The moment those lecherous hands reached for her chest, Raven Sullivan hit her limit. She grabbed a wine bottle from the table and brought it down hard on the creep’s skull.

CRACK.

Jerry Armstrong stumbled back, his hand coming away slick with blood.

"Raven!" he roared, face purpling with rage. "Are you out of your mind?"

He drew back his hand to slap her, but Raven caught his wrist, her face a mask of cold indifference. She twisted, a sickening snap of cartilage echoing through the room. As he howled in agony, she leaned in close.

"I am out of my mind," she whispered. "And I’m done with this job."

She shoved him aside, the door swinging shut behind her as she walked out. She went home and slept for nearly twenty-four hours.

When she woke, the afternoon sun was bleeding through her blinds. Her phone was a graveyard of missed calls—coworkers, HR, and Kingston Stone. She skipped over Kingston’s name, dialing the office instead.

"Manager Miller," Raven said, her voice raspy from disuse. "How do I process my resignation?"

There was a long silence on the other end. "Resignation? Raven, what are you talking about? I was calling to ask why you didn't show up for your shift today."

Raven blinked, confused. Jerry wasn't the type to let an insult slide. How could he not have fired her?

"Is... is Jerry in today?" she tested.

Manager Miller lowered her voice. "Haven't you heard? Jerry’s out. Corporate sent a memo late last night. He’s been terminated effective immediately."

Raven felt a jolt of ice in her chest. To silence everyone in that VIP suite and axe a store manager overnight—there was only one person in this city with that kind of reach.

She hesitated, then tapped out a text to Kingston: [Thank you.]

He replied instantly: [For what?]

She weighed the words carefully: [For taking care of Jerry.]

The phone rang immediately. She picked up, but it wasn't Kingston’s voice that filled her ear. It was Alison Hayes, shrill and dripping with venom.

"Raven, do you have no shame? Kingston has made it clear he’s done with you. Why are you still clinging to him like a leech?"

Raven went quiet for a moment, then replied calmly, "I’m not clinging to him. He did me a favor, and I was expressing my gratitude."

There was a stunned silence on the other end.

Finally, Alison hissed, "Drop the act, Raven. You’re just a gold-digger who can’t let go of a rich husband. I won’t let you have your way."

Raven brushed it off at first. But when she walked into the mall the next day, the atmosphere felt jagged, thick with sideways glances and whispered insults. She assumed word of the incident with Jerry had leaked.

Until Manager Miller pulled her into the office, her face ashen, and turned the laptop screen toward her.

An explicit photo stared back. The woman in the frame, identifiable by the distinct tear-shaped mole beneath her eye, was undeniably her.

"Raven," Miller began, her voice trembling. "Is this… you?"

The world turned to ice. It was from six months ago—a night Kingston had forced himself on her in the back of his car. The paparazzi had caught it, and Kingston had bought the photos for a fortune. He’d kept them in his private folder. When she’d begged him to delete them, he’d smiled and said, "Raven, if you ever dare to leave me, I’ll make sure everyone sees exactly what you are."

He had a new girl now; he wouldn't care if she left. He wouldn't leak them.

But Alison—who had full access to his phone and his messages—she was the only one capable of this.

Manager Miller sighed, looking at Raven’s hollow expression. "The photos were mass-emailed to the staff. It’s all over the office. We’re putting you on forced leave. Go home and wait for further notice."

Raven knew what that meant. Her reputation was gutted. She couldn't stay in the City anymore.

It was just as well. The Gilded Masquerade was next week. Once the mission was done, she’d request a transfer. She was never coming back.

***

At the end of the month, Kingston tossed a bar address at her. "The money and the invitation are there. Come get them yourself."

An hour later, Raven pushed open the door to the VIP lounge. The air reeked of cheap cologne and condescension.

"Well, if it isn't the beautiful Raven," a voice sneered. "Can't let go of Kingston, huh?"

"He’s done with you, but I’m not. Fifty grand for the night—you in?"

Raven ignored them, locking eyes with Kingston. He was sprawled on the leather sofa, tie undone, eyes glassy with intoxication. She couldn't stand the leering eyes of the men around him for another second. She leaned over, digging into his coat pocket.

She found the envelope. She was about to turn when Kingston’s hand snaked out, grabbing her wrist. He squinted at her, his voice a broken, drunken murmur.

"Wife."

Her heart stuttered. He hadn't called her that in years. Not since she was pregnant. Back then, she’d blushed and told him to stop, saying they weren't married yet, and he’d just laughed, kissing her temple and whispering the word until it felt like a promise.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

He pulled her into his chest, burying his face in her hair. "Wife... I’ve missed you so much."

He sounded so desperate, so shattered—the old Kingston. But she knew better. He was just wasted, and she was just a ghost in his liquor-fogged mind.

She bit her lip, using the physical pain to drown out the yearning, and shoved him away. "I’m not your wife."

"No," he insisted, his eyes tracking her with drunken stubbornness. "You are."

The door swung open. Alison rushed in, a sharp, stinging slap echoing through the room as she struck Kingston across the face.

"Kingston, look at me! Who is your wife?"

The slap hit home. Kingston blinked, the haze in his eyes clearing. Instinctively, he reached out and pulled Alison into his arms, burying his face in her neck, whispering the same word over and over again.

"Wife... my wife..."

"Don't be mad, babe," one of the sycophants piped up. "He’s just sloshed. We all know who he really wants."

"Exactly. Raven’s nothing."

*Nothing.* She laughed to herself. She knew exactly when to exit. She gripped the invitation and the five-million-dollar check, turning on her heel.

She hadn't even made it to the corner when a man blocked her path, grinning like a predator. "Hey gorgeous, you look familiar. Oh, I remember—I’ve seen those photos. You’re a real wild one, aren't you?"

He reached out, his hand groping at her.

Raven’s eyes turned to jagged glass. In a flash, she caught his wrist, kneed him in the stomach, and slammed him into the floor in a perfect back-throw.

The man groaned on the ground. She raised her heel, ready to drive it into his ribs. "Get lost."

The man scrambled away, cursing. Behind her, a slow, mocking clap echoed through the hallway.

Alison stood there, smiling. "Not bad. But what does a right hook matter when thousands of people have seen you naked? Can you beat up every single one of them?"

Raven leveled a cold gaze at her. "You leaked the photos?"

"I did. What of it?" Alison challenged. "If you’re going to do something that trashy, you deserve to be exposed."

"The 'trashy' thing you’re talking about? It was your boyfriend doing it to me."

Alison’s face twisted. She lunged forward, shrieking for her to die.

Raven caught her wrist easily, pinning it. "If I’m a bitch, then Kingston is the garbage who wouldn't leave me alone. And what does that make a girl who’s desperate to pick up his trash?"

Alison began to shake, her eyes darting to the door. As Kingston emerged from the suite, she instantly dropped the facade, her face crumbling into tears. "It hurts... Raven, let go!"

Kingston charged, shoving Raven aside to pull Alison into his arms. "What the hell is wrong with you, Raven?"

Alison held up her wrist, trembling. "I was just asking her about you, and she grabbed me. She’s hurting me!"

Kingston looked at the faint red mark on Alison’s wrist. When he looked back at Raven, his eyes were burning with a hatred so raw it scorched. A waiter passed by with a tray of red wine; Kingston snatched a glass and slammed it against the wall near her, the liquid splashing entirely over her head and face.

The cold wine dripped from her hair, stinging her eyes, soaking her collar. Through the blurred, wine-stained vision, she saw Kingston’s icy glare and Alison’s triumphant smirk.

"Touch her again," Kingston snarled, "and next time, it won't be wine."

He turned, fingers interlaced with Alison’s, and they stepped into the elevator.

Raven stood alone in the hallway, the red droplets hitting the floor like clockwork. The cold seeped through her skin, right into the marrow.

She realized then that her Kingston was gone. He’d dragged her into this swamp of misery and left her to drown while he walked away clean.

Fine.

She let out a long, shuddering breath and wiped the wine from her face. Once the mission was done and she was out of the City, she would forget him. She would escape the swamp.

And like him, she would never look back.