Masked Sins (Ravaged Castle, #4)

by Amanda Richardson

“I’m sorry. I didn’t—we shouldn’t⁠—” “And why is that?” he asks, almost pained. I tilt my head in confusion. “Because you’re dating someone else, and so am I.” His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “Then why did you kiss me?” I cross my arms as my eyes begin to sting with more tears. “I don’t know. Why did you kiss me at Zoe and Liam’s wedding rehearsal dinner?” A hurt expression rolls over his face, and he runs a hand through his hair. He laughs, but it’s not kind. Instead, it feels like he’s angry. Like I should know the answer, somehow.

What the hell is wrong with me? I find an engagement ring and lose my shit, and then I decide to solve things by kissing Orion?

“Something interesting catch your eye?” Chase asks, having grabbed a chair and moved over between Liam and me sometime in the last twenty seconds. “Fuck off,” I mutter, sipping my water. “It’s nice to see them all together, you know?” We watch as Zoe walks over to Layla, Stella, and Juliet. The four of them do another shot, and I can’t help but envision a future where all four are sisters-in-law. Except that’ll never happen. It doesn’t matter how much I want it to happen or how often I dream of the day when Layla looks at me with anything other than contempt. She’ll never want me like that. What keeps me up at night is knowing that she has no idea why—the real reason I interrupted her audition for the Paris School of Ballet. If she hates me forever, then so be it. At least she’ll never have to know what those vile judges said about her. She can and has directed all of her rage at me, and it’s preferable than to see her questioning her talent or value. I’d take the bullet for her if it meant those words never caused her to have harmful thoughts about food again.

“I remember how close you and Layla used to be. And though I don’t know exactly what happened, I do know one thing.” “Is this where you give me unsolicited, older brother advice?” I ask, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. Out of all of my brothers, Miles is the most serious. And the grumpiest. It still astounds me that he and Stella work so well together since she’s so bubbly and effervescent. His lips twitch. “Perhaps.” He looks down and begins to speak. “I think the two of us are the most alike,” he says slowly. “We’re softies underneath our hard shells. We put up armor so that no one can hurt us. Whatever happened between you and Layla …” He pauses, searching for the right words. “Look, we both have darker interests. We both find solace in the shadows and the complexities of the world, things that people like Chase and Liam wear proudly on their sleeves. It’s so easy to descend into that darkness, to let it consume us. But sometimes, if we’re lucky, we’re shown a light. My life wasn’t easy before I met Estelle. I never expected anyone to love me like she does. But … she does.” He looks over at me, his expression sincere. “It’s rare, brother. But it’s also scary as fuck.” I swallow before I answer. “That’s all good and well, Miles. But she hates me. And it seems like she always will.” Miles huffs a laugh. “Trust me. She doesn’t hate you. You should tell her.” I look down at the ground. “It’s not that simple.” “I never said it would be simple,” he replies. “But it’ll be worth...

I miss her, sure. But I also need her. And that scares me so fucking much.

“Tell me not to kiss you,” I say, breathing her in. “Don’t kiss me,” she whispers, her pupils dark as she scans my face. I don’t listen.

“Layla, there’s something I should tell⁠—” “I told you not to kiss me,” she whispers. At first, I think I mishear her. “What?” Her eyes shine with tears, and suddenly, I’m reminded of the audition. She has the same accusatory look in her eyes, and I know she’s going to reject me again. I take a step back as hurt lances through me. “Go back inside.” She doesn’t move. “You can’t just keep doing whatever you want.” Her voice thick with unshed tears. She felt it, too. Whatever the fuck is between us, she felt it. I know she did. Bending down, I grab my jacket and straighten, looking down at her. “Trust me, sis. You’ve made your point very clear,” I practically snarl. “It was a mistake.” Her mouth drops open, and I recognize the hurt splayed over her face. Good. If I hurt her, she can’t hurt me. Her hands shove my chest, and her eyes well up. “I don’t want to see you ever again.” There’s no conviction in her words, but they still fucking hurt, nonetheless. “You know,” I say, my voice sharp with cruelty as I step back from her, “I should know better than to think you would ever admit how you really feel about me. No, that would require letting someone in.” She flinches as a tear rolls down her left cheek, and my heart squeezes at the pain marring her expression. That’s what I do, right? I hurt people. The sting of my own words hangs in the air. Layla takes a shaky breath, but I can’t bear to hear her push me away again. I’m not sure I’d survive. So I walk away from her.

“Even if it’s not meant for the woman he’s seeing, he’s still seeing someone. And so am I. I shouldn’t have kissed him.” Malakai leans forward. “Seems like you need to make a choice. The guy you’re seeing … or Orion. I know who he’d choose.” I look down at the table, playing with the paper from the muffin. “He seems to really like her. I think you’re giving me too much credit.” “Trust me, Layla. You’ll always be Orion’s first choice.”

“Trust me, Layla. It’s the worst kind of torture to want someone you can’t be with long term.”

“Oh, hi. I’m here with Orion Ravage⁠—” “The infamous Layla Rivers,” he says, smiling jovially. My brows shoot up. “You know who I am?” “You’re famous around here.” “I am?” “Yep. You’re on the list of Mr. Ravage’s pre-approved visitors.” “Oh—” “The funny thing is, you’re the only one on the list.” My mouth opens and closes as he walks over to the elevator, pressing some kind of badge against the keypad, which I assume gives him—and me—access to the penthouse. “Have a nice day, Ms. Rivers.”

She has feelings for me, but in an ironic twist of fate, she also has feelings for Starboy.

Earl flies into the living room at one point, squawking, “Master loves pretty girl! Master loves pretty girl … such a good little fuckhole,” before flying off.

Continuing my walk down the hallway, I try not to imagine my stepbrother in one of these rooms. Instead, I get to a nondescript door at the end of the hallway labeled “Hypnosis.” Taking a deep breath, I smooth my hair down before pushing the door open. It’s empty, but there’s a door in the back between two large bookshelves. Closing the door behind me, I look around the room—which is set up to look like some sort of office. There’s a desk with a couple of fake prescription pads. There are legitimate books on psychology lining the shelves, and it reminds me slightly of Orion’s office. Stop thinking about him.

As I get closer, his eyes get clearer behind the mask—and the familiar blue color pierces straight down to my soul. The same blue eyes that stared at me this morning. It can’t be. I walk slower, my mind racing. No, this isn’t possible. It couldn’t be him. Could it?

Never would’ve guessed my stepsister would circle anal play as a possibility, but here we are.

“You are perfect. Your body is …” I shift my weight. “Let’s just say, everything about you is everything I could ever want in a submissive.”

He looks down at me, his expression unsure. Just moments ago, he was commanding me so beautifully, but right now, exposed and laid bare for me… He can’t hide behind the mask anymore. He can’t hide anything anymore. And neither can I. The feelings are too raw. Too real. Too much.

“I don’t share, Layla. This beautiful, decorated cunt? It’s mine.” “Yes,” I whisper, working my hips higher. “Please, I need you, Orion⁠—” “Call me Orion again, and we’re going to have a problem.” I gasp, and everything becomes hazy with lust. I’ve been reduced to a body that desperately needs release—like a taut cord waiting to snap. I can’t take much more. Especially when he talks to me in that voice—the one I’ve only heard a handful of times. His Dom voice. “Please, Master. I need you inside me.” “That’s nice. I couldn’t give a fuck what you want,” he says. His voice isn’t cruel. In fact, his lips pull into a lopsided smile as he runs another finger through my folds. “I plan to savor you, Little Dancer. Every inch. Every lick. Every breathy word that leaves your lips. At my leisure.”

“Choose a number. One through ten.” “One,” I say immediately. It seems like the safest answer. He uses one hand to lightly paddle the waiting palm of the other, and his tongue rolls against his cheek as he considers me. It’s playful and threatening all at once. A cruel smile is splayed across his face. “Great. We’ll start with ten paddles. You only get one break.” Well, that’s not the answer I was hoping for by choosing one …

“What kind of paddle is that?” He runs the wood down one leg, and I tremble with anticipation. “It’s custom-made. It was actually cut from a piece of furniture in Ravage Castle. When my father moved abroad, Miles donated a lot of his possessions. He had quite a collection of items. This one is made from a type of wood that’s illegal now. I found it last year and repurposed it. I haven’t used it on anyone, though.” I want to ask why. I want to speak out of line and risk more punishment, but I bite my tongue. He traces the smooth wood over the other leg, and I whimper when he nudges my legs apart slightly. “I made it with you in mind, Layla. So that I could use it on you for the very first time. Rare, cherished, classic, timeless. Just like you. I told myself I’d be a good boy and wait, but patience isn’t my strong suit.”

“Say it,” he commands. “Say what, Master?” “Say fuck. You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you mutter the filthiest words imaginable.”

“Why is penetration a soft limit?” I blurt. With the state I’m in, I can’t dredge up my tact filter, but something tells me he doesn’t care. His hands stop for half a second, seemingly surprised. Then he continues to stroke me—light, featherlight touches, dragging his finger down to my ankles. Everything feels heavier like I’m about to be absorbed by the air around me. “Because I wanted to wait for you.” I stiffen. “You mean, you’ve never⁠—” He laughs. The sound is loud, and it makes me smile. “You think I’m a virgin? No, not even close.” He leans down closer so that his breath is warm against my ear, his voice steady but laced with something deeper, something raw. “I added that soft limit after we kissed the first time. If it’s not painfully obvious by now, I’ve never wanted anyone the way that I want you. It seemed pointless to pretend otherwise.”

“And now that you’re here, I’m not letting go.”

“You’re mine,” he whispers, his words sinking deep into me, carrying both a promise and a warning. “And tonight, I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.”

“Guess those dirty books paid off,” I mutter, reaching my other hand out to grab onto her head with both hands. “I guess so,” she says, her words garbled because her mouth is full of me. “You’re so perfect,” I tell her, guiding her mouth deeper onto my cock. “You like having your stepbrother’s cock in your mouth?” “Yes,” she says, words muffled. “You want everyone to think you’re so innocent, but you’re not, are you?” She moans, looking up at me with doe eyes. “Fuck, Layla, when you look at me like that, it makes me want to spill all of my cum down your throat.” She pulls off my cock with a soft pop. “So do it.” “Color?” I ask. “Green.” She gives me a bratty, little smile before her lips are back on my shaft.

“God, you’re so fucking good at this.” “I’ve had practice,” she hums against my shaft, and I instantly pull my hips back so that I pop out of her mouth. “With whom.” It’s not a question—not at all. It’s a demand. “Kidding,” she says sweetly, looking up at me with those hooded hazel eyes as one of her hands continues to pump me. “But you should see your face right now.” I grind my jaw as one of my hands trails down the side of her face. “You think it’s funny to make me imagine your mouth around another man’s cock? You think I’d find that amusing?” She rolls her eyes, and my hand stills. “Roll your eyes again and I’ll edge you for days before you’re allowed to come.” Funny how the thought of another man’s cock brings the Dominant right back up to the surface … “You wouldn’t,” she says, trailing her tongue along my shaft, tip to root and back up again. Fisting her hair, I yank her neck back so that she has no option but to look me dead in the eye as I deliver my next line. “I can, and I will. Don’t think I won’t. And don’t mistake my reverence for weakness. I may have wanted you for years, but I still expect respect while we’re doing a scene.” Her eyes widen slightly. “Yes, Master.” “Good girl. Now open wide.”

“Keep going, Master.” “Why’d you use your teeth?” I grit out. She dots my shaft with kisses. “Because I never said I’d be happy about all of this,” she says honestly. “And maybe you need a little punishment, too.”

“My username. Did you ever notice the year?” Again, she goes still—just now realizing how deep this fixation goes. “My birth year,” she whispers after pulling off. Her hands drop to her sides.

“My tattoo isn’t for my mom. It’s for you. I have peonies around my house because they remind me of you. I send flowers before every performance. The day you got stung by a bee when you were sixteen and went into anaphylaxis was the scariest fucking day of my life. I listen to all of the music playlists you make, and all of my videos use the classical works I know you listen to a lot. I—fuck,” I groan, feeling my balls tighten as the base of my spine begins to tingle. “I’m really fucking close.” “Tell me more,” Layla says, words muffled. “Fuck, I⁠—” She bites—gently. I hiss and fist her hair as I begin to pump into her mouth in earnest. “You have no idea how completely⁠—” I groan, throwing my head back. “How fucking completely you have me wrapped around your finger, Layla. You could want to slit my throat, and I’d happily hand you the knife because you’d be the one doing it—God—fuck⁠—”

“The first time I see you come will be in my bed.”

“You ruined his life.” He tugs me closer, blue eyes blazing into mine. “You wanted a villain, baby. So you got one.” My breath catches. “You ruined his life … for me?” He places my hand around his waist so that I have no choice but to be pulled close to him. “If it was legal to cut off the hands that hurt you, I would have. Trust me, I looked for a way.” I open and close my mouth. No one has ever … No one has ever done something like that for me. In a sick, twisted way, I like that he ruined Derek’s life. I like that he cared enough, that he still cares enough. If he’s a villain, what does that make me? “Well, thank you.”

“The ring,” I say slowly, eyes wide. “The one in your closet.” The doors start to shut, so I jump forward and into the penthouse. For some reason, Orion looks relieved. Like he thought I might let the doors close and go home. I don’t blame him for thinking that. I’ve been pushing him away. But I’m not going anywhere now. “What about it?” he asks, expression guarded. It hits me then—how deep this runs for him. He’s keeping it under wraps because he thinks it’ll send me running. “Is it … did you buy it for me?” I ask, voice barely a whisper. Something dark passes behind his eyes, and I see the resoluteness—the commanding, Dominant persona flare back to life. It’s a defense mechanism, of course. Being the youngest brother. Being berated by me, by society. He got into the lifestyle for control. To be able to exercise control. And right now? He’s not in control, so he’s doing the one thing he can do to control the situation. “I’m not ready to answer that,” he says, voice clipped. Another hard limit. “Okay,” I tell him.

“Strawberry is an interesting choice of flavor.” He gives me a lazy smile as he leans back. “It reminds me of you.” My heart turns over inside my chest, and I take another bite of pizza. “How come you never told me?” He chews on his piece, and I watch his throat move as he swallows. I don’t think he realizes just how sexy he is—especially right now, with mussed-up hair, an old white T-shirt, and black pants. His feet are bare, and his scruff is a couple of days overgrown. He looks unkempt, wild, and provocative. “By the time I realized, it was too late. I don’t think it truly hit me until the day of your audition. The threat of losing you spurred me into action.” “And then I told you I never wanted to see you again,” I mumble, the pizza suddenly tasting like sawdust in my mouth. He sets his pizza down and reaches out for my piece, placing it in the box next to his as he takes my hands. “You had every right to say those things to me, Layla. I was a shitty person to ruin your audition, no matter how I felt about you leaving.” “I shouldn’t have said I never wanted to see you again. I wish—” My throat clogs with emotion. “I wish I’d had you in my life these past seven years.” His eyes find mine, darkening slightly. “Maybe it’s a good thing I wasn’t.” I tilt my head. “How so?” “I just mean … it was hard to keep my feelings to myself from afar. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to had we still been close.”

“You know how my parents met, right?” I shake my head. “My dad was obsessed with my mom. So much so that he smothered her. Completely and irrevocably. He wasn’t nice about it. To him, she was his. His possession …” He swallows. “I’m a lot like him, Layla.” My chest aches. “Orion, you’re nothing like him.” “But I am. I’m possessive. I’m controlling. I might not drink anymore, but I came really damn close to going down that slippery slope, too⁠—” “No. You’re not.” I squeeze his hands firmly. “You’re kind and generous. You bought my house so I could afford to buy it from you. You helped me with homework until I graduated. You’re selfless and thoughtful, and you always make sure I’m eating enough⁠—” “Don’t you see? I’m kind to you. I’m generous—to you. Everything I do is for you, Layla. Doesn’t it bother you that I’d let the world burn to save you?” His words send shivers down my spine. “You’re nice to everyone. Stop pretending that you aren’t.” I scoot closer so that I’m right in front of him. “You are not your father. But more importantly, I am not your mother. Felicity was a wonderful woman. Beautiful. Kind. But she easily molded to your father’s will and was easily folded into my father’s life. You forget that not everyone is so easily controlled,” I finish, letting my voice go a bit sultry at the end. His eyes spark with something heated. “That’s a shame. Here I was thinking you’d be easily coaxed into doing whatever I want you to do.”

“I said I was sorry,” I cry out, my face pressed against the rough linen material of his bed. “And I gave you ample warning.” He smooths over the area with his warm palm, and it feels nice. “I’m going to make something crystal clear. If you do this with me, you will obey. I have no time for brats.” The word snags in my brain, and I think of what Zoe had told me once—that she’s a brat, and that Liam loved to tame her. But that’s not me … I like submitting. Right? “I’m not a brat,” I say, panting. “Maybe not, but you’re not exactly obedient, either, are you?” I don’t argue.

“In the bedroom, I’m in control unless we discuss alternative arrangements. You read my contract, so you understand the dynamic. Do you understand, or should I make you read the entire thing while I edge you to the brink of insanity?” That sounds nice.

“You want my mouth on what, Little Dancer? Say. It.” “My pussy!” I shout, frustrated. He laughs. “Very good. What else?” My cheeks are burning. “I want you to make me come with your tongue while your fingers are inside me.” “Inside what?” He’s obnoxious. “My slippery love channel. My sopping wet cunt. My slick canal. I read a lot of smutty books, and I can keep going. Take your pick, Master.” I’m panting by the time his eyes bore into mine, and two fingers slip back into me. “And then what?” I chew on my lower lip. “And then I want to fuck you.” “You mean you want me to fuck you.” I close my eyes. “Yes.”

“Birth control?” “IUD,” I tell him, excitement flaring through me at the prospect of actually doing this. “I’m regularly tested. Have you been tested recently?” My mouth drops open. “Are you seriously asking me if I⁠—” He places a hand over my mouth. “Yes. I’m asking if you’ve been tested recently because I suppose I haven’t made it abundantly clear that I plan to fuck you bare and without a single barrier between us, and it would be irresponsible not to ask you these things as your Dominant.” After he removes his hand, I swallow once before answering. “I haven’t been with anyone in over three years, and I’ve been tested since then.” “There. That clears things up, doesn’t it?” Warmth floods me when I digest his words—fuck you bare and without a single barrier between us float through my mind as Orion pulls his shirt off. He licks his hand and strokes his cock, gathering a bead of precum and spreading it around my opening. “I’ve never”—I look to the side—“I’ve only ever used a condom with other people.” “Good. I want to be the first to fill you with my cum. I did say I’d fill you in two places tonight, right?” He gives me a wry smile. “Maybe we can try for three tomorrow.”

“Fuck, Layla. That was …” I kiss her, and she kisses me back. “I know,” she says against my lips. “I didn’t know that sex could be like that.” “I’m only just getting started. How are you feeling about what just happened?” “Good.” “As good as that was, I never gave you permission to come.” “That’s convenient, because I want to do it again. All night. And maybe into tomorrow.”

I’ve turned my stepsister into a nymphomaniac.

“We’re not done. But you need energy. And I need a moment,” I tell her, laughing. “Orion,” she whispers, one hand coming to my chin. Her eyes flit over my face, and something softens in her expression. “I’m glad it was you.”

“Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant? Maybe branching off from bars and kink clubs?” I chew my pasta as I think about her question. After swallowing, I take a sip of my water. “Maybe. I like the feeling of opening a new place. Of hiring people and being able to give people well-paying jobs. Nothing is like the satisfaction of seeing someone enjoy something you’ve created. Again, I think it comes down to control—to making decisions about a place, from the location to the aesthetic. A restaurant is something I’ve thought about.” “You’re good at it,” she says, and her praise means everything to me. “Your businesses. Most people can hardly get one off the ground, but you’ve managed three now.” “It helps to have money. I have privilege, and I recognize that. I don’t take a salary at any of my places.” She cocks her head. “Really?” I shrug. “I don’t need the money.” Her expression softens, and she wipes her mouth with her napkin. “See? Charles Ravage would exploit his workers and pay himself a large salary.” I look down at my plate as she continues. “Can I tell you something?” I look up at her, and she gives me a wry smile. “I think you’re more like my dad than Charles. You know that saying? Nature versus nurture? Sure, Charles is your birth father, and you spent the first fourteen years under his roof. And who’s to say how you would’ve turned out if your mom hadn’t left him, taking you with her. But you also spent the second half of your life with my dad—one of the...

So here I am, sitting across from the woman I thought I’d lost forever, and she’s looking at me like I’m worth something. Like I’m worth trusting again. And maybe that’s the most unbelievable part of all—that after all these years, after all the damage I’ve done, she’s still here, still willing to see the best in me.

“I need to know if talking about your body is okay.” His words startle me. “What do you mean?” His brow wrinkles. “I did a lot of research on eating disorder recovery, and one of the things people in recovery consistently said was that comments about their bodies always set them off. Not just negative comments—all comments. So I want to be sure I don’t threaten your recovery before I say something. I know I got carried away earlier and forgot to ask⁠—” “Orion.” My throat catches, and I move my hand on top of his. He did research? That’s really thoughtful. “It’s okay. Like I said, as long as it’s not degrading, you can say whatever you want about my body.” His eyes darken as his hand twitches underneath mine. Suddenly, he drops his head on my chest, placing a kiss along my collarbone. I get a whiff of tobacco and leather when his hair tickles my chin, and I inhale sharply when he does it again along the other collarbone. “Good. Because I plan to worship you, Layla. Your body is perfect.” His hand presses down against my lower stomach gently, and then he kisses my breasts—one after the other. The soft touches make my nipples harden, and I’m panting by the time he gets down to my stomach. “You’re strong. You’re beautiful. Every muscle, every curve, every freckle.” He trails kisses to my hips, kissing each hip bone. “And not just because of how it looks. But because it’s you. Because I can’t get enough of your smell, of how soft your skin is, of your taste—fuck, I’d make a dea...

“I branded you with my initial,” he murmurs, hand smoothing over the skin of my hips, like he can’t stop touching me. “Good,” I tell him, twisting around and placing both hands around his neck. “Because I’ve been yours for a very long time without even realizing it.”

The rhythm of his movements is calming, almost hypnotic, as if he’s washing away more than just the day’s events. It’s like he’s cleansing away all of our doubts, fears, and the walls I’ve built by telling myself I’d never have this with another person. And the walls he built—telling himself that he’d never have me. I close my eyes and lean into his touch, surrendering to the sensation. The water runs down my face, and it feels really good after the long day I’ve had. I relax into his touch fully. This isn’t just about washing my hair. It’s about trust, vulnerability, and letting someone else see the parts that are usually hidden from other people. And Orion has seen every single part of me. Somehow, he’s managed to effortlessly carve out a space in my heart without me even realizing it. Like he’s always belonged there, quietly and patiently finding his way in. Like he’s been waiting for me to catch up.

“You probably don’t remember me,” I say slowly, looking at her with what I hope is an open expression. “I auditioned for the Paris School of Ballet seven years ago, and my stepbrother interrupted the audition⁠—” “I remember,” she says, sniffing. She reaches into her purse and pulls out a handkerchief, blowing her nose. She doesn’t say anything else, so I continue. “I worked really hard for that audition, and I was devastated for a really long time that I never got to show you my repertoire.” “And?” she asks, looking annoyed. I huff a laugh. I’ve thought a lot about this over the years. I held so much anger toward Orion, and at the time, it felt justified. But if I’m truly honest, I think the struggles I’ve had with my size and body shape probably would have been amplified had I lived in a foreign country away from my family and friends. Especially in a city as sophisticated as Paris. “I realize now that it was never meant to be, and that’s okay. Everything happens for a reason, you know? You told me I don’t fit the image of a Parisian ballet dancer, and you’re right. I never would’ve been happy there.” Jean’s eyes flicker with a mix of confusion and curiosity, as if she’s trying to decipher my intentions. I give her a small smile, genuinely hoping to convey what I’m trying to say. “I ended up finding my own path. And it led me to places I never would have imagined. So, in a way, I’m grateful for what happened.” She blinks at me, her guard slipping slightly. “Grateful?” “Ye...

“I know things have been tough lately. I remember what it was like at your age, and it’s not easy when people are mean. But I want you to know something really important: fitting in isn’t everything.” Bradleigh crosses her arms, listening, so I continue. “Sometimes, when others bully, it’s because they’re dealing with their own issues. That doesn’t make it right, but it does mean that it’s not about you—it’s about them. You’re unique, and that’s a good thing. It might not feel like it now, but the qualities that make you different are the same ones that make you special.” “Sometimes I feel so different,” she says, looking up at me with a crease between her brows. “I know. And you know what? I realized that the people who matter the most are the ones who like you for who you are, not who they want you to be. It’s okay if you don’t fit into a certain group or if you feel like you stand out. Standing out is brave and strong. And I promise you, one day, you’ll find people who love you just as you are. And when that happens, you’ll be so glad you didn’t try to change for anyone else. If you ever feel down or alone, remember that there’s a whole world out there full of people who haven’t even met you yet but will care about you so much. It gets better, and you’ll find your people. For now, just keep being kind to yourself, because you deserve that.” “Thank you,” she says. “Have you ever had someone be mean to you?” I nod, thinking of Jean. Thinking of all the people in high scho...

“You know,” he says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “you’re like Odette in so many ways—kind, genuine, always true to your heart. But you’ve got Odile in you too. You stand up for yourself and for what you believe in. You can be quite intimidating. It’s amazing to watch.” I could identify with both characters while up on stage. But it hadn’t occurred to me that he saw both of those traits in me. It’s a relief to be able to give him everything I have, and for him to see me how I’d always wanted to be seen by someone—without judgment or expectation. For so long, I had to tiptoe around my dates because of my demisexuality or my profession. “Yes, well, you would know, seeing as you attend every single performance, you psycho.” He laughs. “I don’t regret a single second.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you don’t.” He leans down so that he’s murmuring his next line into my ear. “Roll your eyes again. I dare you.” I don’t stop smiling all morning.

We all walk over to him, placing our hands on top of his. “To being better,” I say, my voice breaking on the last syllable. The words are heavy, but they carry a promise I hope we can keep. “To being happier,” Miles says. His voice is soft, almost fragile, as if the weight of the moment could break him. “To being kinder,” Liam adds, placing an arm around my shoulder, his grip firm, grounding. I can feel the silent strength he offers, the way he’s holding us all up. Chase steps forward next, his jaw clenched, eyes wet but focused. “To being stronger,” he says, his voice rough with emotion. Not letting the Ravage name drag us down forever, I think. Kai is the last to speak, his hand trembling slightly as he places it over Dad’s. “To being braver,” he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. His words linger in the air, a quiet vow to face the future without fear. As we stand there, a quiet resolve forms between us, binding us together in a way that feels different from anything before.