Page 47 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

The more I search, the deeper the unease settles in my gut. Isabella was everywhere, yet her husband, one of the most powerful men in Veridian, was nowhere to be found.

I dive deeper into the research as I click, read, and dig through every detail until a loud cough suddenly breaks the silence.

I jolt, snapping my head up just in time to see Xaden clutching his throat. His face is turning a shade too red as he hunches over the table, hacking into his fist.

He shoves the pizza back into the box, gagging between rough coughs. Tria and I exchange a glance for a second before bursting into laughter.

Xaden slaps the table, gasping and wheezing as he chokes out, “Water—holy fuck—somebody—fucking water!

“You dumbass!” she wheezes, watching him guzzle down the water like it’s the last drop of salvation on Earth. “Who told you to eat Faith’s self-destruction pizza?”

Xaden glares at her between coughs, still clutching his throat like he expects his internal organs to burst into flames at any second.

“I thought it was normal pizza!” He rasps, wiping the water off his chin.

I grin, popping another slice into my mouth, chewing with zero regret.

Xaden gags again. “You’re actually insane.”

“I like a little pain.”

Tria shakes her head. “No, you like total annihilation.”

Xaden grumbles, slumping into a chair, rubbing his tongue against his shirt, trying to scrape the taste off.

I watch him with amusement, feeling lighter than I have all day. But just as the moment settles, he speaks.

“Oh, right. You two missed class today, so you wouldn’t have heard.” Xaden sighs, finally recovering from his near-death experience. “Harrington scheduled a visit to Veridian Correctional Facility next Monday.”

The heat in my mouth is nothing compared to the sudden burn in my chest.

“He said it’s important we see firsthand how the system works, especially with high-profile cases.” He rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck. “Honestly, it sounds like a pain in the ass, but he’s making it count toward our final grade, so…”

“Are you serious?” I blurt out.

“Why are you annoyed? You’re the one who suggested it, remember?”

I scowl, crossing my arms. “I didn’t think he would actually go through with it.”

Tria turns to me. “Hey, if you don’t wanna go, we can skip.”

Skipping sounds like the smart thing to do, but I’ve never been good at making the right choices. I glance at Tria, then at Xaden, then back down at my hands.

And finally, I speak.

“I’ll go.”

Internally, though, I’m struggling with something else entirely. Even though I know he’s locked up and can’t actually do anything during this visit, I can’t shake this weird feeling of unease.

Tria’s hand on my shoulder snaps me back to reality. “We’ve got this, Faith. Plus, the whole class and Professor Harrington will be there. What’s the worst that could happen?”

She’s right, of course. Nothing’s going to happen with that many people around.

But as I lean back in my chair, a thought nags at the back of my mind. The tingles I feel, the longing that seems to stir within me, is it really just a result of that spicy pizza, or am I just a stupid bitch?

I barely have time to unpack my own thoughts before a loud commotion from outside the student lounge makes all three of us turn.

A wave of students rushes past, all moving in the same direction toward the convention hall.

Tria frowns. “What the hell’s going on?”

Xaden shrugs, stretching his arms behind his head. “Dunno. Someone probably started handing out free booze.”

Tria rolls her eyes before stopping a guy jogging past her. “Hey, what’s happening?”

The guy barely slows down, shoving a flyer into her hands before disappearing with the crowd.

Tria unfolds it, scanning the text. “It’s some… exhibition?”

I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of exhibition?”

Tria squints. “Something about… eyes?”

A chill seeps into my bones, tightening around my chest and stealing the air from my lungs as if unseen hands are closing in.

No.

No no no.

I thought it was a metaphor.

I shoot up to my feet. My chair scrapes hard against the floor, and Tria flinches.

“Faith?”

“We need to go. Now.”

Xaden blinks. “Wait, are you actually into eye art or—”

“No.” My voice is flat, urgent. “Just—come on.”

We don’t run, but we move quickly with tense shoulders and driving strides, weaving through the thick stream of students pouring into the east corridor.

We step inside, and my breath catches in my throat.

Rows of glass bottles stretch across long white tables.

Inside them float human eyes that are preserved in murky fluid.

Some are rimmed with the faint smear of blood, while others are wide open, frozen as if they witnessed the horror of their end and never looked away.

Tria steps closer with her hand covering her mouth. “What the fuck is this?”

Xaden stares in disbelief. “Is this real? Like… are those actual—”

Yes.

I already fucking know.

My legs drag like anchors, and my stomach twists violently because this isn’t art and it sure as hell isn’t performance.

It’s a message.

A declaration from him.

An exhibit carved straight from obsession.

I don’t hear Tria calling after me or Xaden trying to catch up. My legs are already moving before my mind can process it, carrying me out of that goddamn room and straight across campus.

By the time I slam the door to my dorm room shut behind me, I’m already trembling. I know I shouldn’t, I really fucking shouldn’t, but I grab my phone and dial anyway.

“Thank you for calling Veridian Correctional Facility. If you are an attorney or legal representative, press one. If you are calling to schedule an inmate visit, press two. If you would like to speak with an inmate through monitored communication, press three. To return to the main menu—”

Three.

“Please enter the inmate ID number now.”

I enter the number that I’d seen on his profile on writeracriminal.com

There’s a brief moment of silence, followed by a click before his words come through the speaker.

“Good girl,” he says calmly as if he’s been anticipating this call all day.

“What the fuck did you do?”

“I missed you too.”

My rage explodes.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“You ignored me.” His tone hardens, losing its edge of amusement in an instant. “After everything we shared, after the way you screamed my name, after I gave you—”

“You gave me trauma!” I cut him off, pacing now. “You gave me terror. You gave me sleepless nights. You made sure it was your face I feared most in the dark!”

He lets out a sigh, as if I’m the one being unreasonable.

“You cheated on me.”

I stop dead in my tracks.

“What?!”

“You kissed someone else, Faith.” His words come measured now, as if every part of this makes perfect sense to him. “And then you ignored me like I was nothing. Like I hadn’t already made it very clear that you belong to me.”

My jaw drops. The audacity makes my skin burn.

“First of all—” I hiss, gripping the edge of my desk. If it weren’t for a phone in my other hand I might’ve thrown the whole thing. “We are not in a relationship.”

He stays silent.

“Second of all,” I press, my words spitting out like venom, “if you think I cheated on you, then LEAVE. Leave like a fucking adult.”

“You really think I’d just walk away?” I clutch the phone tighter as his words snake through the speaker.

“That I’d bow out like one of your college boys with soft hands and softer dicks?

No, good girl. You stitched yourself into my skin the second you looked at me like I was something you could survive.

So don’t play brave and talk about leaving.

I’ve killed for less than the thought of losing you. ”

“That wasn’t choice, Zane.” My jaw locks as the words come out. “That was me trapped under you while you pretended consent was optional.”

I know I’m not being fair. I know it, and I don’t give a shit. He warned me. God, he warned me more times than I can count. He told me to stay away, told me I didn’t want to know him. And I didn’t listen. I thought I could handle it.

Turns out my cheap thrills cost me more than I bargained for.

They cost me looking into lifeless eyes.

He starts to speak, probably some twisted excuse or mocking deflection, but I don’t give him the chance.

“You want to know why you never learned to handle rejection? It’s not because no one ever said no to you. It’s because the one person who would’ve taught you how to respect it, you put her in the ground.”

The line goes dead silent.

And for once… he doesn’t have a comeback.

I hang up.

My finger hovers over the call back button, even after the call ends, because I want him to reach through the fucking speaker and pull me back in.