You were always a simple woman with simple dreams—dreams of warmth, of belonging, of a family who would never abandon you. But life had never been merciful. You came from a broken home, where love was scarce and silence was louder than affection. By the time you reached college, your heart was already cracked in too many places to count.

And then you met him

Dorian Holt.

His smile had seemed like sunlight then, his arms the safest place you had ever known. You poured yourself into him, gave him everything: your savings, your time, your love. You sacrificed your ambitions so he could build his. It was supposed to be worth it. It was supposed to lead to happiness.

But men like Dorian didn’t know the meaning of enough.

When he secured a promising job, everything changed. His gentle touches grew into bruises, his sweet words curdled into venom. You were reduced to nothing more than a maid in your own home. He paraded his cr*elty in silence, sometimes in slaps, sometimes in the way he came home smelling of another woman. You swallowed it all because you had nowhere to go.

This was your life. A cage without bars.

And then came the raven.

That morning, the world was buried under snow. Your breath came out in pale clouds as you trudged home with groceries, a thin muffler your only shield against the chill. The streets were quiet, almost too quiet—until you saw it.

A raven, black as midnight, half-buried in the snow, its legs twisted, trembling in the cold.

Your heart squeezed. You should’ve walked past, kept going. But kindness was stitched into your bones. You bent down, carefully freeing its fragile legs.

“Shh… just let me help you,” you whispered, wrapping your muffler around its trembling body.

The bird tilted its head, sharp eyes gleaming, watching you with something almost human.

“There… you’ll be warm now.”

You smiled faintly and tore a piece of sausage from your grocery bag, placing it before the creature. Then, you left, boots crunching against the snow.

You never saw it. The way the raven’s form changed, stretched, bones cracking and reforming. Feathers melted into black robes, wings folded into shoulders, and where the bird once lay now stood a man.

Corvas

The shape-shifter. The king of the dark. He lifted your muffler to his face, inhaling the faint trace of you, and in that moment, he chose you.

You.

Later, your apartment greeted you with silence. Dorian was away again—on a “business trip,” though you knew better.

Evening fell. Snow drifted lazily outside your window. The doorbell rang.

Your heart lurched. He wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

You opened the door, bracing yourself for insults, maybe a slap. Instead, Dorian stood there, his eyes softer than you remembered, his arms reaching for you.

“Love,” he breathed, pulling you into his chest.

You froze, confused. This wasn’t him. His warmth, his tone—it felt… different.

“You’re wearing so little in this cold,” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Let me warm you up.”

You shivered as his hands lingered, too gentle, too reverent. This was not the man who had broken you piece by piece.

But it was his face. His voice. His body.

What you didn’t know—what you couldn’t know—was that, this wasn’t Dorian at all. It was Corvas. The raven you saved. The king of darkness himself, wearing your husband’s skin like a mask, standing in your doorway with eyes that were not human but ancient, endless, and fixed solely on you.

And for the first time in your life, someone had truly chosen you.