Morning sunlight crawled lazily across the skyline, filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of a penthouse most people would mistake for a model home. Polished white marble, untouched coffee table books, muted gray furnishings—everything chosen with deliberate restraint. To the world, Raven Marchesi was minimal, clean, and unbothered by excess. To himself, it was camouflage.
He stood in front of the mirror, buttoning the cuffs of his crisp shirt with hands that didn't quite feel steady. The reflection staring back at him wore the face people expected to see—calm, soft-spoken, gentle around the edges. Harmless. Forgettable in groups and comforting in one-on-one conversations. The kind of man who never raised his voice and always listened more than he spoke.
Which made last night feel unreal.
The ghost of Thanin's touch lingered in his muscles, a silent bruise that no one else could see. His throat tightened with the memory—being held in place, breath knocked out of him, the unspoken command in that deep voice. His body remembered more than his mind allowed. Desire curled low in his stomach, and he hated how easily it stirred again.
He fastened the last button and straightened his collar, expression smoothing back into polite neutrality. No one needed to know. Not his employees. Not the board. Not even Ice.
Especially not Ice.
The lock on his penthouse door beeped as he left, and the elevator swallowed him into silence. Raven tapped his phone screen and skimmed the morning numbers—stock projections climbing, three deals closing by noon, investors lining up for his attention. CEO at twenty-something, the media loved calling him a prodigy.
If only they knew he'd rather be on his knees than on a boardroom throne.
He arrived in the lobby of Marchesi Global and was greeted by a chorus of "Good morning, sir." Raven nodded back with his usual shy half-smile, the one people described as warm and safe. He walked toward his private elevator, back straight, posture controlled.
He was perfect here. Untouchable in the most non-threatening way possible.
Meanwhile, across the city, Ice Jarurote stepped out of her black car with all the softness of a drawn blade.
The courthouse plaza was already busy, but people made space for her without realizing they did. Her heels clicked against polished stone, each step measured, each glance she gave a threat in disguise. A tailored suit hugged her frame—midnight black, sharp at the shoulders, buttoned with precision. Her hair was pulled back, exposing the elegant severity of her jawline. Her face gave nothing away.
It never did.
Security guards straightened the moment she passed. Lawyers lowered their eyes. One overly confident attorney opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it when she glanced at him. Ice didn't need to raise her voice to dominate a room. Her silence did that for her.
Inside the courtroom, she flipped through a file with surgical calm. The defendant—a man twice her size with gang tattoos across his neck—stood accused of laundering money for a rival group. He wouldn't dare look at her. Everyone knew who she represented.
She defended criminals with the precision of someone who didn't fear death—because she was related to it.
Her fathers, the infamous Sochai and Keerin Jarurote, ruled their corner of the Mafia world like royalty. Two men drenched in blood and power, who built their empire on fear and discipline. Their daughter? She'd been molded to be their successor in everything but title.
By twenty-four, she was the youngest legal strategist in the underworld. By twenty-five, she was rewriting their laws.
The judge spoke. Ice rose. Her voice was low and controlled as she sliced through the prosecutor's case. Every word was a calculated strike. In less than fifteen minutes, she shattered the testimony, discredited two witnesses, and forced a recess.
Her client wouldn't just walk free—they'd owe her a debt.
When court adjourned, she turned without acknowledging the whispers. People assumed her confidence was born from arrogance. None of them saw the fear hidden behind her ribs. Fear of failing her fathers. Fear of wanting too much. Fear of what she might become if she ever let someone close enough to break through.
Her phone buzzed once. Only one person messaged her without hesitation.
Raven: Lunch later? My office or yours?
Her reply came fast.
Ice: Yours. Less noise. I hate people.
Anyone else would think she was joking. Raven knew she wasn't.
Back at Marchesi Global, Raven ended a conference call and loosened his tie the moment the door shut behind the last board member. His assistant knocked to remind him of his lunch block, but he waved her away. He didn't need prep time with Ice. She wasn't a client, or a lover, or a woman who needed impressions made.
She was something else entirely.
He poured himself a glass of water, staring briefly at his reflection in the office window. He looked calm. Polished. Exactly as the world expected.
He wondered if Thanin would've torn that calm away again if they'd stayed longer.
A knock. No one else walked in without permission.
"I didn't think judges could bleed that fast before noon," Raven said, not looking up yet.
Ice closed the office door behind her and walked in like she owned the building. "He didn't bleed. He surrendered."
Raven smiled faintly. "Your version of surrender sounds painful."
She took the seat across from him without removing her coat. "Pain is a good teacher."
He met her eyes. "You sound like your father."
"Which one?" she asked dryly.
Raven didn't answer. She never specified, and he never asked.
For a moment, silence hovered between them—not awkward, just heavy with things neither said out loud. They'd been friends for years. Real friends, not transactional ones born of mutual benefit. Maybe it was because they both pretended so well in public, the truth between them felt like a truce.
"You look tired," Ice said finally, studying him with surgical accuracy. "Not your usual kind. Your…other kind."
Raven's fingers curled slightly against his glass. "Long night."
"With who?"
He didn't respond quickly enough. Her eyes narrowed.
"A man," she said, not guessing—deducing.
Raven exhaled. "You don't want details."
"I don't need them." Her tone was flat. "Did he hurt you?"
He hesitated. Then: "No."
"But you wanted him to."
A muscle in Raven's jaw twitched. She wasn't wrong.
Ice leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with rigid elegance. "Be careful. Men who know how to break you are harder to control."
"Spoken like someone who's broken people before."
She didn't deny it.
A knock interrupted their stare. Raven's assistant peeked in nervously. "Sir? Your caterer is here for the lunch you requested."
Raven glanced at Ice. "Still hate people?"
"I tolerate your employees more than mine. Keep them quiet."
Lunch arrived—simple, elegant dishes neither of them touched immediately. Raven finally asked, "Your courtroom?"
"Handled," Ice said. "He'll owe the family."
Raven nodded slowly. "Does your father know?"
"No." A pause. "But Dante does."
Raven looked up. "Dante Ramasoon?"
"He was at the meeting this morning," she said. "We finalized new rules. He agreed to enforce them."
Raven forced his pulse to stay steady. Dante and Thanin were always in the same orbit, even if Ice didn't know how close Raven had already wandered.
Ice studied him again with sharp, silent suspicion. She could read people the way surgeons read X-rays. She didn't see everything. But she always saw enough.
"You're quieter today," she said. "More than usual."
"Just thinking."
"About the man from last night."
Raven said nothing. Ice didn't push further. She was ruthless with the world, not with him.
Minutes passed, and she changed the subject. "I have a private meeting tonight. You'll cover for me if my father calls?"
"Of course."
In return, she would cover for him without question. They didn't lie to each other—they just protected what the other chose not to say.
Raven finally picked at his food. "Do you ever…feel like you're playing a role so long you forget what the original version of you looked like?"
Ice stared at him for a long time. Her eyes didn't soften, but something behind them shifted. "I don't forget. I erase."
"And that helps?"
"It keeps me alive."
Raven looked down. "Maybe I don't want to be alive that way."
Ice didn't respond immediately. When she spoke, her voice held the weight of a truth she'd never admit outside this room. "You don't have the luxury of being weak."
"And you don't have the luxury of wanting anything."
Their eyes met again. Not as a lawyer and CEO. Not as predator and prey. As two people built from glass and barbed wire, terrified that one wrong desire could shatter them from the inside.
Her phone buzzed again. She checked it, then rose to leave. "I have to go."
Raven nodded. "Be safe."
She paused at the door. "You too." Then, more quietly, "Don't let him break you before I meet him."
Raven froze. "Who—"
Ice didn't answer. She left as silently as she'd entered.
Raven leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. The world outside his office would never connect the dots between them—between the gentle CEO and the Mafia's coldest lawyer. They weren't supposed to fit. But fate didn't care about rules.
He straightened his tie again, breathing through the echo of Thanin's grip on his wrists. Desire was dangerous. Craving someone who could destroy you was worse.
And somewhere across the city, Ice stepped into a black car where two Mafia enforcers waited to escort her to a meeting she hadn't told Raven about.
She hid her fear. He hid his hunger.
The world saw masks.
Only fate saw the truth.
And fate was already moving.