Chapter 9 - Shadow Games

Raven felt it the moment she stepped into Eden that night. The air was off. It wasn’t the music, still pulsing, dark and magnetic. It wasn’t the crowd, still rich, drunk, and unaware they were standing on top of a wolf’s den.

It was something else. A disturbance in the current. Like someone had shifted the power in the room. Someone new.

“Brace yourself,” Talia muttered as she walked past Raven backstage, eyes flicking toward the bar. “The baby devil’s in town.”

Raven frowned. “Who?”

Talia didn’t answer, just pointe.

And then she saw him. He was leaning against the bar, drink in hand, smile lazy and dangerous. Blonde hair curled slightly at his collar, jaw sharp enough to wound, suit fitted like a second skin. Where Jaxon radiated ice and command, this man was all fire and charm.

Zane Morreau. The younger brother. The one who disappeared into luxury yachts and scandal, who resurfaced when it suited him, and never without consequences.

He looked like trouble dressed in silk and he was watching her.

Their first interaction came twenty minutes later.

Raven had slipped away from the dressing room, needing a moment alone. She ducked into the back corridor behind the VIP booths, lit only by red sconces and hushed voices.

“Running already?” a voice drawled behind her.

She turned.

Zane strolled toward her with the slow, deliberate grace of a predator who knew he didn’t need to chase.

“Didn’t peg you for the shy type,” he said.

“I’m not.”

“Then why are you hiding?”

“Maybe I’m avoiding you.”

His smile widened. “Now why would you want to do a thing like that?”

He stopped in front of her, hands in his pockets, eyes gleaming with something wicked.

“Because you’re dangerous,” she said.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He leaned in. “You have no idea.”

She didn’t back down. “You’re Jaxon’s brother.”

“I am.”

“You don’t act like him.”

“Thank God.” Zane chuckled. “One Morreau with a God complex is enough. I prefer chaos.”

His tone changed. Just slightly. Enough to draw a shiver up her spine.

“You’re the little plaything he’s been keeping upstairs,” he murmured. “Raye, right? Or is it Raven? I can never keep track of all the masks in this place.”

Her breath caught. He knew. But how much?

Zane stepped closer, his voice a whisper now. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to ruin the game. I like games. Especially when the prize is as pretty as you.” He reached out, just a fingertip, grazing her hip.

“Don’t touch me,” she said, sharper than she intended.

But Zane only grinned wider. “Touched a nerve, did I?”

“Back off.”

He did, but slowly. Reluctantly. “You know,” he said, glancing around, “big brother doesn’t usually keep things. He uses them. Then he discards them.”

Raven’s blood chilled.

“He hasn’t discarded you yet. Which means you’re special, or you’re dangerous.”

He winked. “Either way, I can’t wait to find out.”

Then he walked away, whistling softly, like he hadn’t just peeled her open with a smile.

She found Jaxon in his office an hour later, pacing and tense. Zane’s presence was clearly not a surprise to him, but it wasn’t welcome, either.

“You saw him,” Jaxon said when she entered, not looking up.

“I did.”

He stopped, turned, jaw clenched. “What did he say?”

“Nothing useful. Just flirted. Pushed boundaries.”

“That’s what he does.”

“I figured.”

Jaxon walked toward the window, staring out over the city. His silhouette was sharper tonight. Less polished. More volatile.

“He’s a wildcard,” he muttered. “Always has been.”

“I take it you two aren’t close.”

Jaxon laughed, bitter and humorless. “We were. Once. Before he started thinking he could rule the world with charm and cocaine.”

“Why is he here?”

“Because I built something he couldn’t and he wants a piece of it.”

“Or to tear it down.”

Jaxon’s gaze shifted. “Exactly.”

Raven crossed her arms. “So what do we do?”

Jaxon turned to her fully now, the edge of something unspoken in his eyes. “We keep him close. Watch him.”

“And me?”

“You,” he said, stepping forward, “do nothing. Don’t provoke him. Don’t play into his games. Zane doesn’t care who gets burned, as long as the fire’s entertaining.”

“He said you discard things.”

Jaxon’s expression darkened. “He’s wrong,” he said. “When I discard something, it’s because it no longer serves. But you..." He reached out, his thumb grazing the pulse at her throat. “You still have uses.”

Her skin prickled. “Like what?” she whispered.

His eyes didn’t flinch. “You keep me controlled.”

Raven exhaled slowly. “That’s not a safe job.”

“No,” Jaxon agreed. “But neither is being mine.”

The next day, Raven watched from the second-floor balcony as Zane worked the room.

He was good at it. Charming. Effortlessly social. Every server stopped for him. Every dancer flirted back. He tossed money like confetti and made it look noble.

But Raven saw what others didn’t. The moments between the laughs. The flashes of calculation.

The way his eyes slid over her like a scalpel.He was watching.Just like Jaxon. But where Jaxon wanted to own her, Zane wanted to unravel her.

It was a different kind of danger, like a mirror with a cracked reflection.

That evening, as she finished changing backstage, a slip of black silk fell from her locker.

It wasn’t hers. She picked it up. A note was stitched into the fabric: The truth is messy and someone always bleeds for it.

– Z

Raven clenched it in her fist, jaw tight. He was baiting her and she hated how much it worked.

That night, she wrote in her journal: Zane is chaos. Jaxon is control. And I’m caught between them like a fuse waiting to burn.

He knows about me. Knows more than he should.

If he tells Jaxon, it’s over. But if he doesn’t…

It’s because he wants to use me himself.

They’re both monsters, but only one of them asks permission before he bites.