Chapter Four
Rachel stood on the balcony, frozen in the cold air that nipped at her skin. Her hand clutched the knife as she stared into the darkness where the figure had disappeared.
Clarissa's scream, sharp and haunting, echoed in her ears.
She forced herself to breathe. Focus. Clarissa was gone, and whoever—or whatever—was behind this still had business with her.
As Rachel stepped inside, she locked the balcony door and drew the curtains. She pushed herself against the wall, her legs trembling. She needed to escape, to think clearly.
But once she was back in the house, she found that things had changed. The mansion was eerily quiet except for the click of her shoes hitting the marble floor. She didn't anticipate that Ragnar would be lounging in her living room.
"Ragnar," she said, heart racing.
Her stepbrother, the outcast of the Craslow family, looked at her with disgust.
"Princess returns," he drawled, laying the sarcasm heavily on his voice. "I heard you were dead. Too bad. I was almost enjoying the quiet."
Raven smirked, masking the wariness inside. "And yet here you are, sitting in my home."
"Correction," Ragnar leaned back. "Our home."
—
Day turned into night, and Raven started to see Ragnar's presence as more than an annoyance. He was not simply a thorn in her flesh; he was a storm she could never expect.
Ragnar appeared to enjoy pushing her limits; however, his role in her life suggested he was somehow better connected to her history.
It was in the course of one of their confrontations that Raven unwittingly revealed to him the first evidence of a vulnerability.
"You think you can just come in here and take everything back like it's yours?" Ragnar growled, pinning her against the shadowy hallway.
Raven's breath hitched but didn't back down. Her defiance was unyielding. "You think you can intimidate me into submission? Here's a little newsflash, Ragnar—I've fought bigger monsters than you."
Something flickered in his eyes–anger, confusion and perhaps…recognition. However, before she could question it, he moved away into the darkness leaving her with a pounding heart and a racing mind.
—
The conference room was a melee. Reporters pushed each other to the tiny space available, cameras flashing, and the muffled sound of voices mixed together. Rachel stood at the podium in her navy power suit, Peter next to her.
"They're ready for you," Peter said, his voice tense.
Rachel's eyes roamed the room, expressionless. She stepped forward, breaths deepened, heels clicking to silence the crowd.
The moment she stepped up to the podium, everyone's attention was on her. She adjusted the microphone and paused long enough to command attention.
"Good morning," she began, her voice calm. "I'm here to straighten things out. I'm alive and thriving."
The room hung on her words, scribbling furiously.
"Yes, there were challenges, but they helped me to gain more strength. To all the doubters out there, consider this your wake-up call because I am unstoppable."
Whispers spread through the room.
Today, let's stay with priorities – the vision, the progress, and continue to do more.
She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. "I will always rise, and I will rise with integrity."
A reporter raised his hand. "Ms. Craslow, can you give us more details about the speculation—"
Rachel interrupted him. "This is not about rumors. This is about facts. I am here, and my team and I are moving ahead.
The room erupted with questions, but Rachel raised her hand. "I'll take questions soon, but understand this: Resilience is not a noun; it's a choice. I choose to stand here today no matter what.
She stepped back from the podium, Peter joining her.
"That," he murmured, "was exactly what they needed."
Rachel's lips curved into a smile. "Let's give them something to write about."
—
Raven reclined in her office, tracing the rim of a wine glass. Her keen eyes were on the financial reports of Lucas's failing empire, and a smile crossed her face as she noted his frantic actions.
The revenge was working out just as she had planned, but one small thought would not leave her: Where was her son?
She called her secretary, Trish. Trish came in with a tablet. "Is there any update from the investigator?"
Trish hesitated. "There's a development. A man claiming to have information on your son wants to meet tonight at The Velvet Ivy."
Raven's heart skipped, but she masked it. "Did he leave a name?"
"No. He said you'd know him when you saw him."
Intrigued, Raven agreed to the meeting
---
Later that evening, Raven walked into The Velvet Ivy, wearing a sleek black dress that accentuated power and mystery. Dim lights paired with jazz music played a smoky ambiance.
Her gaze flew across the room until it landed on a familiar face seated in an isolated booth. Vance.
Her confidence wavered for a second, but she hid it behind a crooked smile as she neared.
"So, you're the one playing games now?" she asked when she sat down on the chair in front of him.
Vance leaned back with a devilish smile. "You didn't think I was going to stay out of your little vendetta, did you? After all, we have history."
"I'm not here to discuss history, Vance," Raven said coolly. "What do you know about my son?"
Vance's expression darkened. "I know you're deeper than you think. Lucas and Alice didn't just take your child—they sold him."
The words were a dagger to Raven. She curled her fists beneath the table, digging her nails into her flesh, and asked, "Sold him?"
Vance leaned closer, his voice low. "Lucas owed some dangerous people money. Your son was collateral."
Raven's vision blurred with rage, but she forced herself to stay composed. "Do you know who has him?"
"Not yet," Vance admitted, his tone softening. "But I have a lead. That's why I called you here."
Before Raven could respond, the door to the private booth swung open, and Ragnar stepped in. His presence was magnetic, his intense gaze locking onto Raven.
"I had a feeling you'd be here," he said, his voice calm but laced with warning. "And with him, no less."
"Ragnar," Raven began, but he cut her off.
"Save it." Ragnar turned to Vance, his jaw tight. "Whatever you're plotting, leave her out of it."
Vance chuckled, clearly enjoying the tension. "Always the protective stepbrother. Or is it something more now?"
Raven stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. "Enough. If you have a lead, Vance, send it to me. Ragnar, stop acting like my keeper. I can handle myself."
Ignoring their reactions, she stormed out of the booth, her heels clicking against the polished floor.
---
Returning to the Craslow estate, Raven found Ragnar waiting in the grand hallway. The man had clearly loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt as he presented a more rugged, dangerous appearance.
"Why were you with him?" he questioned, low in pitch but seething with rage.
"Because he had information I needed," she replied, matching his intensity. "You're not in charge of me, Ragnar."
As he stepped closer, his eyes bore into hers with anger and something she couldn't quite put her finger on. "Are you even aware of what you are about to face?"
Raven's lips curled into a smirk. "I've survived worse than this, Ragnar."
Their closeness was charged with excitement, the tension between them indisputable. For a moment, they were silent, breath intermingling. Then Ragnar's hand shot out, gripping her chin respectfully.
"You're playing a dangerous game, Raven," he murmured as his voice almost became a whisper.
"So are you," she responded, her voice in the same steady tone even though her heart was beating fast.
He released her suddenly; his face was unreadable. "Don't trust Vance," he said, then walked away, his boots thudding through the hollow corridor.
---
Determined to take charge, Raven pushed harder to find her son. She uncovered a link between Lucas's debts and an underground child trafficking operation. The finding strengthened her resolve.
She planned to meet with Lucas by pretending that it was for a job. The place where the two were supposed to meet was in a high profile hotel which also ensured media presence.
Lucas's arrival was accompanied by a smug attitude that boiled her blood.
"Raven," he said, as if pouring on the false charm.
Raven smiled tightly. "Possible partnership," she said, offering him a seat with a gesture.
As they discussed the fabricated deal, Raven expertly steered the conversation toward his debts. Lucas grew defensive.
"You've always been too curious," he snarled.
"And you've always been a liar," she retorted. "But I know what you did with my son. I'll make you pay."
Lucas faltered for a split second before regaining his composure. "You're treading on thin ice."
"Maybe," she leaned in, "but when it cracks, you'll be the one drowning."
---
Then Raven stepped into her study but halted abruptly when she noticed a white envelope on the desk, adorned with the Craslow family crest.
She opened the package slowly. Inside was a printed photo- a child with peculiar blue eyes (who seem to know you), very much like her own.
A note accompanied it:
"He's alive, but for how long he stays that way depends on you."
Raven's blood turned cold. She held onto the photograph, building tears as the weight of the threat sunk in.
Wait! It's not Rachel's child but Raven's?
Was Raven pregnant prior to her death?