RAVEN’S POV:
I watch Yara as she retreats, swaying her waist.
The moment she is out of earshot, the mask I’ve been wearing cracks.
The real-life fairytale Dante just described feels like a sick joke, especially after being poked and prodded by a woman who clearly knew the intimate contours of his past better than I ever will.
I turn to him with a heavy heart and flushed face. My chest rises and falls erratically. He tries to talk, but I scoff. Without a word, I shove my glass into his chest, the liquid sloshing close to his expensive lapels. But I do not care.
“Raven—”
I don’t stay to hear it.
I turn around and storm off, my heels clicking furiously against the marble floor. I don't care who is watching. I don't care about the important dignitaries. I just know I need to get away fr
