Chapter 4 : The Aftermath

Raven Wolfe sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen without seeing it.

The numbers blurred. The spreadsheets blurred. The morning light streaming through the office windows blurred into a wash of gray and gold. She had been sitting here for hours, pretending to work, pretending to care about quarterly reports and client projections and the endless, mind numbing grind of corporate finance.

Her mind was elsewhere.

Her mind was on him.

She had not slept well. She had lain awake for hours, replaying their conversation, hearing his voice in the darkness. His gray eyes. His sharp jaw. The way he had said her name like he was tasting it, like he was trying to decide if it meant something.

Raven. He had said her name like it mattered.

She shook her head and forced herself to look at the spreadsheet. Columns of numbers. Rows of data. A report on investment performance that needed to be finalized by the end of the week. She read the same line seven times. Nothing registered. The numbers swam and blurred and refused to make sense.

This was ridiculous. She did not have time for distractions. She had a career to build, bills to pay, a future to secure. She could not afford to waste energy on a man she barely knew.

She did not even know his last name. She did not know what he did for a living. She did not know why the crowd had parted around him or why people whispered when he walked by. She had not asked. She had not wanted to seem curious, or desperate, or interested.

He was handsome. That was all. Handsome and mysterious and completely irrelevant to her life.

She closed the spreadsheet and opened another. The numbers blurred again. She closed that one too.

Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

She stared at it for a long moment before opening it.

I would like to see you again.

Her heart skipped. She did not need to ask who it was. She knew.

How did you get my number?

I have resources.

That is not an answer.

It is the only one you are getting.

She should say no. She should delete the message. She should block the number and forget she ever met him.

She typed, Why?

Because you did not know who I was. I found that refreshing.

She almost smiled. Almost.

I am busy, she typed.

Everyone is busy. Dinner. Tomorrow. 8 PM.

She stared at the screen for a long moment. The sun was setting outside her window, casting long shadows across her desk. The office was empty. Everyone else had gone home.

I do not even know your last name, she typed.

Fenris is enough for now.

That is not an answer.

It is the only one you are getting.

Send the address.

She set the phone down and leaned back in her chair. Her heart was pounding. Her hands were steady.

She was going to see him again.

She did not know if that was a good idea. She did not care.

Across the city, Fenris Vlad stood at the window of his office, staring at the skyline without seeing it.

The afternoon light reflected off the glass towers, turning the city into a maze of gold and shadow. He had been standing here for hours, pretending to think about work, pretending to care about the decisions that would shape his father's empire.

His mind was elsewhere.

His mind was on her.

He had not slept well. He had lain awake for hours, replaying their conversation, hearing her voice in the darkness. Her dark hair. Her sharp wit. The way she had looked at him like he was a stranger and not a threat, like she had no idea who he was, like she did not care.

Raven. She had introduced herself without hesitation, without calculation, without the careful deference that everyone else showed him.

She did not know who he was.

That should have been a relief. Instead, it was irritating. He was used to being recognized. He was used to being feared. He was used to the careful dance of people who wanted something from him.

She had wanted nothing. She had asked for nothing. She had simply talked to him, listened to him, looked at him like he was a person and not a transaction.

It was dangerous. She was dangerous.

He turned away from the window and walked to his desk. His father had been calling all morning, demanding updates on the search for the Wolfe heir. There were no updates. There were never any updates. The trail was cold. It had been cold for years.

He sat down and opened the first file. A list of names. None of them useful. A list of addresses. None of them current. A list of theories. None of them proven.

He had been searching for eight years. He had nothing to show for it.

His phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Her response.

Send the address.

He typed the address of a private restaurant, one his family owned, one where they would not be interrupted. Then he set the phone down and leaned back in his chair.

She had said yes.

He should be pleased. He was not. He was uneasy. He did not know why. She was just a woman. A stranger. A distraction.

He had work to do. His father was waiting for results. The Wolfe heir was still out there, somewhere, hidden in the shadows. A ghost. A rumor. No name. No face.

He closed the laptop and stared at the ceiling.

Raven left work an hour later. The sun had set, and the city was dark. The streets were crowded with people heading home, their faces lit by the glow of their phones. She walked with her hands in her pockets, her mind drifting.

She should not be doing this. She should cancel. She should focus on her job, her future, her life. She had worked too hard to let a distraction derail her.

But she could not stop thinking about his gray eyes. The way he had looked at her. The way he had said her name.

She pulled out her phone and looked at the address he had sent. A restaurant in the financial district. Private. Expensive. The kind of place she could never afford on her own.

She sent a message. What should I wear?

Something beautiful. Fenris replied.

She almost smiled again.

That is not helpful.

You do not need help. You were the most beautiful woman at the gala.

She stared at the screen. Her heart pounded. She typed again. You are a flirt.

I am honest.

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and walked faster.

Fenris stood in his office, alone in the dark.

The city glittered beyond the windows, a sea of lights and shadows. He had turned off the overhead lights hours ago, preferring the darkness. It was easier to think in the dark.

He thought about the Wolfe heir. A ghost. A rumor. No name. No face. His father had been obsessed with finding her for years. She was the only loose end, the only witness who could tie them to the fire.

But she was gone. Disappeared. Vanished into thin air.

He thought about Raven. Dark hair. Gray eyes. A sharp smile. She knew nothing about him. She did not know his name, his family, his reputation. She looked at him like he was a person.

He did not know if he wanted her to know the truth. He did not know if he wanted anyone to know the truth.

His phone buzzed. A message from his father.

Any news?

He typed back. Nothing.

Keep looking.

He set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.