Raven's Kiss

Diana’s POV“I can’t believe I’m just finding this out now!”I’m pacing in the living room—confused, pissed off, surprised, and, honestly, a little hurt. What is this, the 90's? Who still does arranged marriages? I can’t believe my parents right now. And what’s worse than finding out you’re getting married to a total stranger without your consent?Finding out three days before the wedding.“Diana, we didn’t want to tell you earlier because we wanted you to live normally, without counting down to when you’d have to marry someone you may not wa—”“Really, Dad? You’re going with that?”My eyes are dead. I stare at him, disappointed, then turn to Mom. “Mom?”“I’m sorry, honey.”Now I’m furious. “At least try to convince me or something! And stop avoiding eye contact like cowards.”I storm off to my room and slam the door hard enough to shake the frame, then throw myself onto the bed.I’m not even angry about the arranged marriage itself. It’s not like I’m in love or anything, and I barely

Diana’s POVI haven’t left my room since Roland stormed out yesterday. Even though Mom has knocked on my door about a million times, and Dad has sent Celine to try to coax me out, I haven’t moved from the bed or said a single word. And I’m sure they know the door isn’t locked—they could come in anytime. But they won’t. Cowards.I tried to sleep, but the horror of the wedding haunted every dream. So I kept my eyes open, staring at the empty ceiling while my mind spilled a thousand questions I know I’ll never get answers to. Like why marry off your son to anybody? What happens if I refuse? What’s my life supposed to look like with those cuffs on my finger?If I had known earlier, maybe it would’ve been easier. I would’ve lived more. I would’ve tried to understand the man I was being tied to—hell, maybe we could’ve even been friends. But now? Now I hate my parents for using me as payment for debts I didn’t owe. I hate his and my parents for creating this mess, his grandparents for thinki

Diana’s POVWe’ve been driving for thirty long minutes, wrapped in a silence so thick it feels intentional—like he’s using it to remind me who has the power here. I still remember the looks on the faces of his workers when he walked out of his house with me. Fear. Curiosity. Confusion. They stood straighter the moment they saw him, like his presence alone tightened invisible strings around their spines. And he didn’t say a single word to them. Just walked right through the middle like the world was obligated to part for him.Cold, arrogant bastard.The way they scattered, the way their eyes dropped—was that supposed to be my life now? Am I meant to shrink around him the way they do? Like some trembling little thing afraid to breathe too loud?No.He’s in for a very rude awakening if he thinks that’s going to be me.But the silence is starting to chew at my brain. Every second stretches, snaps, stretches again. So before I lose my mind, I say, “You’re strange.”He doesn’t even turn his

Diana's POV Once again, I step into his gigantic castle of a house. But this time, instead of the cold, dismissive treatment I got earlier, there are rows of maids and workers lined at the entrance—heads bowed, hands folded, posture stiff. I guess this is their “good behavior.” I don’t blame them though. If I had a boss like this cocky, stone-faced bastard, I’d probably walk on eggshells too.Two maids move toward the trunk to retrieve my luggage, but before they can even touch the bags, Roland lifts a hand. They freeze instantly, like someone pressed pause on their lives.“Attention,” his voice cuts through the air—sharp, uninterested, bored even. “I heard you treated this young lady harshly earlier today.”Oh great. Now I’m the villain. Their faces twist with fear, some of them swallowing hard, others staring at the ground like they’re waiting for a blow.He continues, “As you should. You all did a good job.”My jaw drops. What?He glances sideways at me with a slow, arrogant smirk

One word. Low. Deep. Almost bored.But it slides down my spine like ice water.I turn slowly. He still isn’t looking at me.Annoyance flares hot in my chest. Who does he think he is? Why does he talk like the world bends for him automatically?The servants are watching. Their eyes dart between us like a tennis match. I refuse to give them a show, so I swallow my pride and sit—not next to him. I go straight to the opposite side of the table, at the far end. I pull out the chair, annoyed that it doesn’t make a noise. Even the furniture is obedient here.I sit and stare at him.Two minutes.He doesn’t look up for two… whole… minutes.Then finally, with the grace of someone who knows he owns the silence, he lifts his eyes lazily to meet mine.“Is there something on my face, Diana?”“Oh, so you do speak?” I snap sarcastically.He doesn’t even blink. My irritation slides right off him like water on glass.Instead, he turns to the chef standing beside him. “Serve dinner.”The chef bows and s