Page 15 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

“You guys are ridiculous,” I say, but they’re on a roll now.

“Or,” Lisa continues, “what if every time something goes wrong, it’s not random at all?

It’s on purpose. Like, we’re being punished for not living up to whatever standards they’ve set for us.

” She pauses for effect, then adds dramatically, “You fuck up, and they send you to the back of the line. Start over. Try again.”

“That would explain why nothing ever goes right,” Maya says, nodding solemnly. “It’s like a cosmic version of Monopoly.”

“And don’t even get me started on deja vu,” Nina says, pointing her finger. “That’s just them rewinding the tape to see if we’ll make the same mistake twice. Spoiler alert: we always do.”

Lisa’s practically glowing with excitement now.

“Right? And think about it—what’s the one thing everyone’s always chasing?

Love, success, happiness. But no one can ever seem to actually fucking get there.

Why? Because it’s a rigged system. They dangle the carrot just out of reach, and we keep running like idiots. ”

I stare at her, wondering if she’s genuinely lost it or if this is just the booze talking. Either way, I’m not about to feed into it.

“That’s the most depressing shit I’ve ever heard,” I say flatly.

“Depressing or true?” Lisa shoots back, raising an eyebrow.

“Definitely depressing,” I say, crossing my arms.

Maya clinks her cup against Lisa’s. “I’m with you. We’re all fucked. Cheers to that.”

“Cheers,” Nina agrees, joining in.

I roll my eyes as they all laugh and drink, their ridiculous theories somehow bonding them even further. God, they’re so fucking brainwashed. “Experiment by God,” my ass. I can’t decide if they’re joking or if they’ve actually convinced themselves this is real. Either way, it’s wild.

I press my lips into a thin line, zoning out as their conversation drifts into even weirder territory. My phone burns in my pocket again, and I pull it out, unlocking it without thinking.

I stare at the empty message thread for a good thirty seconds. This is a stupid fucking idea. A really stupid fucking idea. But before I can talk myself out of it, my fingers start typing:

Still too busy basking in your superiority to answer?

I hesitate for half a second before hitting send, and the second my thumb leaves the screen, regret floods me. What the fuck am I doing?

“Faith!”

I snap my head up at the sound of my name and spot Trevor weaving through the crowd toward me. Oh, great. Because this night wasn’t already a shitshow.

“Hey,” he says with a wide smile plastered across his face as he stops in front of me. He’s holding a red Solo cup, which immediately makes me suspicious because I know for a fact Trevor doesn’t drink.

“Uh, hey,” I reply, shifting awkwardly and slipping my phone back into my pocket. My shoulders tighten instinctively, and I glance around, hoping for a way out, but there’s no Tria in sight.

“You look… good,” Trevor says, giving me one of those slow up-and-down looks. “I didn’t think you’d show up to something like this.”

“Yeah, well, here I am,” I say with a stiff shrug.

He chuckles, stepping a little closer. “I’m glad you did. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Oh, fuck no. I don’t want to do this. “Uh, talk about what?”

“About… last time. You know, when we—” He pauses, his cheeks turning a faint pink. “When I kissed you.”

I force out a laugh, waving my hand dismissively. “Oh, that? Don’t worry about it. It’s, uh, water under the bridge.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, too quickly. “Totally. Let’s just forget it happened.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he says, ignoring my very clear attempt to move on. He looks down at his drink as though he’s embarrassed, which would almost make me feel bad if this wasn’t so fucking uncomfortable. “Especially when you were… you know, still grieving.”

“Wait—what?”

“I mean, after Jason. I should’ve been more considerate.”

“How the fuck do you know about Jason?”

Trevor’s eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shakes his head. “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to, I mean, it’s not like I was prying or anything. People talk, you know? Stuff just… gets around.”

“What people? Who the hell told you about Jason?”

He rubs the back of his neck, his smile turning sheepish. “It doesn’t matter. I just—look, I’m sorry if I made things weird before. That’s all I wanted to say.”

Yeah, sure. Because this isn’t fucking weird at all now. I step back slightly, trying to put some distance between us. “Okay. Apology accepted. We’re good. So, uh… I should probably—”

“Come on, Faith,” he says, his tone softening as he steps closer again. “You know, you don’t have to be so closed off all the time. I get that you’ve been through a lot. But maybe you just need someone to… I don’t know, help you open up?”

Oh, fuck no. Nope. Not doing this.

“Faith!”

I turn toward the sound of Tria’s voice. She’s pushing through the crowd, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern.

“There you are,” she says, grabbing my arm and pulling me away from Trevor without so much as a glance in his direction. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Trevor frowns. “We were just talking.”

“Yeah, well, she’s done talking now,” Tria says sweetly, steering me away before I can even process what’s happening.

I don’t resist. Fuck, I practically cling to her as she leads me through the crowd. When we’re finally out of earshot, she stops and turns to me, her eyes searching my face.

“What?”

Tria turns to me, crossing her arms and giving me a look that could cut glass. “What are you doing, Faith? Trevor is all over you, and you’re just… rejecting him? He’s practically throwing himself at you.”

I let out a sharp laugh as the noise from the party hums in the background. “Yeah, I noticed. Thanks. But I’m not feeling it, okay? I can’t just… I don’t know. Fake it.”

“Not feeling it? Trevor’s hot, Faith. He’s like, college fantasy boyfriend hot. What’s the problem? Too much cologne? Bad kisser?”

“God, no,” I say, cringing. “I mean, yeah, the kiss wasn’t great, but that’s not it. It’s just… he’s not it. He’s not what I want.”

Tria raises an eyebrow. “And what do you want? Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got this weird, brooding, distant vibe going on, and if that’s your type now, then yikes.”

I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, please,” she says, throwing her hands up. “Try me. Is this about Jason?”

The mention of his name feels like a punch to the gut, but I force myself to stay composed. “It’s not about Jason. It’s just… I don’t want to get into something with someone like Trevor. He’s all wrong for me.”

Tria rolls her eyes. “Faith, if you’re waiting for someone to sweep you off your feet with poetry and a horse-drawn carriage, you’re going to die alone. Trevor is a decent guy. You should give him a chance.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil,” I say dryly, brushing past her toward the exit.

“Faith,” she calls after me, but I wave her off.

“I’m done,” I say without looking back. “I’m heading out. Enjoy the party.”

I take a deep breath, letting the muffled bass of the party fade into the background as I walk back toward the dorms. My boots scuff against the sidewalk, and for the first time all night, I feel like I can actually breathe.

By the time I reach my door, the tension has started to slip from my shoulders.

I unlock it and step inside, kicking it shut behind me.

I strip out of my party clothes, tossing them into a heap on the floor, and pull on a pair of shorts and an oversized hoodie.

My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.

“Ramen it is,” I mutter, heading to the tiny kitchenette. I fill a pot with water and set it on the stove, grabbing a packet of instant noodles from the cupboard. While the water heats, I pour myself a generous glass of wine.

Once the noodles are cooking, I lean against the counter, sipping the wine and staring at the steam rising from the pot.

The timer on my phone goes off, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I drain the noodles and dump them into a bowl, adding the seasoning packet and stirring it all together.

Bowl in one hand, wine glass in the other, I settle onto the bed and grab my laptop from the coffee table. Once it’s on, I pull up the trial.

Alfred VonKrauss is already walking to the stand. Even in his old age, the man carries himself with the kind of composure that demands respect or at least attention.

Carrie adjusts her blazer as she approaches the stand. “Mr. VonKrauss, thank you for your time today.”

Alfred nods stiffly. “Of course.”

She takes a moment to gather her papers, then meets his gaze. “Can you state your full name for the record?”

“Alfred Gregory VonKrauss.”

“And your relation to the defendant?”

“He’s my grandson,”

“And the late Isabella Valehart? She was your daughter, correct?”

Pain tugs briefly at Alfred’s features, though he manages a composed reply. “Yes. Isabella was my only child.”

Carrie walks a few steps closer to the stand. “Mr. VonKrauss, let’s start with the events leading up to her death. Can you describe Isabella’s state during that time?”

Yvette rises from her seat immediately. “Objection. Relevance.”

“Your Honor, this line of questioning is crucial to understand the circumstances surrounding the alleged crime.”

The judge glances at Yvette, then nods toward Carrie. “Proceed.”

Alfred takes a deep breath. “Isabella… she struggled. For many years.”

“Struggled how?” Carrie prompts.

“She was an alcoholic. It didn’t start all at once, of course. But it became worse over time, especially with Christopher being gone so often.”

“Gone? What do you mean by that?”

Alfred sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I relied on him too heavily, involving him in my business more than was fair. I needed someone I could trust to handle things, and Chris was dependable. But in hindsight, I see now how selfish I was.”