Page 71 of Venomous Kiss

But no matter what I do, I’ll always be chased.

Why did I believe it was a smart move to get involved with the Forsaken Society?

I should have known better. I did try to keep my distance, but that was when it was too late, and afterwards, I found myself firmly in their sights.

But like the snow, I’ll fall and eventually melt.

Knowing full well, this is my end.

My father probably won’t even know what happened to me. I doubt Arlo will tell him. My aunt, with whom I have only just started to form a better relationship, will probably guess, but she won’t know for sure either, and that will bring another round of sorrow and misery to her life.

I wonder if they’ll clean out my apartment to make it look as if I were never there.

I know no one will find my body.

I’ll basically disappear.

Never to be seen again.

The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

Someone is bound to miss me. Surely.

“Lilith.” Reon’s voice rings through the cold night air. I’m unsure if it’s him anymore or if my mind is playing tricks on me. I wish I could have taken that dude’s black jacket, maybe then I would have half a chance of not surrendering to the cold. But the fact that he was trying to stab me made that difficult.

Glancing behind me to ensure the guy wielding the knife is not near, I misstep and fall face-first into a murky puddle of mud. It splatters across my face and trickles down my neck, sending an icy chill coursing through my veins in an instant.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

After swiping my hands down my face, I then run my hands over a nearby tree to try to scrape the grime off instead of using my dress, which is barely surviving.

Why did I spend hundreds of dollars on this ridiculous dress?

To what? Impress Reon? To prove I’m not some broke-ass woman. A woman who could fit into his world.

Now, the expensive dress is barely doing a fucking thing to keep me from freezing.

You should have worn the jacket. I realize that now, but it didn’t match the dress, and moreover, I wanted to impress Reon.

I want to slap myself now.

It leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Worrying about fashion now seems trivial, and the need to impress feels foolish with hindsight. I curse my misplaced priorities, and the bitter taste of regret lingers in my mouth, a constant reminder of my stupidity. I’ve never wanted to make an impact on anyone in my life, yet here I am, fighting for my life because I tried to impress the one man I should steer clear of. A man whose world I should not be a part of. A world that is poison and deception. Blinded by an infatuation, I was willing to dive headfirst into an abyss of ignorance.

Danger and deceit are a luxury I cannot afford. With each passing moment, the realization sinks into my being—I have entangled myself in a web of carnage and slaughter, with myself as the bait.

My world is about surviving.

I survive—it’s what I’m good at.

My father gets locked up. My mother dies. My aunt, who raised me, was a drunk. And I survived it all.

That’s what women do.