Page 41 of Veil of Obsession

I shift forward, walking straight into his path. The impact is deliberate—a sharp, timed collision.

Glass shatters. Liquid spills. A loud gasp ripples through the nearby guests as red and gold explode over my dress, soaking into the dark fabric, masking the evidence beneath it.

The waiter stumbles back, horrified. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry, miss?—”

I shake my head, putting on a show as I press my fingers against my chest like I’m stunned, embarrassed.

“No, no, it’s alright,” I murmur, my voice breathy, just shaken enough to be believable. “It was an accident.”

People are watching. Exactly as I intended.

A woman gasps. “That dress. Oh dear, it’s completely ruined.”

I exhale, shaking my head. “It’s fine. Really.”

I glance toward my mother, who is already frowning, no doubt calculating the damage done to my presentation.

Good. Let her think I’m embarrassed enough to want to leave.

She approaches swiftly, her gaze sharp as it sweeps over the disaster.

“Princess,” she sighs, shaking her head. “You need to go home and clean yourself up before anyone else sees you like this.”

I nod, playing the part. “I’ll have the driver take me back. It won’t take long.”

Because I’ll be staying home.

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t argue. “Good. I’ll make sure Daniel doesn’t think you ran off.”

Ah, Daniel. I had already forgotten about him.

I bite back a smirk. “Tell him I’ll see him another time.”

Maybe in hell.

She waves me off, turning her attention back to the women she was speaking to. I take my exit swiftly, my soaked dress clinging to me, reeking of liquor and wine.

But I don’t care. Because now I have my excuse. And I have work to do.

By morning, every trace of tonight’s kill will be scrubbed off me and burned.

14

Lucio

The fluorescent lights above buzz like they’re trying to drill into my skull.

The air in the holding cell is stale—sweat, piss, and cheap coffee lingering like a stain. The hard bench beneath me digs into my spine, but I don’t move.

I sit there, one leg stretched out, the other bent, my elbow resting lazily on my knee. My knuckles are bruised. The inside of my mouth tastes like copper and regret.

I exhale through my nose, rolling my shoulders. Fucking bored.

The other guys in the cell keep their distance. Some tweaker rocking back and forth in the corner, some drunk sleeping off his bad decisions, and a guy who’s been side-eyeing me for the past hour like he wants to start something but knows better.

Smart.

The metal door clangs open, and an officer steps inside, expression tight, like he’s personally offended that I’m about to walk free. “Folonari.”