Page 5 of Craving Venom (The Venomous Beauty Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER THREE

THE BEAUTY

W ith Tria fully absorbed in her bagel, I take the chance to quietly reopen my laptop and pull up the Write a Criminal website again. My fingers move on autopilot, clicking back to Zane Valehart’s profile. The screen lights up and for a second, I wonder what I’m even doing.

The profile offers a detailed account of Zane’s life, complete with a blog chronicling his thoughts, a few pictures capturing different phases of his existence, and a brief overview of his education—a bachelor’s degree in law.

Irony tugs at the corners of my lips as I contemplate the fact that he has studied law, the very system that now holds him captive.

I scroll through his blog posts, reading his thoughts.

They’re weirdly deep, almost poetic, but also unsettling.

It’s like getting a peek inside the head of someone I don’t know but can’t stop being curious about.

The internet makes it easy to turn someone’s life into a story you follow, but this feels different. A little too personal.

The deeper I go, the more uneasy I feel. It’s not like I have any business digging through his life, yet here I am. I tell myself it’s just curiosity, but there’s this tiny voice in the back of my head saying it’s more than that.

Amidst the blog entries, I find a discreet link that hints at a way to contact Zane directly.

My heart races as I contemplate the implications of reaching out to him.

What will I say? What did I hope to achieve by establishing contact with a person who has been convicted of such a heinous act?

The rational part of me recognizes the absurdity of the situation, the inherent danger of engaging with someone who is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger with a dark past.

I hesitate for a moment, my cursor hovering over the link. Guilt is nibbling at my conscience, a constant reminder that my nosiness is not without consequences.

With a deep breath, I click on the “Contact” button, my fingers hesitating slightly before typing out a brief message.

“ Hello, Zane, I’m Faith Collins. I’m a psychology student at Veridian University, and your case has intrigued me.

I would be interested in learning more about your perspective.

If you’re willing to share, please respond . ”

Tria’s laughter rings out, followed by the clink of her cup hitting the table. The sound yanks me out of my thoughts. My hand moves fast, slamming Zane’s profile tab shut as if it’s a cursed artifact I shouldn’t have touched.

I glance up, and Tria’s settled back into her chair. Her eyes catch mine, and her brows scrunch up slightly. “Everything okay? You looked like you’ve seen a ghost.”

I force a smile, but I know it’s weak, it’s more of a twitch, really. My face feels stiff, and I’m not sure if I’m pulling it off. “Yeah, just this article.”

“I don’t know what is making you crazy, Faith,” she says calmly, “but sometimes the things that intrigue us can also lead us down paths we don’t anticipate. Just make sure you’re aware of where those paths might lead.”

“Yeah,” I mumble, even as her words lodge in my brain like a splinter I can’t ignore. She’s right, but admitting that out loud feels like surrendering. And anyway, my obsession with Zane’s profile isn’t a big deal. It’s just… curiosity . That’s all.

Tria doesn’t push further, and the conversation shifts to safer topics. I let myself lean into it, hoping it’ll help me shake off the weird, jittery feeling still crawling under my skin.

But later, back in my dorm, under the faint glow of my desk lamp, it’s back. That profile, his name, his story—it’s all just there, circling my head like an annoying fly I can’t swat.

I sit with my books spread out in front of me with a highlighter in hand, trying to focus. I even underline a sentence just for show, but it’s useless. My brain’s sabotaging me, pulling me back to my laptop.

“Ugh, stop it,” I groan, shoving my chair back so hard it scrapes loudly against the floor. Standing up feels like breaking a spell. I grab my coat from the back of the door and shrug it on. “Fresh air. That’s what I need.”

The cool evening air hits me as soon as I step outside, and I let out a long breath.

My feet move without much thought, carrying me across campus.

The quiet is nice, broken only by the occasional shuffle of leaves or the distant chatter.

The streetlights cast soft circles of light, and for a second, it’s almost peaceful.

I let my hands slide into my coat pockets and keep walking. Maybe if I keep moving, my head will settle down, and I can finally let this whole thing go. But knowing me? That’s probably wishful thinking.

Before I even realize it, I’m standing outside this little coffee shop tucked between two massive buildings.

It’s one of those places with overstuffed couches, soft lighting, and this calm, homey vibe that makes you want to curl up and forget the world exists.

The smell of fresh coffee hits me as I step inside, and I breathe it in like it’s the first real oxygen I’ve had all day.

I head straight to the counter and order a cappuccino, trying to shake the Zane nonsense still buzzing in my brain. With my cup in hand, I sink into a corner seat by the window. I take a sip and let myself relax for the first time in hours.

Just as I’m settling in, my phone starts vibrating on the table, skidding across the surface. I glance at the screen, and the incoming call is from an unknown number. For a second, I think about ignoring it, but curiosity gets the better of me.

“Hello?” I answer, half-expecting it to be a telemarketer.

“Hey, it’s Trevor,” a familiar, warm voice says on the other end. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

Fuck. I’d almost forgotten about him with all the Zane chaos taking up rent-free space in my head. Trevor is a sweet, genuinelynice guy with an easy smile that could charm just about anyone. But compared to Zane, he seems almost... ordinary.

“No, not at all,” I say, sitting up a little straighter and hoping my voice sounds casual.

“I was just wondering how you’re doing,” he continues. “I remember you mentioned having a lot on your plate, and I thought maybe we could grab a coffee sometime. You know, just to unwind.”

I glance down at my cappuccino, feeling a small pang of guilt. Here I am, already drowning in coffee and distractions, and now Trevor’s offering me another lifeline. It’s sweet, though.

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” I say after a beat. “I could use a break.”

We set a time to meet, and when I hang up, there’s a faint smile tugging at my lips. Maybe Trevor’s exactly what I need right now.

The next evening, I’m back at the same coffee shop, but this time, I’m not alone. Trevor’s across from me, talking about his classes, his hobbies, his love for hiking. He’s got this way of making even the most mundane stuff sound interesting, and I feel myself easing into the conversation.

The coffee shop hums with quiet chatter around us, and the soft patter of rain against the window adds to the cozy atmosphere.

I glance out at the rain-soaked streets, the way they shine under the streetlights, each droplet turning the pavement into a glittering mess of reflections. It’s all kind of... perfect.

Trevor smiles at my half-hearted “Yeah, maybe,” as though he’s convinced I’m secretly dying to conquer a mountain with him. Meanwhile, I’m focused on the fries between us, reaching for one and dipping it in ketchup.

“You’ve got to try these,” I say, pointing to the basket. “They’re, like, the only thing keeping me awake right now.”

“Awake? Am I boring you already?” Trevor teases, but there’s no bite to it.

“Not boring,” I say through a bite of fry, “just... I didn’t sleep much last night.” Which isn’t entirely a lie.

Trevor grabs a fry, laughing softly. “Fair enough. Late-night study session?”

I shrug, not offering more, and we let the conversation settle into something lighter. It’s nice, easy even, and for a moment, I stop overthinking. Trevor’s not pushy, just filling the air with enough chatter to make me forget how conflicted I feel.

I’m halfway through another fry when I feel a tiny blob of ketchup sticking to the corner of my mouth.

Of course, Trevor notices.

“Uh, you’ve got a little…” He gestures vaguely at his own face.

“Where?” I swipe at my cheek, missing by a mile.

“No, other side. Hold on.” His hand is already moving toward my face before I can process what’s happening.

Trevor’s thumb brushes against the corner of my mouth, as he wipes away the ketchup. The moment stretches as his touch lingers a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he says, his voice softer now, almost teasing. “Got it.”

“Thanks.” I grab a napkin, busying myself with wiping the same spot.

But Trevor doesn’t pull back. He’s still close, close enough that I can smell the faint mint of his gum and the rain lingering on his jacket. His eyes flicker between mine, searching for something.

I know what’s coming. It’s written all over his face—the way his gaze softens, how his lips part just slightly. I could stop him, lean back, laugh it off, but instead, I just... stay there.

And then, his lips meet mine.

It’s tentative at first, a soft brush that feels like a question more than anything else.

My mind scrambles to catch up, torn between leaning into the kiss or pulling away.

For a fleeting moment, I let myself stay in it, let myself feel the warmth of his lips and the easy sincerity behind the gesture.

Then, like a switch flipping, Zane’s name explodes in my mind. His story. The dark pull of everything he represents. It crashes over me like cold water, snapping me out of the moment.

I pull back abruptly and my hand presses against Trevor’s chest to put some space between us.

“Faith? Did I—”

“No, it’s not you,” I cut him off. “I just... I’m sorry, Trevor. I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

He sits back, and raises his hands slightly. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” I insist, grabbing my coat and avoiding his gaze. “You’re... really nice. I mean it. But I’m not in the right headspace for this.”

“I understand. If you ever want to talk or... anything, I’m here.”

“Thanks,” I say quickly. “I’ll see you around.”

I don’t know where I’m going until my knuckles rap softly against Tria’s door. My brain’s a mess. Trevor’s kiss, the way it made my stomach flutter, the way it didn’t compare to the storm Zane stirs in me. I need sense. Sanity. Tria always has both.

I twist the knob, push the door open and stop dead in my tracks.

“Oh—holy shit,” I blurt, stumbling back a step.

Tria’s on top of Xaden. Naked.

Very naked.

My mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

My brain blanks. Not a single thought. Just the vague realization that I am seeing way too much of both of them.

Her back arches. His hand is tangled in her hair.

She doesn’t stop. She just turns her head slightly and meets my eyes like I’m a damn fly on the wall.

“Jesus, Faith,” she breathes out before letting out a short, breathy laugh. “You ever heard of knocking, or do you only burst into rooms when people are mid-orgasm?”

My jaw works uselessly, trying to form something resembling human language, but all I manage is a strangled, “I—uh—nope.”

Nope. That’s it. That’s all I say before I yank the door closed so fast it rattles in the frame.

I think I’m going to need more than Tria’s logic after this. Possibly an exorcism.

Or bleach. For my eyes.