My name is Raven Vale, and at nineteen years old, I had already become a ghost in my own life.Mom died three weeks ago in a car accident that left nothing but twisted metal and silence. The funeral was a blur of black dresses and empty condolences. Now, I stood in the massive foyer of Blackwood Manor, wearing the same tight black dress I’d worn to bury her. It clung to my curves like a second skin, the fabric slightly damp from nervous sweat.I had nowhere else to go.No grandparents. No close relatives who wanted the burden of a grieving, penniless teenager. Just him.Elias Blackwood.My stepfather.He was standing at the top of the grand staircase like a king surveying his domain — tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome at forty-two. Sharp jawline, piercing steel-gray eyes, and silver threading through his dark hair that only made him look more powerful. He wore a tailored black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing thick, veined forearms. The kind of man who commande
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