Page 34 of Craving Venom

I let out a sharp laugh as the noise from the party hums in the background. “Yeah, I noticed. Thanks. But I’m not feeling it, okay? I can’t just… I don’t know. Fake it.”

“Not feeling it? Trevor’s hot, Faith. He’s like, college fantasy boyfriend hot. What’s the problem? Too much cologne? Bad kisser?”

“God, no,” I say, cringing. “I mean, yeah, the kiss wasn’t great, but that’s not it. It’s just… he’s not it. He’s not what I want.”

Tria raises an eyebrow. “And what do you want? Because from where I’m standing, you’ve got this weird, brooding, distant vibe going on, and if that’s your type now, then yikes.”

I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh, please,” she says, throwing her hands up. “Try me. Is this about Jason?”

The mention of his name feels like a punch to the gut, but I force myself to stay composed. “It’s not about Jason. It’s just… I don’t want to get into something with someone like Trevor. He’s all wrong for me.”

Tria rolls her eyes. “Faith, if you’re waiting for someone to sweep you off your feet with poetry and a horse-drawn carriage, you’re going to die alone. Trevor is a decent guy. You should give him a chance.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dr. Phil,” I say dryly, brushing past her toward the exit.

“Faith,” she calls after me, but I wave her off.

“I’m done,” I say without looking back. “I’m heading out. Enjoy the party.”

I take a deep breath, letting the muffled bass of the party fade into the background as I walk back toward the dorms. My bootsscuff against the sidewalk, and for the first time all night, I feel like I can actually breathe.

By the time I reach my door, the tension has started to slip from my shoulders. I unlock it and step inside, kicking it shut behind me. I strip out of my party clothes, tossing them into a heap on the floor, and pull on a pair of shorts and an oversized hoodie. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since lunch.

“Ramen it is,” I mutter, heading to the tiny kitchenette. I fill a pot with water and set it on the stove, grabbing a packet of instant noodles from the cupboard. While the water heats, I pour myself a generous glass of wine.

Once the noodles are cooking, I lean against the counter, sipping the wine and staring at the steam rising from the pot. The timer on my phone goes off, snapping me out of my thoughts. I drain the noodles and dump them into a bowl, adding the seasoning packet and stirring it all together. Bowl in one hand, wine glass in the other, I settle onto the bed and grab my laptop from the coffee table. Once it’s on, I pull up the trial.

Alfred VonKrauss is already walking to the stand. Even in his old age, the man carries himself with the kind of composure that demands respect or at least attention.

Carrie adjusts her blazer as she approaches the stand. “Mr. VonKrauss, thank you for your time today.”

Alfred nods stiffly. “Of course.”

She takes a moment to gather her papers, then meets his gaze. “Can you state your full name for the record?”

“Alfred Gregory VonKrauss.”

“And your relation to the defendant?”

“He’s my grandson,”

“And the late Isabella Valehart? She was your daughter, correct?”

Pain tugs briefly at Alfred’s features, though he manages a composed reply. “Yes. Isabella was my only child.”

Carrie walks a few steps closer to the stand. “Mr. VonKrauss, let’s start with the events leading up to her death. Can you describe Isabella’s state during that time?”

Yvette rises from her seat immediately. “Objection. Relevance.”

“Your Honor, this line of questioning is crucial to understand the circumstances surrounding the alleged crime.”

The judge glances at Yvette, then nods toward Carrie. “Proceed.”

Alfred takes a deep breath. “Isabella… she struggled. For many years.”

“Struggled how?” Carrie prompts.

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