Page 115 of Craving Venom

I glance toward the bar. Corrine is watching from a distance, pretending not to listen in, but I see the way she’s tracking the conversation. The man shifts slightly, pulling his wallet from his jacket. He slides a cheque onto the table, pushing it toward me with two fingers.

I glance down and nearly topple in my heels.

That’s… ten thousand dollars.

“What—” I snap my gaze back to him.

“This is a tip.” He grabs his drink. “Don’t think too hard about it, Faith.”

And with that, he lifts the glass to his lips, watching me over the rim as he takes another sip. I stand there for a second too long, staring at the cheque like it might combust in my hands. Ten thousand dollars. For what? Bringing him a drink? Making small talk?

It sits there while the man sips his whiskey, not sparing me another glance.

I pick up the cheque and tuck it into my apron. Whatever the fuck this is, I’m not about to question free money. I turn on my heel and head back to the bar.

Corrine raises a brow when I set the tray down. “Well?”

“Not the type to eye-fuck a bartender, apparently.”

Her brows furrow, but I don’t explain. I just pick up another order and keep working.

The rest of the shift passes without another glance from Mr. Ten Thousand.

By the time my shift ends, my feet are killing me, and my brain is fried. I shrug out of my uniform the second I step into my apartment. I toss the shirt onto the couch before collapsing onto my bed in just my bra and shorts.

My phone buzzes, lighting up with Tria’s name.

Date’s over ;)

Tria only sends a wink-face emoji when she’s genuinely happy, and right now, she definitely looks like it. It’s wild how we’ve learned to read each other’s moods through emojis alone.

That good, huh?

Thatgood.

If there’s one thing about Tria, it’s that when she finally gets what she wants, she gets it. I’m happy for her. My fingers hover over my screen before I sigh, backing out of our chat and opening my browser instead.

Zane’s name fills the search bar before I even realize I’ve typed it.

My eyelids grow heavy as I scroll. My body sinks deeper into the couch as exhaustion starts pulling at my limbs.

I tap my pen against my notebook, barely registering a single word Dr. Harrington is saying. Industrial psychology is dry as hell, and if I have to listen to another lecture about employeesatisfaction and corporate efficiency, I might bash my head against the desk.

Maybe I’m just bored. Or maybe it’s because I haven’t sat in this damn lecture hall for over a week, and now, I feel like a zombie.

Beside me, Tria nudges my arm and gives me the look, a quick raise of her brows and an exaggerated nod toward the front, silently telling me to focus.

I roll my eyes but straighten up, gripping my pen like I actually plan to take notes.

I last about five minutes.

Then my gaze drifts to the hallway outside, where students pass by, moving from one class to another. I barely glance at them until I see a man covered in a hoodie and a mask.

I almost brush it off because students wear hoodies all the time, and with the way flu season’s been kicking ass, masks aren’t exactly rare. But something in my brain tugs, and my brain registers those eyes.

Zane.

My head snaps back toward the hallway, but it’s empty.

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