PROLOGUE
March 13th, 2020
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Raven
I can feel Milo's eyes on me before I even see him. I glance through the living room window, and sure enough, there he is, all six feet of him. He is standing right outside of the brownstone, his gaze transfixed on me. I hope he is stunned. I can use the element of surprise to my advantage.
I knew this day would come, but it doesn't make it easier. At least I have a leg up. I have been practicing my demeanor and my confident stance. I want the upper hand.
Milo grins and lazily struts to the front door of the house. From the window, I can see that he still dresses well.
He is in a black suit that hug him at all the right places, with a white dress shirt, no tie. His suit jacket is unbuttoned. So it's easy to make out his defined body under the thin scrap of the shirt's material. His shoulders are broader than I remember, indicative of the strict gym routine he probably still follows. Experience tells me that his clothes are expensive.
He always had an air about him. One that screams, "I barely put any effort into looking this good." All the girls ate it up.
When we were younger, all my friends swooned over his tall, athletic physique, rigid jawlines, dark brown hair and green eyes. I was hoping that he had aged horribly into his twenties. Maybe developed a bald spot or became fat. No such luck. The asshole is still the epitome of male beauty. I bet his popularity with the female demographic has not changed. They probably still fall at his heels.
All but me.
It doesn't work on me because I know better. He might be enveloped with an angel's face, but he is darkness, and he made my life dark. He is Lucifer, the devil himself, disguised beautifully to trick mortal women. He is my worst nightmare.
None of my mental preparations are enough to overcome the siege panic that suddenly engulfs me, as he turns the lock. I am standing in the living room of his beautiful Upper West Side brownstone. I stay frozen in front of the large floor to ceiling window, as Milo opens the door. My first instinct is to run upstairs and lock myself in my childhood room. My second is to take off my red bottom shoes, and hit his cocky face with the pencil sharp heel. Or maybe puncture one of his eyes with it. He will be one-eyed and scarred, just like he scarred me. The thought alone brings a smile to my face. But I suppress it.
Instead, I focus on the game plan. I will freeze him out and act nonchalant. My apathy always wounded him, more than my rage or sorrow. Anger, fear, trepidation, tears are all results of some form of emotion. And he got off on my emotions, any of them. It's my apathy that he couldn't control or tolerate.
I plan to throw him off by consistently dismissing him. I want him to feel belittled, without me having to actually belittle him. I want to show him that he has no influence or hold on me. He can exist or not exist. He is just part of this environment, like furniture.
I understand it's not the most creative game plan, but it's the best I got. Well, the best is telling Reid or our parents what he did, but that would cost me more than I can bear.
With my thoughts rampant, I lose sight of the fact that the devil has officially flung open the doors and is headed right to me. He stops to look at me with an unreadable expression. I stare back blankly, hoping to give nothing away.
I just finished my last day at work. I am in a black cocktail dress, with some nude pumps on. The dress is conservative enough with a jacket on. But since I took the jacket off, the halter dress is exposing a bit more skin than I planned to show. I feel exposed but I don’t let it show.
Milo looks at me for what seems like an eternity. There is an intensity in his gaze that makes even the most confident people squirm. But not me, not today.
"Rave."
I don't respond and just level him with an "oh it's you" stare. As he walks towards me, my whole body tenses and I shake a little. I can be mentally apathetic, but physical reactions are a whole different ball game.
"How have you been?" he says warmly as if we are some sort of old talking pals, who are catching up.
My mind goes blank, as he reaches close enough for me to smell that familiar musk scent. A scent that used to bring me comfort. Now it is only a reminder of my horrors. Instead of answering, I throw him off.
"Milo," I say cooly. "Come in. Would you like a drink?"
"You are inviting me to my own home and offering me a drink? Shouldn't I be the one offering you a drink?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Okay. Get me a drink."
He starts to grin at my attempt to turn the tables. I want to slap that cocky grin off his face. Instead, I give him my drink order. "I will take a dry martini, with orange bitters and a lemon twist. Olives will do if you don't have a lemon. I prefer it in a chilled glass. You can probably chill the glass in the ice bucket."
I hold my facial expression, as Milo gives me another amused look. Milo has always been polite, so I know he will comply and play host. I was never going to make that motherfucker a drink. I need him to be aware that this is a power struggle, and I am forcing him to cater to me.
He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it on the back of one of the living room chairs. His body looks even more defined and stronger than I assumed. I am instantly aware that he can overcome me, even faster than before.
He waives an arm out. "After you," he says, motioning me towards the kitchen.
We strut over to the large island, that has a liquor shelf built to the side. I keep a safe distance, with eyes in the back of my head, as he follows me. The pepper spray in my back pocket is a straining reminder that I am not so trustworthy or naive anymore. I refuse to underestimate the risks of the predicament I am in.
I have thought this through. This is the only logical solution, but I am still uncomfortable with the conclusion. Staying at this house is far from ideal. In fact, it's my last resort.
Rent in New York City is absurd, even with roommates. And due to my full-time unpaid internship, the only jobs I could do was bartending or waitressing, after work and on weekends.
So I shared a shitty basement, with two other girls. I worked at my internship from Monday through Friday, and then as a bartender after work, from Thursday through Saturday. I was exhausted by my seventy hour work weeks. And I could still barely scrape up enough cash for food and rent.
That was my level of commitment, rather than coming back to live in this hell hole. And for a little while, my plan was working.
What I didn't account for is COVID-19.
A few months ago, we heard an inkling of something called coronavirus, discovered in the Wuhan district of China. Apparently, it was spreading very quickly.
The problem with humans is, we believe what we see. At that time, it seemed like it was a problem for the other end of the world.
In less than two months, the first case of COVID-19 was reported in the USA, on the west coast. Still, those of us on the east coast skated away, not worried about what will happen.