Page 59 of Victorious Vice

Then I see her.

Raven.

She’s standing near the stage, talking to a small group of admirers. Her short dark hair, barely grown out, catches the light and frames her face in a way that’s both striking and delicate.

Her dark eyes shine with a light that’s hard to ignore, her smile genuine as she speaks to her supporters. There’s something about her, something raw and real, that pulls me in.

Has pulled me in since the first time I laid eyes on her, when her head was covered in dark peach fuzz. My heart beats faster in her presence, and my groin tightens. I can hardly breathe as images of devouring those full pink lips invade my mind.

They were the softest and sweetest lips I’ve ever kissed…

I draw in a breath and walk toward her, the need to be close to her nearly overwhelming me.

I should stay away. I promised to stay away.

But damn…

I weave through the crowd and nod at people I mostly don’t recognize. After all, I’ve only been back in this country a couple months, not counting my time in Colombia. When I reach her, she’s just finished her conversation and turns to face me.

“Vinnie,” she says, her voice warm and inviting, as if what transpired between us never happened. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Raven.” God, her lips. They glisten with a silvery effervescence. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Congratulations on the event.”

“Thank you,” she says, her gaze locking onto mine. “It…means a lot to have your support.”

For a moment, we stand there, the noise of the ballroom fading into the background. I’m struck by the depth in her eyes. She’s been through hell and back—part of it due to me—yet she stands here, a pillar of strength.

Does she remember what we shared?

What we said to each other?

Of course she does. And she probably wants me to get the hell out of here. But for the sake of looking good for the board of her new foundation, she’s remaining cordial.

What I really want to know is if, under her warm façade, her heart is breaking like mine is in this moment—this moment when we must pretend to be mere acquaintances.

“I have to admit,” I say, leaning in slightly, “I’m impressed by what you’ve accomplished. The foundation, your journey… It’s inspiring.”

Her smile widens, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “That means a lot…coming from you.”

Does it?

Or is this part of the show?

Before I can respond, an amplified voice interrupts us.

“May I have your attention please.”

I look toward the front of the ballroom where a man stands at the podium. Austin Bellamy, dressed like the Texas rancher he is. At first glance, his black tuxedo and crisp white shirt seem like normal cocktail attire, but the bolo tie with the turquoise gemstone slide shows his roots.

Whatdoesn’tshow is the grisly side of him I’ve recently discovered.

“Thank you all for coming this evening to our gala in support of my daughter’s new foundation, Raven’s Wings. We won’t take up a lot of your time, but it’s only proper that the founder herself say a few words. Come on up here, sweetheart.”

Raven waves me off and makes her way through the crowd to step up to the microphone. The room falls silent, all eyes on her.

“Good evening, everyone,” she begins, her voice clear and strong. “Thank you all for being here tonight and for supporting the Raven’s Wings Foundation for the research and treatment of blood cancers. This foundation is incredibly personal to me, and I’d like to share a bit of my story with you.” She pauses and scans the room. “A few years ago, I was diagnosed with leukemia. It was the most terrifying moment of my life. The uncertainty, the pain, the endless treatments—it was a battle I wasn’t sure I could win. At first, I was overwhelmed by fear and despair. The thought of losing my life, of leaving my loved ones behind, haunted me day and night.”

The audience is silent, hanging on her every word.

---