Page 23 of Craving Venom

“This is…” I trail off, looking at the ticket again. “This is insane. I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

Tria flops down next to me. “We’re amazing. You’re lucky to have us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, but I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.

Xaden stands, stretching lazily. “Well, now that you’re not plotting my death over that movie, I’m going to head out. Big day tomorrow and all.”

“Don’t remind me,” I say.

He smirks and heads toward the door. “Night, ladies.”

As the door clicks shut behind him, Tria nudges me with her elbow. “So? Excited?”

“Understatement.”

“Good,” she says, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Tomorrow’s going to be epic.”

The air smells like polished wood and wealth as we step inside the gallery. It’s immediately clear this isn’t some casual hangout spot for art lovers. This place screams exclusive. A sleek, glassy floor stretches out beneath ornate lighting fixtures that look more expensive than my entire apartment. And the people? Rich. Like, I-own-a-yacht rich. Women in designer dresses and men in tailored suits sip champagne like they’re not standing in the middle of a room full of creepy-ass crime scene art.

A guy in a crisp black uniform hands us gloves and points to a rack of boot covers near the entrance. “All guests are requiredto wear these,” he says in a tone that implies he’s not fucking around.

I exchange a look with Tria, who’s already pulling on her gloves. “Fancy,” she whispers.

“Pretend we belong,” I hiss, snapping my gloves on and sliding the boot covers over my sneakers.

“How the hell did Xaden even get these tickets?” I mutter under my breath as we step into the main exhibit.

“Probably blackmailed someone,” Tria whispers back.

“Wouldn’t even surprise me,” I say, shaking my head. It’s weird that he even knew about this place, let alone scored tickets. But honestly? Who cares. I’m here.

The first thing I notice when we walk into the exhibit is how eerie it is. The lighting is dim, with small spotlights illuminating the pieces. Soft, unsettling classical music plays in the background, the kind you’d hear in an old murder mystery movie.

The paintings and photographs on display are even creepier than I imagined. The first piece we stop at is a massive black-and-white photo of a shattered porcelain doll lying in a pool of blood. The caption reads: “The End of Innocence.”

“This one’s fucked up,” Xaden mutters, more to himself than to us.

“No shit,” I say, surprised he’s actually engaging with it. I half-expected him to roll his eyes at the whole thing and call it pretentious.

“It’s not just the doll.” He gestures toward the background of the photo. “Look at the cracks on the wall. It’s like… everything in this picture is falling apart.”

“Huh. I didn’t even notice that,” Tria squints.

We move to the next piece, and it’s even worse. It’s a painting of a luxurious dining room, except the table is set with human skulls instead of plates. The artist has painted the sceneso vividly that I almost expect the skulls to start talking. The caption underneath reads: “A Feast for the Guilty.”

“Who the fuck comes up with this shit?” Tria whispers.

“Someone with serious issues.”

As we wander further into the exhibit, the pieces get darker and more disturbing. One photograph shows a pristine, white bathroom splattered with blood. The faucet is running, and there’s a bloody handprint smeared on the mirror. The caption reads: “Reflection of Regret.”

“Jesus,” Tria breathes. “This is… intense.”

“Yeah,” I hush. My heart’s racing, but not in a bad way. There’s something captivating about the way these artists have turned violence and death into something almost beautiful.

We come to a painting that makes me stop in my tracks. It’s a small, unassuming canvas, but it’s the creepiest thing I’ve seen yet. A child’s bedroom, with shadows creeping up the walls. At first glance, it looks normal until you notice the figure standing in the corner. A man, almost entirely obscured by darkness, except for his glowing eyes. The caption reads: “The Silent Watcher.”

“Okay, fuck that,” I say, taking a step back.

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