Raven's Point of View
The water finally shut off with a sad hiss, like it was tired of pretending it worked.
I stood there for a second, letting the steam cling to my skin even as the cold crept back in. The heat was broken—again. It always was. But the shower had been hot, scorching even, and I stayed under it longer than I should have. Hot water was the only place my body ever really relaxed.
Even when it burned.
Especially when it burned.
Steam followed me out of the bathroom in thick, curling waves, clinging to my skin like it didn't want to let go. I tugged the towel tighter around myself as the cold air of the apartment hit me full force, sharp and unforgiving.
I shivered.
God, I wanted to crawl back into bed. Sleep. Disappear for a few hours. Pretend my life wasn't what it was right now.
But you couldn't sleep when your boss was Dominic Derveaux.
I walked into our shared bedroom, bare feet padding softly over the floor, and shut the door behind me. The room was dim, quiet, familiar in that worn, tired way. I dried myself quickly, dragging the towel over my arms, my legs, my stomach, trying to chase away the cold before it settled too deep.
Goosebumps were already back.
I crossed to the dresser and knelt, pulling open the bottom left drawer. The wood groaned in protest, the sound as familiar as the crack in the ceiling above our bed. Inside were my bras and panties, folded neat out of habit more than care.
I reached in, grabbed the first set my fingers brushed, and let out a slow breath.
I turned and took the two steps to the closet—which was more of a suggestion than an actual closet—and sighed.
Clothes everywhere.
Shoes piled like they'd been kicked off mid-crisis.
Most of it Jamie's and Lila's.
"Slobs," I muttered, nudging a heel out of the way with my foot.
I skimmed through the mess, fingers brushing fabric until I found my black skirt—the thrifted one. Short. Too short. And of course it snowed last night.
I glanced at the dress pants hanging crooked on the rack, then immediately looked away.
Dirty.
From last night.
From almost—
No.
I sucked in a breath and didn't let the thought finish. I didn't give it a name. I didn't give it power.
The skirt clung to me when I pulled it on, hugging my hips in that way I liked even when I pretended I didn't care. I grabbed a white blouse—Lila's, obviously—and tugged it over my head, smoothing it down.
I bent to pull on my chunky winter boots—the cheap ones I wore every year. Scuffed, worn thin, barely holding themselves together.
"I really need new ones," I muttered.
That's when the door opened.
Lila walked in first, immediately plopping down on our bed, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. Jamie followed, leaning against the doorway with a piece of toast in his hand, staring at me like I'd grown a second head.
"So..." he said slowly, chewing. "How does it feel?"
I frowned, tugging my boot tight. "How does what feel?"
I reached up slowly, my fingers finding the silk scarf still wrapped around my head from last night. I slid the knot loose.
The scarf slipped free, and I let it fall onto the bed. My blonde hair was still parted down the middle into the two braids. They hung over my shoulders, slightly messy now, little pieces already escaping.
I reached up and pulled at the elastic on the first braid. My hair loosened instantly, the strands unraveling and falling free over my shoulder in soft, uneven waves. Then I did the same to the other side, tugging the elastic free and letting the braid fall apart beneath my fingers.
I grabbed the brush from the dresser and started working it through my wavy blonde hair.
Each stroke pulled the waves looser, smoother, blending the braid marks into something softer. The ends curled slightly, natural bends forming where the braids had held them overnight. My hair looked fuller now. Thicker. Slightly curled at the ends, falling down my back and over my shoulders like it belonged there.
Jamie smirked. "To have a man with a voice like that personally call you at night," he said casually, "all sweaty and breathing heavy?"
Lila's head snapped up. "OH MY GOD," she gasped. "I still wanna know—was he shirtless?"
I groaned and hurled the hairbrush at Jamie.
"I don't know!"
Jamie dodged it like he'd been training for this moment his whole life. "But imagine if he was," he continued, eyes lighting up. "Like—big tattooed arms, flexing, lifting weights, shirtless, sweaty, muscles all—"
"STOP," I snapped, clapping my hands over my ears.
Lila sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "And the way he said your name, Raven," she murmured. "Like... oh my God."
Jamie nodded way too seriously. "I felt that shit in my soul. My knees buckled and I wasn't even the one he was talking to."
I spun to glare at them. "I just met him three days ago!"
Jamie shrugged. "And? That's more than enough time for me to confirm that man is dangerous in the best way possible."
Lila smirked. "I bet he smells good too."
"Oh my God," I groaned, face burning. "Can y'all stop?"
They didn't.
"Jamie," I added sharply, grabbing my coat, "drop me off at Red Lantern Cab Stand."
Jamie grinned. "Yes, ma'am."
And just like that, my heart sank.
I glanced back at the closet.
Ugh.
Nothing in there was meant for snow. Thin jackets. Worn sweaters. Cheap fabric that lets the cold bite straight through. I sighed, rubbing my arms, already feeling the chill even inside the apartment.
Then my eyes lifted.
The jacket was still there.
Hanging on the closet door like it belonged there.
Like it had always been waiting.
My breath caught.
I told myself not to.
I told myself it was stupid.
I told myself he was married.
My body didn't listen.
I reached for it.
The second my fingers closed around the fabric, my hands started to shake. The jacket was heavier than it looked—solid, grounding—and when I pulled it closer, that scent hit me.
Him.
Clean. Expensive. Something dark underneath it that made my stomach twist.
"Fuck," I whispered under my breath.
I slid one arm in. Then the other.
The weight settled over my shoulders like it knew exactly where to sit. The sleeves were a little too long, the hem falling past my hips, swallowing me whole.
Safe.
Too safe.
I looked down. It covered my skirt completely.
Good.
I exhaled slowly, fingers curling into the fabric at my sides, my chest tightening for reasons I didn't want to examine.
When I turned around—
Jamie and Lila were staring.
Like they'd just watched me make the worst decision of my life in real time.
Jamie slowly shook his head. "Oh, Raven..."
I lifted my chin. "What?"
"That jacket," he said, voice flat. "Is a problem."
"I'm cold," I shot back.
Lila tilted her head, eyes narrowed, studying me. "You look... different."
I scoffed. "Because I'm wearing a jacket?"
"No," she said slowly. "Because you look like you don't want to take it off."
My fingers tightened.
Jamie crossed his arms. "You know that's his, right?"
"I know," I said too fast.
"And you still put it on."
"I said I'm cold."
Silence.
Heavy. Thick.
Jamie sighed. "You're playing with fire."
I swallowed. "I'm not playing."
Lila's voice softened. "Then what are you doing?"
I didn't answer.
Because the truth sat heavy in my chest.
Because part of me wanted to be burned.
Because part of me wanted to step closer—just to see how far his world went.
Because wearing this felt like crossing a line I couldn't uncross.
I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.
"Jamie," I said without turning around. "Are you dropping me off or not?"
He hesitated.
Then grabbed his keys.
As we stepped into the cold, snow already dusting the steps, I pulled the jacket tighter around me.
And hated myself for how much I loved the way it held me.
The drive to Red Lantern Cab Stand was quiet.
Not uncomfortable—but not easy either.
Jamie kept both hands on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the road a little too often. The heater stayed off, the car humming through the snow.
I knew what he wanted to say.
Be careful.
Don't get pulled in.
Don't let him own you.
But I wasn't stupid.
I wasn't throwing myself at anyone. I wasn't chasing him. I was going to work. That was it. A job. A paycheck.
Nothing more.
"I'm fine," I said finally, fingers curled into the seatbelt. "I know what I'm doing."
Jamie glanced at me, then back at the road. "I know. I just—" He sighed. "Be careful."
I nodded. "I am."
And I meant it.
I shut the door and flagged down a cab.
★ ⋆｡°✩ ★
By the time I stepped out in front of Derveaux Corps, snow had already swallowed the sidewalk whole.
My chunky boots crunched against the white as I walked, the sound sharp in the morning quiet. I rubbed my hands together for warmth, breath fogging in front of my face, shoulders hunching as the cold bit through the air.
The jacket held.
Wrapped around me like it was built for this weather. For me.
It was too warm.
Too heavy.
Too much.
I opened the heavy door and heat wrapped around me instantly.
I stepped into the lobby and felt it—eyes. Not just passing glances. Stares.
I kept my head up and walked straight toward the desk.
Sarah looked up.
She didn't smile.
I shifted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and nodded once. "Good morning, Sarah."
"Morning," she replied.
Her gaze moved over me slowly—boots, skirt, blouse—then stopped.
On the jacket.
Her eyes narrowed just a fraction. Not shock. Recognition trying to form.
I felt my throat tighten.
She leaned back in her chair slightly, still staring. "That's... a nice jacket."
The way she said it made my stomach dip.
"Thanks," I said quietly.
Her eyes flicked to my face, then back to the fabric, like she was replaying a memory. "I've seen that somewhere," she murmured. "Not sure where."
The pause stretched.
My pulse kicked harder.
She didn't ask questions. Didn't accuse. Just watched—head tilted, lips pressed together—as if something didn't add up.
I didn't wait.
I turned and walked toward the elevators, every step suddenly louder than it should've been. The jacket felt heavier now—like it was announcing me before I ever spoke.
I pressed the button.
While I waited, I could still feel her eyes on my back.
Watching.
Remembering.
The elevator doors opened and I entered and pressed 30.
The elevator hummed softly as it climbed, the doors sealing me off from the noise below. By the time they slid open again, my shoulders were already tight.
The thirtieth floor was awake—heels clicking, low voices, polished movement. People in suits passed me like I belonged there.
I was just about to walk down the hall to my desk when my phone buzzed inside the jacket pocket.
I froze.
Pulled it out.
Mr. Derveaux: Need you in my office now.
No greeting. No explanation.
Just an order.
My stomach flipped. The way he said it—short, direct—was so him it almost made my fingers curl around the phone.
His office door loomed ahead from where I'm standing. I pushed it open.
The door shut softly behind me.
The first thing I noticed wasn't him.
It was the cold.
Not winter cold—controlled cold. The kind meant to keep people sharp. Off-balance. Obedient.
Then I looked up.
Dominic stood behind his desk.
Sleeves rolled down today. White button up shirt fitted close, pulling across his chest, outlining arms that looked carved from stone. Everything about him screamed control.
Then his eyes landed on me.
And went dark.
Not slow.
Not subtle.
Instant.
His gaze dropped—taking me in, piece by piece—then stopped at the jacket.
His jacket.
His jaw tightened. Something unreadable flickered across his face before settling into something heavier. Possessive. Dangerous.
He didn't say a word.
The silence stretched, thick enough to choke on.
I shifted under his stare, fingers curling into the heavy fabric like it might anchor me. "Um... what did you need me for?"
A low sound left him—not quite a laugh. More like a hum, deep in his chest.
"You tell me."
My brows furrowed. "I don't—"
"I called you last night."
My breath caught.
My grip tightened on the notepad in my hand. "Y-Yeah?"
He moved then—slow, deliberate—stepping out from behind his desk. Each step felt measured, like he was counting them.
"And now," he said calmly, "you're standing in my office wearing that."
Heat crept up my neck. "It's cold."
His gaze flicked to my face.
Then back to the jacket.
The silence stretched. Thick. Pressing.
"You wore it through the lobby," he said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," I answered, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.
Something dark passed through his eyes.
A muscle in his jaw jumped once.
For a moment, I thought he might tell me to take it off.
Instead, he stepped closer.
Not close enough to touch—but close enough that I could feel him. The warmth of his body. The faint trace of cologne beneath something sharper. Dangerous.
"Everyone saw it," he said quietly.
My chest tightened. "I didn't think it mattered."
His gaze snapped up to mine.
It did matter.
I could see it in the way his posture shifted, the way his hands curled slowly at his sides like he was restraining something.
"You don't wear things like that unless you understand what they say," he murmured.
My pulse hammered. "It's just a jacket."
His lips pressed into a thin line.
"No," he said softly. "It isn't."
Another beat of silence.
Then his hand lifted—just enough.
His fingers brushed under my chin, light as a breath. So brief I almost doubted it happened.
But my body didn't.
My stomach flipped. Heat bloomed along my skin. I stayed perfectly still, afraid that if I moved, something irreversible would happen.
He studied me for one long second.
Then he stepped back.
The space between us returned—but the tension didn't.
"I have a meeting in an hour," he said, his voice smooth again. Controlled. "You'll be there."
I swallowed hard. "O-Okay."
I turned toward the door, desperate to breathe.
"Raven."
His voice stopped me cold.
I turned back.
His eyes were steady now. Unreadable.
"Next time," he said quietly, "understand what you're wearing before you step into my building."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I nodded once, unsure if my voice would work.
When I stepped out of his office, my hands were shaking.
Not from the cold.
From the realization that the jacket hadn't just kept me warm.
It had marked me.
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