Fitting In: Raven’s Life, Lies & Petty Revenge in Hoogenach

Last Updated on: 13th January 2026, 08:35 am

Fitting in has always been part of the job. Slide into a room, blend with the crowd, become someone they never think twice about. It’s a skill, a survival mechanism, and now, in this shit-stained corner of the world, it’s my only chance to stay alive.

I’ve missed so much chasing shadows and pulling triggers. The parties I’ll never attend, the vacations I’ll never take, the family I’ll never have. And Jake, he’s always there, carved into my mind like a scar.

But this life Jess dropped me into is something else entirely. If I want to survive here, I can’t just live. I have to exist. I have to be real. I need the neighbours to know my face, the bartender to remember my drink, the people in the nightclub to think I’ve danced there a hundred times before.

So, I began to build it.

The Art of Pretending: Becoming a Local

Street Whores doesn’t care who you were before you got here. It only cares who you are now. That much was clear from the first night I stepped into the nightclub, a place that feels like it was frozen in time sometime after the ’90s and left to rot.

The sign flickered outside, one bulb away from total darkness. Inside, it smelled like spilled beer, sweat, and bad decisions. Perfect.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I came prepared. Red lipstick and enough skin showing to keep the wrong kind of people curious.

The music pulsed loud and ugly, drowning out thought. The crowd moved like a single organism, bodies pressed together in ways that would’ve made most people uncomfortable. I wasn’t most people.

I danced.

The Nightclub: Blending In With The Vultures

It didn’t take long to feel the eyes. The men watching like vultures, the women pretending not to notice me. That’s the thing about small towns, even filthy ones like Hoogenach, outsiders stand out.

But I smiled, leaned against the bar, and ordered something cheap and bitter. The bartender, a woman with cigarette ash dusting her apron, looked at me for a second too long before handing me my drink. I could tell she was trying to figure me out.

“New around here?” she asked.

I smiled back, warm but nonchalant. “Not really.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. That’s the thing about places like this, you can lie as much as you want, as long as you don’t act like you’ve got something to hide.

Building the Illusion

I moved through the night like I’d been doing it for years. I laughed at bad jokes, flirted just enough to seem approachable, and made sure to remember faces. The trick to the place was simple: give them just enough of yourself that they don’t start asking for more.

By the time I left the nightclub, the bartender had smiled at me once, the DJ had nodded in my direction, and a man whose name I didn’t care to learn had offered to walk me home. I declined, of course, but I did it with a smile.

Every move mattered. Every word was calculated.

This wasn’t fun. It wasn’t freedom. It was strategy.

Because if someone ever asked, I needed them to say: “Oh, Raven? She’s lived here forever.”

Flashback: The End of Keith Swanson

“Do you need another blanket, sweetie?”

For a brief moment, Keith Swanson almost sounded like he cared. Like he was human.

I nodded, playing the part he wanted me to. The soft-spoken, attentive girlfriend who’d made herself indispensable over the last three months. Keith believed the illusion because people like him always do. His arrogance was his blind spot.

But beneath his tailored suits and polished words, Keith Swanson was rotten.

He ran Hunt Security Solutions with a ruthlessness that left bodies piled up across continents. He supplied weapons to both sides of a conflict, fuelling wars just to keep his profits climbing. Thousands dead, millions displaced, all to feed his empire. And when the cameras turned his way, Keith became the perfect picture of corporate responsibility, grinning for the headlines that called him a visionary.

I hated him.

Tonight wasn’t just dinner. Tonight was the end.

Dinner for Two

The penthouse was suffocating, it was luxury that screams wealth but feels empty. Canary Wharf stretched out below us, the city lights twinkling like they weren’t drowning under the weight of men like Keith.

He was in a good mood. Relaxed. Laughing. He listened to my stories, the ones I fed him so he’d believe I was a willing part of his world. Every joke, every smile was a carefully placed loop in the web I’d created around him.

I played my role perfectly. He didn’t even notice the tension simmering beneath my skin, the way my fingers toyed with the edge of my plate to keep steady.

After dinner, he handed me a blanket. “You looked cold,” he said softly, draping it over my shoulders.

I smiled, all teeth. “Thanks, babe.”

The Perfect Cover

In the bathroom, I locked the door behind me. The Glock stayed in its holster tonight. This kill was about precision, not mess.

I stared at my reflection for a moment, letting the image settle. Calm, collected, in control. The faint scent of smoke clung to me, a reminder of what I’d done earlier that day.

Keith liked to keep his home warm. That was his mistake.

I tampered with the heating system while he was at work, knowing exactly how it would fail. A faulty wire, a chain reaction, and just enough time for me to walk away clean.

When I returned to the living room, Keith was lounging on the couch, the blanket tucked tightly around him like a king enjoying his throne.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Just getting comfortable,” I replied, settling beside him.

The wire sparked, and the fire began as if on cue.

Smoke and Mirrors

The flames licked at the edges of the blanket, slow at first, almost delicate. By the time Keith noticed, it was too late.

“What the hell?” he muttered, pulling at the fabric as the fire spread. Panic flashed across his face, and for a brief second, I saw the man beneath the mask, scared, helpless, weak.

“Keith, the heating must be broken,” I said, my voice soft, almost concerned.

He staggered to his feet, coughing as smoke began to fill the room. But I’d thought of everything. The fire containment systems were disabled. No sprinklers. No escape.

The flames climbed higher around him, the air thick and choking. Keith’s breaths turned into gasps, his movements sluggish as he stumbled toward me.

“Help…” he croaked, his voice barely audible.

I knelt beside him, my head tilting to the side. “Someone’s sabotaged your heating,” I murmured.

His eyes widened in realization, but there was nothing he could do.

The Exit

The sirens wailed in the distance as I called emergency services. My voice was calm, measured, every word practiced. “There’s been an accident at the penthouse in Canary Wharf. Fire. He’s struggling to breathe.”

I stayed just long enough to make it convincing, long enough to hear the life leave his lungs as the smoke consumed him.

When the carnage began to spill through the door, firefighters, paramedics, confusion, I was already gone.

Keith Swanson’s empire would crumble in his absence. And I would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Another name crossed off the list.

Operation: Petty Revenge

Fitting in at Hoogenach didn’t mean blending quietly into the background. It wasn’t about becoming invisible, it was about playing the long game. I’d give Jess the satisfaction of knowing she’d saved me, of knowing I was grateful. But I’d also remind her that I wasn’t the sort of person to let anyone control me.

She gave me a lifeline, sure. But it wasn’t a lifeline without strings. It was hollow help, one that left me scrambling to survive in a place she controlled. A test? Maybe. A game? Definitely.

I wasn’t going to lose.

So, I devised my own kind of justice. Something small, something sharp. She wouldn’t see it coming until it was too late. And when she finally realized? She’d feel it.

Sibling Rivalry at its Finest

It was perfect. Simple. Effective.

Jess’s clients, those men who handed over their cash for a fleeting moment of pleasure, wouldn’t resist. I didn’t need them all, just enough to make her notice the movement. Enough to make her bank wobble, even just a little.

Tim was the first.

There he was, sitting by the ice rink they’d slapped together for Christmas. A fish in Jess’s pond, the kind of man who liked being a regular.

The idea that he could fuck Jess’s sister?

Irresistible.

A Well-Laid Plan

I made my approach, letting my smile do most of the work.

“Tim,” I purred, my voice low enough to pull him in closer. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

I leaned into him, close enough that my breath brushed his neck, my fingers trailing lightly across his chest. His ego practically inflated in real time.

“I’m so wet thinking about you,” I whispered, my lips brushing his ear. “My sister says such good things. I want to see if it’s true.”

And just like that, he was mine.

Sweet, Petty Victory

Back at my house, the clothes hit the floor before the door even shut. Tim was eager but I let him do what he wanted. I moaned in the right places, whispered the right words, and gave him everything he wanted from me.

He came hard, his cum dripping from me as he collapsed, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

I smiled back, counting the cash as he got dressed. This was only the beginning. Jess’s clients didn’t need her when they had me.

I washed him off in the shower, the hot water a quiet reprieve as I pieced together my next move.

This wasn’t revenge. This was art.. Jess had her clients, but I had something better. A plan. And this one?

It was going to hurt.