Page 154 of Craving Venom

“What the actual fuck?”

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I force out a laugh, shaking my head as I wave a hand. “Okay, not literally. It was a dream, alright?”

Tria’s confusion only deepens. “Wait, you had an orgasm in your dream?”

“Yeah, I mean? Dreams can be weird.”

“You need help.”

I already know that.

The cafeteria intercom beeps as my order number flashes on the pickup screen, and I bolt for it, grabbing the pizza box while the heat seeps through the cardboard, carrying the scent of molten cheese and pure hell. Tria follows, shaking her head as I snatch my Diet Coke and drop onto the nearest table. She watches in morbid fascination as I grab a slice and take a huge bite.

Hell ignites in my throat. It burns and chokes as the agony in my gut crawls up my sinuses, and makes my eyes sting.

Perfect.

I don’t stop.

I don’t slow down.

Because finally I feel something that isn’t him.

I grab my phone, licking the molten spice from my lips as I open a search tab.

Isabella Valehart.

The results load instantly.

Articles flood the screen with charity work, humanitarian efforts, speeches at schools, donations to shelters, scholarship programs for underprivileged kids.

It’s an endless list of good deeds, each one painting her as a perfect woman who was so goddamn pure that even death couldn’t stain her reputation.

There are no scandals, no rumors, and no accusations. There’s not a single slander piece. And that’s a rarity that just doesn’t happen.

She was, by all accounts, flawless.

The only thing that feels off is that Christopher Valehart doesn’t exist. There are no articles, no interviews, no family statements, just nothing at all. Just a single contact number for his law firm, neatly tucked away in an article about Isabella’s funeral.

That’s it.

That’s the only public trace of him.

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?”

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