Page 1 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER ONE

THE BEAUTY

T he soft glow from my laptop screen lights up my dorm room, casting weird shadows on the posters of classic crime movies covering my walls. The documentary I’ve got playing has that spooky narration that always seems to pull me right in.

I’m curled up in my chair with one knee tucked under me, and a bowl of popcorn balanced dangerously on my lap.

My eyes stay glued to the screen as a chilling crime scene unfolds.

The world outside my window feels miles away—just faint buzzing, distant chatter, and occasional laughter filtering in from campus life.

“Faith, you’re at it again, aren’t you?”

Tria’s voice breaks through my trance. I jump slightly, popcorn almost spilling everywhere as I turn to see her leaning against the doorframe. She’s wearing her usual smirk, arms crossed, dark waves bouncing as she tilts her head at me.

With a sheepish grin, I pause the video. “Guilty as charged.”

Tria steps into the room, shaking her head as she walks over with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie. “Honestly, if you keep diving into these crime stories, you’ll be a detective by the time we graduate.”

I snort, pushing my glasses up my nose before shoving another handful of popcorn into my mouth. “I can’t help it. There’s something fascinating about the human psyche, y’know? The reasons behind why people do the fucked-up shit they do.”

She rolls her eyes, flopping dramatically onto my bed. “Yeah, yeah, you and your obsession with the dark side of the mind. Just make sure you join us mere mortals in the real world every now and then, alright? We’ve got a psych class to ace.”

I spin my chair to face her, throwing up a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll leave my detective hat at home and be the perfect student tomorrow.”

Tria grins, pulling one of my pillows onto her lap and hugging it. “Good. Because rumor has it, there’s a new student joining our class tomorrow. And you know what that means—fresh perspectives to dissect!”

That gets my attention. I lean forward slightly, interest sparking in my eyes. “Oh, true! It’ll be fun to see how someone new approaches the subject.”

She stretches her legs out, her sock-clad feet dangling off the edge of my bed.

Her gaze drifts toward my desk, where my laptop screen is frozen on the paused documentary.

“Speaking of perspectives… you ever wonder if these documentaries screw with our view of reality? Like, they focus so much on the big, flashy moments, the stabbings, the courtroom drama, but what about the small stuff? The mundane moments leading up to it all?”

Her words hit harder than I expect. I glance at the screen, then back at her, fiddling with the edge of my popcorn bowl. “You’re right. It’s so easy to forget that behind every crime, there’s a story of ordinary moments, choices that culminate in something extraordinary or tragic.”

Tria points a finger at me. “See? That’s why we need you in class, Miss ‘I analyze human motives for fun.’ You bring the human element into all the academic mumbo-jumbo.”

I laugh softly, relaxing back into my chair as the conversation shifts. We talk about random stuff—her chaotic shifts at the campus bar, the weird customers she’s had to deal with, and how some professor kept calling her ‘Tina’ instead of Tria all semester.

At one point, she catches me glancing at the paused documentary again. “You seriously can’t resist that stuff, huh?”

I shrug, popping another piece of popcorn into my mouth. “Guess not.”

Tria chuckles, pushing herself off the bed and stretching her arms over her head with a loud yawn. “Well, Detective Faith, I’m heading back to my room. Don’t stay up too late solving already solved murders, alright? And remember we have class. Tomorrow. No excuses.”

I give her another lazy salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

She laughs, the sound lingering in the air even after she disappears down the hallway. The door clicks shut behind her, and just like that, the room feels still again. Alone again, I unpause the documentary.

It cuts to a shot of heavy wooden courtroom doors slowly swinging open. The camera focuses on them for a moment, building suspense, before Zane Valehart walks in.

The camera pans in on him as he steps through the doorway with his hands cuffed in front of him, chains clinking lightly with every step.

His head tilts just a little like he knows exactly where every camera is.

Those dark curls are slightly messy, but in an intentional way.

His eyes are sharp and are framed by lashes that are way too perfect for someone who probably doesn’t deserve them.

But it’s the irises that get you. They’re almost an unnatural shade of pale gray, with flecks of silver catching the light.

It’s like staring into two shards of ice—cold, yet somehow alive

They don’t just look at you; they pin you in place. It’s as if those eyes know all your secrets before you even speak. They are creepy as hell. But also… kind of sexy in a what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me kind of way.

And when he squints slightly, tilting his head in that casual, smug way of his, a long green vein—so dark it’s almost black—pops faintly under his skin.

It snakes from the edge of his cheekbone up to the end of his eyebrow on the left side.

The faint pulse of it adds an edge to his already sharp features, making him look downright dangerous.

It’s the kind of detail you can’t unsee once you notice it. Like, yeah, he’s already the most good-looking criminal alive, but that vein? It’s a goddamn exclamation point on his danger, reminding you that beauty and destruction can exist in the same space.

But it’s what he does next that really sticks.

As he walks down the aisle, past rows of reporters and onlookers, he lifts his cuffed hand and scratches his eyebrow with his middle finger.

It’s subtle. Almost smooth enough to pass as an innocent gesture. But come on, we all know a fuck-you when we see one.

A reporter’s voice overlays the scene. “Zane Valehart, famously dubbed as the ‘world’s most good-looking criminal’ by the media, continues to capture public fascination. His composed demeanor and undeniable charm have only fueled the debate surrounding his case.”

The screen shifts to a close-up of his face as he smirks to show off the dimple in his left cheek. The camera pans back to the courtroom, showing reporters furiously taking notes while members of the public crane their necks for a better look at him.

I pause the documentary, the screen freezing on Zane’s smirking face. How can someone look so confident while being on trial for ruining lives? The question hangs in the air, unanswered, as I try to make sense of the contradictions wrapped up in this one person.

When I hit play again, the documentary dives further into his story, peeling back the layers of his life. But all I can focus on is that smirk and the way he made an entire courtroom feel like his stage.

I’m totally wrapped up in Zane’s dark past. His story is just... gripping. At sixteen, he did something unthinkable, something horrifying. And now? The comment section is on fire.

People are going crazy over him. Among all the hate, there are some straight-up unhinged supporters backing him no matter what.

CrazyLoveGirl1: “Zane is innocent! There’s a conspiracy against him, mark my words. He’s been framed!”

Conspiracy? It’s all right there in black and white.

ZaneForeverFanatic: “I don’t care what anyone says, Zane is a genius! Society just can’t handle his brilliance.”

Genius? More like a menace who almost got away with it.

BelieverInZane: “You all don’t see the real Zane! He’s a tortured soul, and we should support him through this dark time.”

Tortured soul? That’s quite a stretch.

ForeverZaneFan: “I’ll always support Zane, no matter what. Love conquers all, and I know he can change if we just believe in him.”

ZaneForeverInMyHeart: “Zane has a soul that’s worth saving. Love will heal him, mark my words. Let’s not give up on him.”

Love will heal him, right. Because love magically erases the past.

PassionateZaneSupporter: “Zane is a victim of a corrupt system! We must rally behind him and fight for his justice!”

Yeah, because that’s what we should be fighting for, a murderer’s ‘justice’.

I’m lost in this swirling world of opinions, still clutching my bowl of popcorn, but as the documentary progresses, exhaustion begins to tug at my eyelids.

I fight to stay awake, my fascination with Zane’s story warring against the need for rest. Despite my best efforts, my eyes grow heavy, and the details on the screen blur into a surreal haze.

When I wake up, sunlight is already streaming through the curtains. Shit. I overslept. My psychology class is probably halfway through by now. Panic sets in as I scramble to get up. My heart’s racing, and I’m practically throwing on clothes while grabbing my stuff.

Just as I’m about to walk out, Tria shows up at my door. “Faith, you overslept again? Seriously?”

I shoot her a sheepish smile. “I know, I know. I’m so late.”

Tria rolls her eyes with playful exasperation. “And let me guess, crime documentaries struck again?”

I nod, feeling my cheeks flush. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist.”

She sighs like the exhausted mom friend she is, but her expression softens. “You need to find a balance, Faith.”

Before Tria can continue her lecture, a familiar figure strolls over from down the hall. Xaden, another student from our psychology class, walks over with a calm smile. He is always the voice of reason, a grounding presence amid our academic craziness.

“Late as always, Faith?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I know. I messed up again.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just make sure to catch up on what you missed.” Xaden’s smile is reassuring.

Tria shoots Xaden a look of mock annoyance. “Xaden, you’re not making it any better.”

“Just offering a different perspective,” he shrugs.