Page 107 of My Dark Divine
Breathe. Just fucking breathe, Venetia.
Somehow, I find my way to the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and shove my hands under the icy water, splashing it ontomy face. My makeup smears, and the cold does little to calm the panic gripping me.
Why are they here? Since Zayden died, they’ve stayed silent—never a word, even though they were his closest friends. Back then, I thought they wanted to distance themselves from his mess, afraid I might expose what I knew about the things they did together.
But I didn’t. I wanted to erase them, to forget every agonizing memory they forced on me. It seemed easier to ignore them than to dredge up the pain, but that was a mistake. I should have locked them away when I had the chance.
But I did nothing.
And now they’re back. Not for business, not for any project—those looks say it all. They’re here to haunt me, to savor my misery, just as they always did.
“I see you’ve got yourself in a good spot,” a low voice calls from behind me. I flinch, the sound of it repulsive as it slithers into my ear. Despair sinks into my chest, and I’m moments away from dropping to my knees, begging him to go away.
“Logan—”
“You have no idea how many times I dreamed of hearing you say my name,” he whispers, closing the distance between us. My legs are trembling, and I’m frozen in place, held captive by the fear growing within me.
I couldn’t do anything all those years, and I can’t do anything now.
“But you never said much—just those little, helpless whimpers.” He sighs dreamily, as if lost in memories. “Yeah, I remember.”
Tears sting my eyes as I summon the strength to seize his hand, yanking it away before he can touch my face. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, struggling to keep the sob lodged in my throat. I drop my gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s the same as ever—charming on the surface, but beneath that perfect façade lies the same sick soul. “What do you want?”
A cruel chuckle escapes him, twisting my stomach in disgust. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, lips curling into a grin. “I want our time back.”
“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’d ever let you near me again,” I snap, though my voice wavers, betraying the fear I’m trying to hide.
“We never needed your permission before, did we?”
“I have a fiancé,” I say, clinging to whatever strength I still have. “West will kill you for even trying to touch me.”
Logan’s cold, hollow laugh fills the space as his gaze drags over me, dripping with perverse satisfaction. It’s as if he’s driving a knife into my core, each look twisting it deeper and more painfully.
“Does he know, Venetia?” he asks, tilting his head just enough to brush aside a few short black strands of hair. “Somehow, I doubt it. I don’t think you’ll ever find the courage to tell him the truth.Anyof it.”
He steps closer, and I retreat, my back hitting the cold marble wall. The shock of it sends a jolt through me, rattling my nerves, and I shut my eyes, gasping for control I know will never come.
Still, after all these years, it’s the only thing I can’t have in his presence.
“To tell him whatreallyhappened to your husband,” he presses, drawing out that word with mocking emphasis.
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I lie, shaking my head in a frantic attempt to convince both him and myself. “I’ve been?—”
“Grieving like the devoted wife you were,” he interrupts, echoing the shallow, sympathetic headlines from the media. “Believable to most, sure, Venetia. But not to those who sawthe truth. I have to hand it to you—that was a smart move. You packed the poor girl off to a psychiatric facility, and after a couple of weeks of fucking shock therapy, she was completely subdued, her silence the best outcome for you.”
He’s so close that I can almost taste the heavy cologne, a scent permanently etched into my skin and memory. I’m powerless to stop it as my mind battles to erase the revolting memories flooding back, triggered by both the smell and the mocking inflection in his voice—the one that always made him the sickest.
“You were obsessed with him. But when you realized he would never feel the same way about you, you started to hate him. You wanted him dead. All those lies you fed to the press? We could’ve shut them down the second they appeared.”
“So why didn’t you?” I demand, my voice cutting through the tension. I’m exhausted from the manipulations he’s trying to impose on me, and I just want to get straight to the point, no matter the risk. “If you’re so sure of what happened, why didn’t you expose me?”
He pauses, savoring the moment. “Because watching you try to move on, always looking over your shoulder, was far more entertaining,” he begins. “Seeing you thrive while still haunted by what you did, always fearing the past would surface—that was better than any quick revenge. You seemed so scared every day, as if he might claw his way out of the grave.”
“You have no idea?—”
“But I do,” he cuts me off, relishing his power. “We all do. Waiting for the right time was agony. You were so close, yet always just out of reach. But now? Now that you’ve clawed your way to happiness?” His face splits into a twisted smile. “Now, we’ll drag you back, and no one can save you from that.”
“What do you want from me?” I force myself to ask, despite dreading his answer. Somehow, I already know what he’s going to say next.
