair was still damp from the rain, and mascara stained the skin beneath her eyes.
"I didn't do anything wrong," she said, voice shaking. "He drugged my drink—I didn't even know he was taking photos—"
Her mother crossed her arms, tight and cold as stone. "That's not the point, Ravenna. You let yourself be put in that position. Your judgment is a reflection of this family."
Her brother, Julian, leaned against the wall silently, arms folded, his eyes distant. Not even a glance in her direction.
"You were seen leaving the party in that dress," her father continued, pacing like a lawyer giving closing arguments. "You think anyone cares about your side of the story? You've turned us into a scandal overnight."
Ravenna blinked back fresh tears. "So you believe them instead of me."
"I believe the photographs," her mother said. "And the headlines. 'Lane Heiress Caught in Hotel Scandal with Politician's Son.' What are we supposed to do with that?"
"Protect me," Ravenna whispered, the tears finally dropping–slowly
"Protect you?" Her father laughed bitterly. "You are no longer our responsibility."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"What…?" she whispered, a breath caught in her throat.
"You'll pack your things and leave. Today." He pointed toward the door, as if the world beyond it would magically erase her from their legacy. "Your trust fund is frozen. Your card has been deactivated. Do not come back." Mr Lane said finally while stomping his way up the marble staircase.
Ravenna stared at her family, surely she was expecting some sort of scolding, but she never knew they'd disown her. It was shocking—her mother's narrowed eyes, her father's disgust, Julian's silence. There was no warmth. No trace of love. Just walls and legacy and shame.
So she walked away silently.
Not because she had a plan.
But because it was clear they had already let her go.
---
The city felt a lot colder than she remembered.
She spent the night on a friend's couch. Janet was more of a party acquaintance than a true friend. She didn't bother asking questions, only tossed her a blanket and then reminded her, "You can only stay two nights. My boyfriend doesn't like guests."
The next morning, Ravenna woke up, she opened her eyes to see a new environment, just then the horrible memory of the past night came rushing, she wept bitterly, staying curled up in her bed throughout the whole day and thn evening came.
Ravenna picked up her brown worn out leather bag and wandered round the city distraught.
No money. No home. No future.
She wore a hoodie over her dress, boots half-zipped, the world around her felt grey and indifferent. She passed cafes, high-end boutiques, the familiar glittering life she'd once belonged to—and kept walking until the streets turned unfamiliar and the buildings turned to shadows.
The sky broke open and rain poured from the heavens like punishment.
She didn't even have an umbrella.
She ducked under a rusted awning in a narrow alleyway, waiting for the storm to soften. That's when she heard it.
Voices. Harsh, male, angry.
Then—
A single, deafening gunshot.
Ravenna's breath caught. She backed into the shadows, trying her best to sneak a peak of the scene but be invisible, her heart pounding so violently she thought it might give her away. Peering just around the edge of a dumpster, she saw them.
Three men stood over a fourth who was now on the ground, lifeless.
The tallest one—dressed in a black trench coat, broad shoulders, head bowed—tossed the gun to one of the others, then knelt to pick something from the dead man's pocket. His movements were calm, methodical.
He turned.
Ravenna's heart stopped.
Even from a distance, she could see his face clearly. The sharp jaw. The slicked-back dark hair. The cruel grace in his features. There was a scar beneath one eye—small, pale—but it only made him more dangerous-looking.
He looked like a painting. Beautiful, cold, and haunting.
And then he saw her.
For a heartbeat, they stared at each other. She felt her breath leave her body as if his gaze alone had stolen it.
And then—
"Shit—someone's there!" one of the men shouted.
Ravenna ran as fast as her legs could carry her.
Her boots slipped on the wet pavement. Her lungs burned. She turned corner after corner in blind panic, splashing through puddles, ignoring the pain in her legs and the panic in her chest. Behind her, footsteps. Voices.
She was going to die.
She could feel it in her bones.
---
She didn't even hear the car that pulled up beside her until the door slammed open and someone grabbed her by the arm.
"No—please—!" she screamed, kicking, fighting, but she was pulled inside.
The door slammed shut and then sped away.
She was pinned against the seat by a hand so strong she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The lights from the city blurred through the rain-covered window. She was terrified.
Her captor didn't speak at first.
Then, from the shadows, with a voice like silk and smoke he said:
"You should've kept walking."