Page 82 of Beautiful Venom

The room is massive, but it feels suffocating. Aside from the cherry blossom ceiling, everything else is devoid of warmth. Dark gray walls swallow the light whole.

Clean lines, minimalistic, with everything perfectly in place. There are no personal touches, no photos, and only a few hockey trophies opposite me.

There’s nothing that says someone lives or breathes here. It’s more like a carefully constructed illusion of control.

I drag my gaze over to the desk in the corner. Stark. Empty. Just like the man who owns it. There’s no clutter, no evidence of life. It’s pristine, as if everything in this room is a testament to how he keeps his world—perfectly ordered.

The only thing that stands out is the window—floor-to-ceiling, overlooking the town that seems to stretch on beyond the horizon. The morning light filters in, but it’s muted, dull, as if even the sun can’t warm this space. Outside, the town buzzes with life, but inside, everything is unnervingly still.

I shift under the sheets, my body aching, my mind trying to piece together how I got here.

The memories filter in like an old grainy movie.

The drugging. The kidnapping. The masked men.

And then…

Kane.

“Oh God.” I cup my mouth, my eyes widening.

Please tell me I didn’t beg Kane to touch me.

Fuckme.

And hedidn’t.

He only fingered me and came all over me, but he didn’t fuck me.

Why the hell am I disappointed?

I wish the earth could swallow me alive and spare me the embarrassment.

My eyes land on a change of clothes on the foot of the bed, and I assume that means I can use his shower.

After a few seconds of internally kicking myself, I walk into the sleek bathroom.

I remove the jersey and my underwear, then pause at the view of his dried cum on my stomach. He really loves leaving his mark all over me like an animal.

I should feel mad or something, but I’m more enraged by howIacted.

The elegant shower has so many settings, it takes me a few minutes to figure it out.

After I finish, I towel-dry my hair and put on his Vipers hoodie and sweatpants. I have to roll the waistband a couple of times and tie the drawstring so they’ll remain in place.

The rich smell of food tickles my nostrils as I walk out of the bedroom and down the hallway full of impressionist artwork, then finally reach the living room I mildly recognize from last night.

This place is massive.

And frighteningly expensive.

I move carefully, self-conscious about touching or, worse, knocking over and breaking something. I bet I couldn’t pay for it even if I sold myself on the black market.

My bare feet falter at the doorway of the kitchen, the sight of Kane hitting me like a punch to the gut.

He stands at the stove with his back to me, his broad, muscular frame covered in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips.

The morning light filters through the window, casting a faint glow on the sharp planes of his body, highlighting the lines of his muscles.

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