The sheets still clung to her skin, mocking her with their warmth. Raven—no, Sophia—remained frozen at the edge of the bed, clutching them like armor. Aiden Cross stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame like he belonged there.
Maybe he did.
But she didn't.
"Sleep okay?" he asked, eyes raking over her with unsettling ease. Raven saw it then—beneath the charm, beneath the smirk, a flicker of calculation. A man used to watching. Analyzing. Owning.
She forced her lips to curve. "Mhm. Just… groggy."
"Not surprising. You fainted yesterday. Doctor says it was stress." He crossed the room, smooth and predatory. "You've been working too hard again, Sophia."
Her heart pounded, loud as a drum. Play along. Don't tip him off. She shifted away slightly, but he only reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch was light. Familiar. Possessive.
"You're okay now," he murmured.
Raven smiled like a ghost.
—
The walk to the kitchen was surreal. Every step was a betrayal to the life she knew—her scratched boots replaced by satin slippers, her cluttered studio traded for a penthouse suite that hummed with quiet luxury.
Raven took in the gleaming marble counters, the minimalist design, the absence of anything truly human. It was like living inside a magazine spread.
A woman she didn't recognize greeted her at the dining table. "Ms. Sophia, I've prepared your usual green tea and oat toast."
Raven nodded stiffly. "Thank you…?"
"Marielle, ma'am. I've been with you and Mr. Cross for two years."
Two years?
Her fingers twitched under the table. Two years I didn't live.
She sipped the tea. Bitter. Like everything else.
Aiden read the news on a sleek tablet, sipping espresso like he wasn't the embodiment of every warning she'd ever whispered to her contacts. His watch gleamed. His wedding plans—her wedding plans—must be ticking too.
"You're quiet," he said without looking up. "Still rattled?"
"I just… feel off."
He finally met her eyes. "Then take the day off. Cancel your meetings. Rest. You've earned it."
The kindness was laced with steel. A command wrapped in silk.
And Raven hated how well he played it.
—
Back in the bedroom, Raven searched the wardrobe. Each outfit was designer, curated, controlled. There was no denim, no hoodie, no trace of the Raven who had hacked past firewalls and disappeared into alleys.
She found Sophia's phone again.
No passcode.
She scrolled fast—texts with wedding planners, social invites, a thread titled "Cross Family NDA." Her eyes froze on a contact labeled: Mother (don't answer).
A photo caught her eye.
Sophia and Aiden, laughing at a gala.
Except—her laugh didn't reach her eyes.
And Aiden's hand was curled too tightly around her waist.
Suddenly, the phone vibrated.
Unknown Sender: "You're not safe. Not with him."
Her breath hitched.
Then a second message.
"If you want answers, meet me at 5:00. Same place we used to meet. Come alone."
She didn't know who it was.
She didn't know what the "same place" meant.
But she knew one thing: someone knew the truth.
And maybe… just maybe… they knew how to get her back.
Or destroy her.
—
Raven stood at the edge of the penthouse's floor-length windows, watching the city blink beneath her like a digital map. Her reflection in the glass showed someone confident, elegant, untouchable.
Inside, she felt like she was going to throw up.
Aiden's voice broke the silence behind her. "Where are you off to?"
She turned, slipping the phone into a designer purse that didn't belong to her. Her lips lifted into a smile that wasn't real.
"Work," she said lightly, grabbing the blazer draped over the chair. "Can't stay cooped up all day."
He raised a brow. "You just passed out twelve hours ago."
"I have deadlines," she replied, already heading toward the door. "And, you know me—I don't miss them."
He stood, the chair legs scraping quietly against the polished floor. "I'll have Charles drive you."
Raven paused. Sht.*
"No need," she said too quickly. "I could use some fresh air. Stretch my legs. Clear my head."
Aiden studied her, those sharp eyes unreadable. Then he nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said. "Text me when you get there."
"I will."
Lie #1.
—
She made it into the elevator before her breath finally escaped her lungs. The chrome walls reflected a hundred Sophias back at her—none of them real.
As the elevator dinged open in the underground garage, she hesitated.
Rows of sleek, spotless cars. A private collection that cost more than anything she'd ever seen up close. She stared at them like they were alien creatures.
Which one's hers?
She scanned the remotes on the wall. Each labeled. She reached for one marked "S – Coupe," hoping it was safe enough to bluff through.
The remote chirped. A matte black convertible lit up at the far end.
"Of course it's a convertible," she muttered under her breath, heels clicking nervously as she approached.
Then she almost walked past it.
Instinct had her heading for the subway entrance she'd used a thousand times. Muscle memory from a different life. One where she wore sneakers, not designer pumps. One where she vanished into crowds, not stepped into custom leather seats.
She stopped herself at the edge of the garage.
Her hands curled into fists. No. You're Sophia now. For now.
She turned back, slid into the car, and fumbled with the controls until the engine purred to life beneath her.
—
The streets of the city looked different from this height, behind tinted glass and soft leather. She felt like a ghost haunting someone else's life. Raven drove aimlessly at first, until memory—and instinct—pulled her toward the south end of the city.
Derelict warehouses. Rusted fences. A place no Sophia Blake would ever willingly visit.
A place Raven had once called safe.
She parked a block away. Walked the rest.
The warehouse loomed ahead, its walls covered in graffiti like old scars. A familiar ache twisted in her gut. She'd met contacts here before. Traded files. Dodged traps. This was hers.
She stepped inside.
It was quiet—too quiet.
Then a voice echoed from the shadows.
"Took you long enough."
She turned sharply.
A figure stepped into the light. Hood pulled low. But she knew that voice.
Her pulse kicked up.
"Theo?"
The last person she expected. The only one who might know the truth.
But the look in his eyes wasn't relief.
It was warning.
"You shouldn't be here," he said. "You're not the only one wearing someone else's face."
[Author's Thoughts]
Hey, readers.
First off—I know. I took my sweet time getting this chapter out, and for that, I owe you more than just a quick apology. This story is personal, intricate, and as layered as Raven's new reality, and I wanted to make sure every scene earned its place in the shadows.
Raven's world has officially cracked open, and now she's not just surviving—she's infiltrating. This chapter was all about control: who has it, who pretends to, and who's slowly losing their grip. Raven may be living Sophia's life, but the real question is—who's pulling both of their strings?
Thank you for sticking with me. Seriously. Your patience means everything, and I promise, what's coming next will be worth the wait.
Let's just say… things are about to get much darker.
— Praise Win