The door to her room wasn't locked. Raven registered it the second it swung shut behind her, no heavy deadbolt, no final snap that said you're trapped. Just a boundary. The kind of message that made her skin crawl more than any cage ever could. She stood there for a long second, knife gripped tight in her hand.
The room was sparse. A wide bed against the far wall. Clean sheets. A low table near the window, one chair. Nothing that could double as a weapon or a tool. The window didn't open all the way, just enough for light and air, not enough for a body to slip through. It wasn't a prison cell. It was worse. A place designed to hold someone who hadn't decided she was a prisoner yet.
Her feet moved low and soundless across the cool floor. She crossed the room, eyes dragging over every line. No obvious cameras. That didn't mean shit. She brushed her fingers along the edge of the table, solid wood, fixed in place. Nothing loose, nothing useful. The knife felt heavy. Familiar weight in a space that felt anything but.
She turned back toward the door. Closed and unlocked. The silence in this mansion pressed in differently than the casino. Out there it had been loud with absence. Here it felt alive. Intentional. Like the walls themselves were watching, waiting to see what she'd do.
Raven's pulse jumped. Sweat slipped along her spine, mixing with the dried blood crusted on her black dress. She hated how exposed she was. Barefoot and bloodstained, knife in hand and nowhere to use it.
She walked to the door anyway. Her fingers closed around the handle and turned it. It opened without resistance, no alarm, no guard stepping into the frame. The hallway stretched in both directions. Dim lighting. Identical doors with no markings, no movement. Just long corridors that felt designed to make distance lie to you.
She chose left and started walking. Her steps stayed controlled, precise, the same way she moved through any job. Here the sound came back to her, soft echoes bouncing off the walls, making it hard to judge how far she'd gone. The house didn't stop her. Didn't redirect her. It just... let her move. That was worse than any lock.
She passed door after door, all of them closed and dark. No guards visible. No cameras she could spot. The absence settled heavier with every step, pressing down until her breathing turned shallow. Her grip on the knife tightened, palm damp. Every turn felt too smooth, too planned, the angles wrong for escape. She stopped.
A change in the corridor ahead. Not a sound, not a shadow, just a difference in the way the space held itself. The air thickened. One door at the end of the hall, nothing to mark it out. It felt different anyway.
Raven walked toward it. Knife angled low and ready. Each breath came short through her nose. Heat crawled up her throat — rage, adrenaline, and that sick pull low in her gut she'd been carrying since the casino. She was close. Two steps, then one.
The door opened before she could reach for it. Vincent stood in the frame, one shoulder leaning against it, unhurried, like he'd been waiting the whole time. Dark eyes locked onto hers the second the door swung open, steady and knowing. Like he'd predicted every single step she'd taken.
"Second attempt already," he said, voice low and even. Something pulled at the corner of his mouth. "You're getting impatient."
Raven stopped dead. Close enough to lunge. Close enough to bury the blade in his throat before he blinked. She didn't. Sweat slid down her temple. Her own breathing sounded too loud in the empty hallway. His unbothered posture made her teeth grind. The open door behind him showed a dimly lit room instead of guards or weapons. Her stomach flipped when his eyes dragged over her — bloodstained dress, bare feet, knife in hand — like none of it bothered him.
"You left the path open," she said, voice rough and low. Vincent didn't move. Didn't straighten. Just kept leaning there, watching her.
"I didn't leave it open." His gaze stayed locked on hers. "I removed the need to close it."
The words landed low and heavy, settling in her chest like stones. He hadn't heard her coming. He hadn't rushed out to stop her. He had been waiting. Right here. Expecting her to walk straight to him. Cold moved down her spine, followed immediately by heat that had no right to be there. She wanted to drive the knife into him, wanted it so badly her arm ached with the effort of not doing it. She couldn't stop noticing how close he was. The scent of his cologne over the dried blood on his throat. The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders. The steady confidence that made her feel both small and seen.
Her fingers tightened around the knife until the handle dug into her palm. Pain helped. It grounded her.
"You're still deciding," he said. No challenge in it. No mockery. Just an observation, stated the way he stated everything, like he'd already accounted for every possible answer.
Raven didn't answer. She stood in the hallway of the enemy's mansion, knife ready, body tense and buzzing. The open door behind him felt like both an invitation and a trap. Step inside and she was deeper in his world. Stay out here and she was playing his game either way.
The pause between them thickened. Her breathing came uneven, short bursts through her nose. The sticky dress clung to her skin. Every inch of her felt raw — hate burning hot in her chest, confusion twisting her stomach, and that dangerous pull that made her want to both attack him and find out what would happen if she stepped closer.
Vincent didn't reach for the knife. Didn't call for his men. Didn't close the door. He stood there watching her, waiting, like he already knew she wouldn't strike tonight. Like he knew she was already cracking.
Raven's jaw locked. She couldn't explain it — the way her body kept reacting to him even through the hate, even after everything. It made no sense. It made her want to break the nearest wall just to feel something clean. The knife stayed steady in her hand. She didn't move forward. She didn't step back either.
And in the hallway of his mansion, with the devil himself leaning in the doorway and the whole house holding its breath around them, Raven Caruso wasn't sure which part of the distance between them she was actually choosing.