Raven's POV
The room they took me to was almost as large as the one I had woken up in.
Almost.
It had a king-sized bed, cream-coloured furniture, a private bathroom and a balcony overlooking an enormous garden. Everything looked expensive, carefully arranged and completely unfamiliar.
It was beautiful.
I hated it.
"Is there anything else you need, Miss Hayes?" one of the guards asked.
I turned to him.
"Yes. My phone."
He didn't respond.
"My clothes, then. My handbag. Anything that belongs to me."
"I'll inform the housekeeper."
"That's not what I asked."
His expression remained blank.
"You're expected to remain in this room."
I stared at him.
"Am I a prisoner?"
He looked away.
That was answer enough.
The door closed behind him, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock turning.
I stood there for several seconds, listening to his footsteps disappear.
Then I sank onto the edge of the bed.
My hands were shaking.
I pressed them together, trying to steady myself, but it didn't help. My mind kept returning to the same questions.
Where was Claire?
Had Cyprian found out we were missing?
Was he looking for me?
And what exactly did Arthur want from him?
I lowered my palm to my stomach.
There was no movement, no reassurance, nothing to tell me that everything was okay. I knew I couldn't expect to feel every little thing, but that didn't stop the fear.
My doctor had warned me about stress. She had explained how important it was to take care of myself, avoid unnecessary strain and report anything unusual.
Yet here I was, locked inside a stranger's house, surrounded by armed men, with no way of knowing what would happen next.
I closed my eyes.
"Please be okay," I whispered.
I wasn't sure whether I was speaking to my baby or Claire.
A knock interrupted me.
I lifted my head.
"Who is it?"
"Your food, Miss."
I didn't want food.
I wanted answers.
Still, I got up and opened the door.
A woman stood outside holding a tray. She was older, perhaps in her fifties, with her hair neatly tied back.
She offered me a polite smile.
"Good afternoon."
I glanced behind her.
"Where is Claire?"
The woman's smile disappeared.
"I'm sorry?"
"My friend. She was brought here with me. Where is she?"
"I don't know anything about that, Miss."
"Then find someone who does."
She hesitated before placing the tray on a nearby table.
"Mr. Hayes instructed that you should eat."
I looked at her.
"Does everyone in this house follow his instructions without asking questions?"
She lowered her eyes.
I almost laughed.
Apparently, they did.
"Thank you," I muttered.
She turned to leave.
"Wait."
She stopped.
"What's your name?"
"Margaret."
"Margaret, please. I need to see my friend."
For a moment, she looked as though she wanted to say something.
Then her eyes shifted toward the corridor.
"I'll see what I can find out."
She left before I could ask anything else.
I closed the door.
At least someone in this house had managed to look at me like a human being.
I returned to the bed and stared at the food.
I had no appetite, but I knew I couldn't afford to neglect myself. With a sigh, I picked up the glass of water and drank slowly before attempting a few bites.
I was halfway through when the door opened again.
I immediately stood.
"Claire?"
It wasn't Claire.
Arthur walked in.
He had changed his suit jacket, but he still looked perfectly composed, as though kidnapping his daughter and locking her inside his house were ordinary items on his daily schedule.
"You're supposed to knock," I said.
"This is my house."
"And I'm not your guest."
He glanced at the untouched portion of food.
"You're not eating."
"I'm not hungry."
"That's unfortunate."
I looked at him.
"Why are you here?"
"To check on you."
I laughed without humour.
"How touching."
He ignored the sarcasm and moved toward the chair beside the window.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like someone who was drugged, kidnapped and locked inside a house."
"Your headache?"
"Still there."
"Dizziness?"
"Sometimes."
He nodded, as though taking mental notes.
I folded my arms.
"Are you going to ask about the baby next?"
His gaze briefly dropped to my stomach.
"How far along are you?"
I didn't answer.
"Raven."
"Don't."
He exhaled.
"Your doctor needs to know these things."
"My doctor already knows. The doctor you brought here examined me."
"And?"
"Ask him."
His jaw tightened.
For a moment, I thought he might lose his temper. Instead, he leaned back in the chair.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be."
I stared at him.
"Do you hear yourself?"
He said nothing.
"You abducted a pregnant woman. You separated her from her friend. You locked her in a room. And somehow, I'm the one making things difficult?"
"You're safe."
"Stop saying that!"
My voice rose sharply.
"Safe from what? From you? From your men? From the people you're fighting? You keep using that word as if repeating it will make me believe you."
He studied me.
"You're not in danger from me."
"Then let me leave."
Silence.
I nodded slowly.
"Exactly."
He stood and walked toward the window.
"You've always had a stubborn streak."
I felt something twist inside my chest.
"You don't know me."
"I know more than you think."
"No. You know the little girl you left behind. You know the photographs you probably looked at when you remembered you had a daughter. You know nothing about the woman standing in front of you."
He turned.
"Is that what you believe?"
"It's what you made me believe."
For several seconds, he simply looked at me.
Then he asked, "Do you remember the accident?"
My heart skipped.
I hadn't expected that question.
"Of course I do."
I remembered pieces of it. A terrible crash. The chaos afterward. Adults speaking in hushed voices. The funeral. The endless explanations that never seemed to answer anything.
I remembered being told that my parents were gone.
I remembered crying until I fell asleep.
"Why are you asking me that?" I whispered.
"Because you seem to believe you know everything that happened."
My throat tightened.
"Don't."
"You were very young."
"I said don't."
"Your memories may not be as reliable as you think."
I stepped toward him.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"Nothing."
"Then stop bringing it up!"
He looked away.
The conversation was beginning to feel like a game. He would approach the edge of a secret, let me see just enough to become desperate for answers, and then retreat before I could understand anything.
I was tired of it.
"Tell me the truth," I demanded.
"Which truth?"
"Why did you come back?"
His expression changed.
"I already told you."
"No. You told me about a war. You told me about Cyprian. You told me that I'm carrying a Moretti heir. But you haven't told me why you suddenly decided to remember you have a daughter."
His face became unreadable.
"Your marriage changed things."
I stared at him.
"My marriage?"
"Cyprian Moretti is not an ordinary man."
"I know who my husband is."
"Do you?"
The question irritated me.
"Yes, Arthur. I know the man I married. I know his temper, his cruelty, his secrets. I know what it feels like to love him and hate him at the same time. I know what it feels like to carry his child while wondering whether the man I love will destroy everything around us."
My voice weakened.
"And I know I don't deserve any of this."
For the first time, he looked almost uncomfortable.
He reached for the glass of water on the table and moved it closer to me.
I didn't touch it.
"Cyprian will come," I said.
"You're certain of that?"
"Yes."
"Even after what happened between you?"
I looked at him sharply.
"What do you know about what happened between us?"
"Enough to understand that your marriage is not as stable as you would like to believe."
I swallowed.
I didn't want to discuss Cyprian with him.
I didn't want him to know how much the thought of my husband still hurt.
"Whatever happens between us is none of your concern."
"Unfortunately, it is."
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
I took a breath, fighting the frustration building inside me.
"Does Lorenzo know you're here?"
Arthur's eyes shifted toward mine.
"Why would you ask that?"
"Because you seem to know so much about the Morettis. Because you keep talking about Cyprian as if you're waiting for him to do something. Because I want to know whether his father is involved in whatever madness you've planned."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"You're asking the right questions."
"Then give me the right answers."
"Not today."
I shook my head.
"You're unbelievable."
He moved toward the door.
"Get some rest. I'll arrange for you to see your friend."
I immediately followed him.
"Wait."
He stopped.
"When?"
"Soon."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you're getting."
I felt my patience snap.
"Arthur!"
He turned.
"If anything happens to Claire, I swear—"
"You'll do what?"
I froze.
He took a step toward me.
"You're in no position to make threats, Raven."
My eyes burned, but I refused to look away.
"Maybe not. But I know what it's like to lose people. I know what it feels like to have someone taken away and never get the chance to say goodbye."
My voice broke.
"Don't make me go through that again."
Something passed across his face.
It was gone almost immediately.
He opened the door.
"Get some rest."
Then he left.
I stood there, staring at the empty doorway.
I hated him.
I hated that he could walk away from me so easily after everything he had done.
But I hated something else even more.
A part of me still wanted to ask him about the accident. About my mother. About the years I had spent believing I was an orphan.
That little girl inside me hadn't disappeared.
She was still waiting for answers.
And I was beginning to fear that the answers would be worse than the questions.
An hour passed.
Then another.
I tried lying down, but sleep wouldn't come.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the gala. The gunshots. Claire disappearing. Cyprian's face.
I imagined him searching for me.
I imagined him finding an empty room, blood on the floor, and nothing to tell him where I had gone.
My chest tightened.
I reached for the glass of water and took another sip.
A soft knock sounded.
I turned.
"Come in."
Margaret entered, carrying a folded blanket.
"I thought you might need this."
I glanced at the blanket.
"Thank you."
She placed it on the bed.
Then she hesitated.
"Miss Hayes?"
"Yes?"
"Your friend."
My heart jumped.
"What about her?"
Margaret glanced toward the door.
"I heard she's in another part of the house."
"Have you seen her?"
"No, Miss."
"Is she hurt?"
"I don't know."
I stepped closer.
"Please, Margaret. If you know anything, tell me."
Her expression softened.
"I've worked here for a long time. I know when it's better not to ask questions."
"That's not helping me."
"I know."
She looked down at her hands.
"But I heard one of the guards say she was asking for you."
My throat tightened.
"She's awake?"
Margaret nodded.
"That's what I heard."
I covered my mouth.
For the first time since waking up, I felt something close to relief.
Claire was alive.
She was awake.
And she was asking for me.
"Can you take me to her?"
Margaret looked toward the door again.
"I can't."
"Please."
"I'm sorry."
She turned to leave, but I caught her hand.
"Tell her I'm here. Tell her I'm okay."
Margaret gave a small nod.
"I will."
When she left, I sat on the bed and finally allowed myself to cry.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just quiet tears that slipped down my cheeks while I held my stomach.
I was exhausted.
I missed my friend.
I missed my home.
And despite everything, I missed Cyprian.
I missed the man who had once made me feel protected, even when the world outside his arms was dangerous.
I didn't know whether I could ever forgive him.
But I wanted him to find me.
I wanted him to find us.
The next knock came much later.
This time, it wasn't Margaret.
A guard stood outside.
"Mr. Hayes wants you downstairs."
I frowned.
"Why?"
"He has a visitor."
"Then he should entertain his visitor."
The guard's expression hardened.
"You're expected."
I stared at him.
"Is Claire there?"
He didn't answer.
I took that as a no.
After a moment, I followed him.
My head still hurt, but the dizziness had eased. I held the railing as we descended the staircase, taking each step carefully.
The house was quieter than before.
There were more guards near the entrance, and two men stood outside the office doors.
Something was happening.
The guard opened the doors.
Arthur stood behind his desk, speaking to another man.
The visitor was tall, broad-shouldered and dressed in a dark coat. I couldn't see his face clearly because his back was turned toward me.
"She's here, sir," the guard announced.
Arthur looked up.
"Raven. Come in."
I stepped into the room.
The visitor turned.
I didn't recognize him.
But the moment his eyes settled on me, something about his expression made my stomach tighten.
He looked at me for a long moment before turning toward Arthur.
"That's her?"
Arthur nodded.
"Yes."
The man looked back at me.
"She looks nothing like I expected."
I frowned.
"Who are you?"
He ignored my question.
Instead, he addressed Arthur.
"Does Moretti know?"
"Not yet."
"Then we have a problem."
Arthur's expression darkened.
"We have several."
The visitor leaned closer to him and lowered his voice.
I couldn't hear everything, but a few words reached me.
"Midnight."
"Commission."
"Moretti."
Then the man glanced at my stomach.
My hand immediately moved to protect it.
"She shouldn't be here," he said.
Arthur's eyes hardened.
"She's exactly where she needs to be."
A chill travelled down my spine.
I looked between them.
"What are you talking about?"
Neither answered.
The visitor picked up a folder from the desk and slipped it beneath his arm.
"Make sure you understand what you're risking," he said quietly to Arthur.
Arthur gave a cold smile.
"I understood the moment I brought her here."
The man walked past me without another word.
I watched him leave.
Then I turned to Arthur.
"Who was that?"
"Someone you don't need to know."
"Why was he looking at my baby?"
Arthur's expression remained calm.
"You're becoming paranoid."
"No. I'm beginning to understand that nobody in this house is telling me the truth."
I stepped closer.
"Why did he say I shouldn't be here?"
Arthur closed the folder in front of him.
"Because he doesn't understand what I intend to do."
"And what do you intend to do?"
He looked at me.
For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder.
"That depends on your husband."
My stomach twisted.
I stared at him, trying to understand why every conversation eventually returned to Cyprian.
Then Arthur's phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
Something in his expression shifted.
He answered.
"Speak."
Silence.
Then his eyes lifted to mine.
I couldn't hear the voice on the other end, but I saw Arthur's fingers tighten around the phone.
"When?"
Another pause.
"How did they find out?"
My heart began to pound.
Arthur turned away from me.
"No. Nobody moves her until I give the order."
He ended the call.
I stared at him.
"What happened?"
He didn't respond.
"Arthur, what happened?"
He looked toward the guard standing by the door.
"Take her upstairs."
"No!"
I stepped forward.
"Tell me what's going on!"
The guard moved toward me.
Arthur raised his hand.
"Wait."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said something that made my blood run cold.
"Your husband has made his first move."
I stopped breathing.
"Cyprian?"
Arthur's expression was impossible to read.
"He's not as far away as I thought."
A terrible mixture of relief and fear rushed through me.
"Where is he?"
Arthur didn't answer.
Instead, he picked up the folder the visitor had left behind and opened it.
I caught a glimpse of a photograph inside.
A photograph of Cyprian.
And beneath it, written in bold black letters, were three words.
THE MORETTI HEIR.
My eyes widened.
Before I could move closer, Arthur closed the folder.
"Take her upstairs."
This time, I didn't resist.
I couldn't.
Because I had finally understood something.
Whatever Arthur wanted from Cyprian, my baby was part of it.
And I had no idea how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted.