Raven McCoy is a driven, no-nonsense senior at Columbia University, determined to carve out a future on her own terms. With her sharp mind, relentless ambition, and a confidence that turns heads, she's always believed that love-and distractions-have...
The crisp autumn air wrapped around me as I stepped out of the lecture hall, but it couldn't dull the warmth buzzing under my skin. I had just aced my midterms—months of grueling study sessions, sleepless nights, and caffeine-fueled breakdowns had led to this moment.
Beside me, Shante let out a dramatic sigh of relief, clutching her chest like she had just survived war. "Girl, I swear, if I had to take one more multiple-choice test, I was gonna throw myself out that window."
I smirked. "You say that, but you literally finished before everyone else."
"Because I'm that good," she said, tossing her curls. "And you? Straight-up murdered that econ final. Don't even lie."
"I did okay."
Shante shot me a look. "Raven, you broke that test. And you know what that means?"
"That I don't have to study for the next few days?"
"That we're celebrating tonight." She grinned, already unlocking her phone to text someone. "No excuses, no backing out, and no claiming you'd rather stay in watching 'documentaries' on Netflix when we both know you're just rewatching rom-coms."
I sighed, but I couldn't argue. We did deserve it. "Fine," I said, pretending to be reluctant. "But just one drink."
Shante's grin stretched wider. "Famous last words."
Hours Later – The Club
Music pulsed through my veins, vibrating beneath my skin as we stepped into the club. I was wearing this
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The energy was electric, a mix of flashing neon lights, deep bass, and the scent of expensive liquor swirling in the air. The VIP section was even more exclusive than I expected—private, luxurious, and filled with New York's elite.
Shante, of course, strutted in like she owned the place.
"Perks of knowing the right people," she said with a wink, grabbing my wrist as she led me toward the roped-off area.
I frowned. "And by 'right people,' you mean your boss?"
She smirked. "Exactly."
I shot her a wary glance. "Shante—"
"Relax, Rae. I swear, you're gonna thank me for this."
I sighed, but before I could say anything else, the air in the room seemed to shift.
A presence entered. One I didn't see at first—but felt.
It was like the temperature dropped a few degrees, like the entire atmosphere changed just because he walked in.
And then I saw him.
Roman Riles.
Even if I hadn't recognized him from business magazines and TV interviews, I would've known he was powerful just by looking at him. He had that effortless dominance, the kind that came naturally to men who were used to getting exactly what they wanted.
