The deep winter in Fairview was biting, the wind carrying a persistent, freezing chill.

Raven Sullivan was settling into her new job with surprising ease. Here, no one knew of her tumultuous past in the City—the scandals, the bloodshed, the wreckage she had left behind. They saw only her sharp professional instincts and her calm, steady demeanor. She was respected. The work was demanding but predictable, and for the first time in years, she felt a sliver of peace.

The only disruption came in the form of the department’s new intern, Caspian Armstrong.

He lived up to his name—his eyes were as clear and open as a cloudless autumn sky. At some point, he had started waiting for her to clock out every evening. Sometimes, he would even bring a late-night snack, carefully cradled against his chest to keep it warm, waiting for her to emerge so he could press it into her hands. His gaze always trailed her with a brightness that reminded her of a loyal, gentle golden retriever.

She could feel his affection, but it was a weight she couldn't afford to carry.

That night, Raven finished her final cross-border investigation report, the office lights long dimmed. When she stepped into the lobby, she saw Caspian standing in the glow of the streetlights, clutching an insulated bag.

"Raven," he called out, his handsome features sharp in the harsh light. "The cafeteria served red bean soup tonight. I brought you a portion; it’s still warm."

Raven’s brow furrowed. "Call me Ms. Sullivan."

He scratched the back of his neck, offering a sheepish grin. "You’re only three years older than me..."

"Three months or three years, it’s Ms. Sullivan. Or Detective Sullivan."

Raven didn't reach for the bag. She walked past him, her voice trailing back. "Keep it for yourself. I'm not hungry."

Caspian didn't retreat. He quickened his pace to match hers, walking beside her down the quiet, tree-lined street. "Ms. Sullivan," he corrected himself, his tone earnest. "I’ve already finished the materials for next week's conference. I’ll leave them on your desk tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Fine. Thank you," Raven replied, a pang of something hollow stirring in her chest.

If she were a few years younger, if her past weren't a graveyard of shattered illusions, she might have been able to accept this kind of uncomplicated love. But there were no "ifs." Her heart had long ago been blasted into ruin; nothing could grow in that scorched earth anymore. She picked up her pace, trying to create distance between them.

Distracted by the heaviness in her mind, she didn't notice a car swerving near the curb until it was almost upon her.

"Watch out!"

Caspian moved with blur-like speed. He stepped forward, his arm instinctively sweeping around her to pull her toward the safety of the sidewalk. The car roared past, the rush of air fluttering his fringe and revealing the raw, unfiltered concern in his eyes.

Raven steadied herself, her gaze dropping to the hand still lingering on her shoulder.

"I’m fine. Thank you."

Caspian pulled his hand back, the tips of his ears flushing pink, though he stubbornly moved to the outer side of the sidewalk, acting as a human barrier against the traffic. The streetlights cast long, overlapping shadows of the two of them.

This scene was witnessed by a pair of red-rimmed eyes hidden in the darkness of an alleyway. Kingston Stone leaned against the cold brick, a cigarette burned down to his fingers, the heat failing to register against the numbness of his skin.

***

Caspian walked Raven to the entrance of her apartment building, lingering as if he couldn't bear to leave. Raven stared at him until, finally, he retreated with a reluctant nod.

The moment Raven stepped inside the building, a surge of raw force slammed her against the rough wall. She moved to counter, but a face loomed into her vision—Kingston. His hand pressed against her shoulder, his other arm slamming against the wall beside her head, effectively trapping her in his shadow.

"Who was that?"

His voice was a shredded rasp, every word sounding as if it were being ground between teeth. "Why was he bringing you home? What’s going on between you two?"

Raven forced her pulse to steady. She didn't struggle; she simply lifted her eyes, her gaze chillingly detached. "Kingston, what I do is none of your business."

"I asked you who he is!" Kingston roared, his free hand curling into a fist, the knuckles turning white.

Raven turned her head to avoid his scorching breath. "Let go. There is nothing left between us."

"Nothing?" Kingston looked as if the word had ignited him, the bottled-up rage of the last few months finally erupting. "Raven! You used me. You played me for a fool for two years! You used me, tossed me aside, and now you’re already cozying up to someone else? Do you even have a heart? Is it made of stone?"

His voice cracked as the echoes of his outburst died in the empty hallway.

Raven turned back, meeting his contorted, pained expression head-on. "I used you. I admit it, and I apologize. But what about you, Kingston? What do you call what you did these last six months?"

"You humiliated me, you betrayed me, you dragged my reputation through the mud until I was a pariah in the City... I thought we were even."

Kingston was struck speechless, his arm trembling against the wall. He searched her eyes for hatred, for bitterness, for the struggle and pain that used to be there—but found nothing. She was so calm, so indifferent, as if she were discussing the weather.

That silence was more destructive than any rage.

Raven shoved him away with a sudden, decisive motion. He staggered back, reeling. Without another look, she stepped into the elevator. When the doors slid shut, the silence of the hallway returned, and the motion-sensor lights flickered out, plunging Kingston back into the dark.

Raven figured that a man as proud as Kingston would have returned to his own world by morning. But she barely slept, her mind a chaotic storm.

When she opened her door the next morning, her steps froze.

Kingston was curled up on the cold marble floor by her threshold. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before; his expensive coat was rumpled and grayed with dust, his hair a tangled mess, and dark, heavy circles hung beneath his bloodshot eyes.

He looked up as the door opened. The eyes that once held a roguish, romantic sparkle were now vacant. The arrogance and sharpness of the Stone family heir were completely stripped away.

His lips moved, dry and cracked. "Raven," he whispered, his voice shattering. "Please. Don't leave me."

Raven looked down at the pathetic figure of the man who once held the world in his palm, her own expression placid.

"Kingston, have you forgotten? You were the one who walked away first."

The words hit him like a physical blow. He shook his head frantically, his speech tumbling out in a broken, incoherent mess. "No... Raven, that’s not it! I thought... I thought you never cared for me. I thought you were in love with Hector, that you didn't even want our child... I was a fool, I was blind! I’m not saying I don’t love you—I went mad because of those lies. That’s why I did those horrible things!"

He scrambled to his feet, reaching for her hand, but she recoiled.

"Lies?" Raven repeated, a bitter smirk tugging at her lips. "So, because of a lie, you decided to degrade me? You used your nights away to punish me, and used Alison Hayes to humiliate me?"

She paused, staring directly into his raw, red eyes. "Kingston, in those six months, did you ever once consider sitting down and talking to me? Did you ever ask for the truth?"

"No. You chose the most painful path possible to vent your suspicions."

Tears spilled from Kingston’s eyes. He wiped at them with the back of his hand, but they only flowed faster. His pride, his dignity, his polish—it was all shattered on the floor, leaving only a man begging for mercy.

"I know... I know I was immature! Raven, teach me! I’ll change! I’ll learn how to trust, how to talk, how to be someone you can lean on. Please, don't walk away... don't leave me."

His sobs were ragged and broken, echoing in the hallway with a hollow, desperate sound. Raven watched him, unmoved, a deep-seated exhaustion settling into her bones.

She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. "Kingston, I gave you two years. In those two years, I lived through both the best and the worst. I paid a price, a very heavy price. Let’s just call it the tuition for a mistake of a relationship."

She looked past him, toward the rising light outside the window. "We don't fit. Let’s just let each other go."

She turned toward the elevator, closing the door on his presence. Kingston scrambled after her, desperate to keep her in sight, unable to find the words to hold her back.

The building door opened, and the crisp, clean morning air rushed in.

Both of them stopped dead.

Under the camphor tree in front of the dormitory, Caspian Armstrong was waiting. He was dressed in his crisp uniform, holding a warm, bulging paper bag that steamed in the morning chill. His nose and ears were red from the cold, but his eyes were as bright as ever.

As soon as he saw Raven emerge, his face broke into a clear, genuine smile, and he hurried toward her.

"Ms. Sullivan! Good morning! I brought you breakfast—pan-fried buns from that stall by the corner, and hot soy milk..."

His voice cut off the moment he saw Kingston standing behind her.