Smart little serpent. She must have gone to her idiotic boyfriend’s place and uncovered the little lie I told him. I’m convinced she drove all the way to that ugly house simply because he ignored her calls and texts. It’s ridiculous how she humiliates herself like that.
I picture her getting into her car, anxiety etched on her face as she tears the skin around her nails—a nervous habit she thinks no one notices. The image fills me with a deeper fury than anything she’s done to me. A woman like her, wasting her potential on that scumbag…
Why the fuck am I even thinking about that?
My weariness is almost unbearable, pressing down on me like a leaden weight. But her image, stark and bright on the screen, triggers a sudden sense of awareness.
Venetia has never lost control. She’s called a snake for a reason—cold, calculating, always watching from beneath her thick lashes, her gaze chilling your blood.
But tonight, she lost it. She acted on her emotions, stormed into my yard, and burned down my fucking car. Something I never thought possible has occurred.
The little serpent finally showed her fangs.
She isn’t as unemotional as she pretends, which means I have more influence over her than I realized. I can do a lot of things, and right now, my mind races with various thoughts, all centered on the same image—my hands wrapped around that slender neck, squeezing tightly enough to finally silence her and teach her a hard fucking lesson. If she thinks we’re even, she’s sorely mistaken.
This won’t be forgotten, and I’ll make sure she deeply regrets her fucking actions.
Ithought my mood couldn’t improve any further, but my father proved me wrong. Today, I won’t be lurking like a creep near Venetia’s house as I originally planned. Instead, Dad has scheduled a meeting with her, her father, and me. He insists it’s important, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck about business today.
My mind races with plans to confront Venetia, sleepless and driven by a force beyond mere desire. It’s a need to define her, to place her where she fucking belongs, that consumes me. Today, I’m going to cut down those baby fangs she’s so desperately flashed at me.
I sit in my less flashy car, my fingers tapping nervously on the steering wheel. She always arrives early, and I plan to take advantage of it.
When her car pulls in, a rush of anticipation sweeps over me. Every muscle tenses as I sit up straight, my eyes glued to her movements. I chuckle at the image of her checking her makeup in the rearview mirror.
It won’t look as pretty once I’m done with her.
In the next moment, she steps out of her car, triggering another surge of adrenaline that sparks every nerve in my body. I chew on the corner of my lip, trying to ignore the burning discomfort of withdrawal. I fucking hate this constant craving for coke; it makes me feel weak. I want to be able to choose whether to get high or not, but this withdrawal is slowly taking control of me.
Ican’tlet myself use this morning. I want to experience everything with a clear mind—to witness the subtle shift in her eyes, the cascade of her tears, the delicate pout of her lips—a feast for all my senses. I need to commit every single second to memory before I inevitably fall into the white pit again.
I wait for her to approach the entrance of the building before I get out of my car, shutting the door quietly behind me. I follow her at a measured pace, careful not to draw any attention. She’s not supposed to notice me until I want her to.
I’ve never really paid much attention to how she walks—like a model strutting down a runway rather than a woman headed to a job she clearly despises. I don’t need to be an expert to see how uncomfortable and anxious she feels in this setting.
Not that I give a fuck.
The doors slide open, allowing her inside, and I calculate the perfect moment to slip in right after her, keeping my pace deliberate and quiet. She greets the staff members before quickly glancing away, and I press my finger to my lips, urging thesecretary and cleaner to keep quiet before they ruin everything. With a small smile on my face, it looks like I just want to pleasantly surprise her.
With each step, my impatience grows. The anticipation bubbles within me, and I can practically feel myself glowing from the inside. I’m not high right now, but the rush this situation gives me feels better than any drug I’ve ever taken.
Venetia steps into the elevator, her expression entirely unbothered, while I linger just around the corner, granting her a few moments of peace. As the doors begin to close, I rush in, stretching my hand between them and ignoring the jolt of pain as they smash against my arm, sending a vibration through my body.
When the doors part and her eyes catch my silhouette, she instinctively takes a barely perceptible step back. I bite my lower lip, relishing her reaction as I stroll into the elevator, unashamedly locking my eyes on her. I settle right beside her, facing the closing doors, and I swear, I can almost hear her silent scream, the desperate urge to escape echoing in her mind.
We’re heading to the 28th floor, so I have more than enough time. I allow her this fleeting illusion of peace, just as I did a moment ago before stepping inside.
Now, I understand her fascination with witnessing the dwindling light of hope a little more.
A tremor runs through her, a subtle earthquake beneath her carefully constructed calm. The air crackles with her unspoken anxiety, an electric current that burns its way into the space between us.
I cross my arms, creating a barrier against the laughter that threatens to escape. Her eyes dart like trapped birds, desperately searching for a way out. She’s on the brink of snapping, and the thought amuses me. I could revel in her agony for hours, and it would still be a mere drop in the ocean of my desires.
There’s something intoxicating about being the only one who can provoke any emotion from Venetia Ross.
As we reach the 20th floor, I take a small step forward, casting my shadow over her face as I lean toward the panel and press the emergency stop button. The elevator lurches to a halt, sending a slight ripple through the cabin that elicits a quiet whimper from her lips, causing my cock to jerk in response.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, a tremor lacing her voice. That sweet, frightened tone is like music to my ears.
