The house Zane used was nothing like Club Eden. There was no velvet-draped seduction, no candlelight softening edges into illusion. His world, the one Raven stepped into now, was sharp, brutal and ornate in a way that felt cold, marble floors with veins like slashed wrists, gold trim carved into snarling beasts, rooms too silent to be lived in.
She walked the corridor with measured steps, high heels echoing across the lacquered floor. Every sense was sharpened. Every blink, every breath, counted. Her invitation into Zane’s private world hadn’t come through Jaxon. She hadn’t even told him, because she knew that Jaxon would try to stop her, protect her, shield her from a man who trafficked in poison and pleasure. But this was Raven’s play. If she wanted the truth, she had to step into the v
