Page 134 of Daddy Sees Snakes

"You okay back there?" the driver asks, catching my eye in the rearview mirror.

I force a smile. "Yeah, just tired."

It’s nice of the driver to ask, but I'm not okay.

I'm caught between ecstasy and dread, replaying every moment with Viper while simultaneously imagining Allegra's face when she finds out I’ve been sleeping with her father.

I whisper to myself, leaning my forehead against the cool glass of the window. "God, what am I doing?"

The streets blur past this beautiful morning, but I can barely appreciate it.

All I can think about is Viper's cocky grin, the way he'd say, "You're playing with fire, sweetheart," in that husky voice of his.

I close my eyes, remembering how it felt when he touched me. "Damn it, Viper," I mutter. "Why'd you have to be so... you?"

The car slows to a stop, and I realize we've arrived at Desire House.

I turn and thank the driver before getting out of the Uber.

Standing in front of Desire House, I take a deep breath.

The weight of my choices settles on my shoulders as I walk toward the entrance, each step bringing me closer to a reality I'm not sure I'm ready to face.

Once I’m inside, I head straight to my room.

I step into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over my tattooed skin.

Steam rises around me, blurring the edges of my reflection in the glass door.

I close my eyes, trying to wash away the memories of last night, but Viper's touch lingers like a phantom on my skin.

"Focus, Iris," I mutter to myself, lathering shampoo into my long black hair. "You've got work to do."

As I rinse off, I can't help but think of Allegra.

The guilt gnaws at me, threatening to consume my thoughts.

I shake my head, sending water droplets flying. "Nope. Not going there."

I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around myself.

In the steamy mirror, I catch a glimpse of my reflection—dark eyes rimmed with smudged eyeliner from the night before.

I look like a hot mess, and not in the good way.

Determined to pull myself together, I start applying my makeup.

The familiar routine is soothing, each stroke of eyeliner and swipe of lipstick like armor I'm putting on.

"You've got this," I tell my reflection, finishing with a coat of deep red lipstick. "Just keep busy. Don't think about Viper. Or Allegra. Or how royally fucked up this all is."

I throw on some clothes—a black crop top and high-waisted jeans—and head out the door to Satin Dreams.

I unlock the front door to the club, flipping on lights as I enter.

It looks different in the daylight—less mysterious, more vulnerable.

Kind of like how I feel right now.

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