chapter one

(Nikolas's POV)

I sat down in the house, staring at nothing.

The silence was heavy, pressing against my chest. The house felt so empty cold, lifeless. My grandmother was not here anymore.

I felt really bad.

I felt alone.

I had been preparing myself for this moment ever since she fell sick, but nothing could have made this emptiness easier. The small living room, once filled with the scent of her cooking and the sound of her laughter, now felt like just walls and shadows.

A soft knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts. I stood up, straightening myself, forcing my face into something neutral as I moved to receive the people coming to greet me.

Mourners. Neighbors. Distant relatives I barely remembered.

They came in one after the other, offering words of comfort, hands on my shoulder, pity in their eyes. I nodded, thanked them, went through the motions. But their words felt distant, like I was hearing them through water.

None of it changed the fact that she was gone.

And when the house was empty again, the weight of it all came crashing down on me.

I was alone in a place that no longer felt like home.

And then my uncle arrived.

I heard the sound of a car pulling up outside, followed by heavy footsteps. A presence that immediately filled the room before I even turned around.

"Nikolas."

I clenched my jaw. I hadn't seen him in years, but his voice still held that same firm, unyielding edge.

"Uncle," I said, turning to face him.

He looked me over, his dark eyes assessing me like he was deciding something. Then he sighed. "You can't stay here alone."

I exhaled, already tired of this conversation before it had even started. "I wasn't planning to. I'm heading back to the city soon."

His expression darkened. "No, you're not."

I frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You need to come home."

I stared at him. "This is my home."

"No." He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating. "Your real home. Where you belong. Your father's business is waiting for you."

I scoffed. "I'm a nurse, Uncle. I have nothing to do with his business."

His eyes narrowed. "You don't even know what you're refusing."

"I know enough," I said sharply. "And I don't care."

He exhaled slowly, voice lowering. "And what about your parents? Don't you want to know what really happened to them? About the beast that killed them?"

I froze.

The beast.

I had heard those words before. When I was younger, I used to ask about my parents' deaths, but the answers were always vague. My uncle called it an animal attack. No specifics. No details.

It had been easier to stop asking questions.

"There are no such things as beasts, Uncle," I muttered.

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "Then come anyway. You'll still be working with animals."

There was something in the way he said it that made my stomach twist.

I clenched my fists. "I can't. I have my work, I just buried Grandmother your mother," I said sharply. "You don't even seem sad, yet you want me to just leave everything behind?"

He said nothing.

"I don't want to involve myself in any of this," I continued, voice rising. "I don't care about my father's business. I don't care about whatever obsession you have with these so-called beasts. I have a life, and I intend to keep it."

I turned on my heel and walked away, letting him know the conversation was over.

He didn't follow me. He just stood there, watching.

And then he left.

Weeks passed. I buried myself in work, pushing away the grief, the loneliness. The hospital was my escape, my routine. Patients, medications, paperwork things that made sense.

Until one afternoon, when I got a letter.

It was sitting in my mailbox, plain and unassuming. I almost ignored it.

But when I opened it, my stomach dropped.

It was my transfer notice.

I scanned the words, my breath coming faster. Transfer approved. Effective immediately.

My grip tightened on the paper.

"When did I do this?" I whispered.

I read to the end, my heart pounding.

And then I saw it.

Raventhorn Facility.

I knew immediately this was my uncle's doing.

I snatched my phone, dialing his number with shaking hands. He picked up after the first ring, as if he'd been expecting me.

"Nikolas," he said smoothly.

"What the hell did you do?" I snapped.

A pause. Then, calm as ever, "What I had to."

My hands trembled. "Undo it. Now."

"You'll be fine," he said. "It's still nursing, isn't it? Just with animals instead of humans."

I gritted my teeth. "You had no right—"

"Your father would have wanted this," he cut in. "You can be angry all you want, but you belong at Raventhorn. You'll see soon enough."

The call disconnected.

I stood there, staring at my phone, pulse thudding in my ears.

I had just lost my grandmother. I had tried to hold on to my life, my normalcy.

And now, my uncle had taken that from me too.

I was being sent to Raventhorn.

Whether I wanted to or not.

I wished I could opt out, get a job elsewhere, but I was still learning. I needed this placement for my grades, and my supervisors knew it. Clinical placements were essential in nursing education, providing real-world experience and skill application.

Without this, my path to becoming a nurse would be jeopardized.

I was so angry. The heat of it burned through me like fire, and the weight of it was suffocating. My uncle's words kept echoing in my head. "You belong at Raventhorn. You'll see soon enough."

I didn't want to see. I didn't want any part of this, yet there was nothing I could do.

I grabbed my coat and stormed to the office, determined to fix this. I tried everything—called in favors, pleaded with my supervisor, even tried to appeal to the hospital board. I begged them to let me transfer to another facility. Anywhere but Raventhorn.

But it was no use.

They told me the same thing, over and over: "We can't override your transfer request. It's already been approved."

I was stuck. My hands were tied. And the worst part was, I knew it was all my uncle's doing. He had orchestrated it all, just like he always did.

Frustrated, I stormed back home. I slammed the door behind me, barely noticing the empty space in the house that had once felt like home. Now it felt like a cage.

I went straight to my room, not even bothering to unpack the letter. I just stood there, staring at the walls, the silence overwhelming. After what felt like hours, I finally collapsed onto my bed. The weight of everything the loss of my grandmother, the anger, the frustration crushed me. I was tired, both physically and mentally, but sleep didn't come easily.

When I finally drifted off, I thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe, I could sleep away all of this.

But the next morning, a knock at the door woke me up.

I groaned, rubbing my eyes, still exhausted from the sleepless night. I dragged myself out of bed, annoyed, wondering who could be bothering me at this hour.

I opened the door.

Standing there were three young men, their expressions unreadable.

One of them spoke first. "Your uncle told us to bring you."

I blinked, my body freezing as my mind quickly caught up to the situation. These were the people sent to take me to Raventhorn.

I felt the surge of anger again. It pulsed through me, hot and unforgiving. "You've got to be kidding me."

They stared back, silent, waiting for me to make the next move.

I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, trying to keep myself from yelling, but it was hard. My whole world was spiraling out of control, and now, these strangers were standing on my doorstep, taking away the last semblance of freedom I had left.

"I have to resume work next week," I said through gritted teeth, the words dripping with venom.

One of the men nodded. "Yes, sir. It's time to go."

I didn't have any more words left. I just felt a crushing, suffocating wave of resentment. My heart was pounding in my chest as I turned away from them.

I had no choice but to leave.

I packed my bags with a fury, throwing everything into the suitcase without care. My movements were sharp and angry, each item feeling like an insult, like it was all part of some grand scheme that I had no say in.

When I was done, I marched over to the door, where the men stood patiently waiting, their eyes unreadable.

Without a word, I dropped the bag at their feet with a force that made a small thud sound.

I knew I was being childish. I knew I wasn't handling this the way I should. But in that moment, I didn't care. I was so damn angry I couldn't think straight.

"Fine," I muttered. "I'll go."

I didn't wait for them to say anything. I just turned and walked past them, out the door and into the cold morning air, knowing that once I crossed that threshold, there would be no turning back.