Page 33 of Veil of Obsession
I smile, soft and harmless, as if I haven’t been thinking of how to kill for him tonight.
“Alright,” I say, my voice smooth, controlled.
I won’t forget. And neither will he.
Just as I turn slightly, prepared to slip away, his voice catches me again—low, smooth, edged with something unmistakable.
“You know…” he muses, his lips curling around the words like smoke and sin. “If you keep looking at me like that, I might start thinking you want me.”
The words slip between us like a blade—sharp, dangerous, taunting.
I exhale softly, rolling my shoulders back. Calm. Poised. Dangerous in my own way.
“And if I do?” I murmur, my voice like silk, watching his reaction carefully.
Lucio smirks—slow, lazy, knowing. He steps closer, just enough that I can smell the smoke and whiskey on his breath, the warmth radiating from him despite the chill.
“Then that…” he says, his voice dropping into something low and dark. “…would be very, very bad for you, Princess.”
His gaze drags over every inch of me, slow and deliberate, as if he’s drinking me in. Then his eyes flick back to my face.
“But I bet you like bad things.”
The corner of my lips twitch, and I take a slow step back, a measured retreat.
Because he’s right. And he has no idea just how bad I am.
12
Lucio
Dana laughs, her hand resting lightly on my arm as she murmurs something into my ear—something teasing, meant to hold my attention. I laugh and nod absently, swirling the whiskey in my glass, but my focus isn’t on her. It’s elsewhere.
On a woman I don’t recognize. She moves across the dance floor with a fluid, practiced grace. Her gown catches the dim chandelier light, the fabric shifting like liquid ink. She’s young—younger than me, probably. Dark, sleek hair against her back, eyes sharp despite the soft elegance she wears like armor. And she’s dancing with Daniel Morgan.
My fingers tighten around my glass.
“You’re not listening,” Dana pouts beside me, shifting closer, her perfume cloying in my nose.
I glance at her, just enough to appease. “I am.”
She lifts a brow, unimpressed. “Oh? Then what did I just say?”
I exhale through my nose, a ghost of a smirk playing at my lips. “Something about how I should be dancing with you instead of standing here with a drink in my hand.”
She rolls her eyes, but smiles anyway. “At least you admit it.”
I let out a low chuckle, but my attention shifts again—back to the dance floor. Daniel moves like he’s trained for this, his hand at the woman’s waist, his grip firm, but not forceful. His other hand guides hers, their steps precise, measured.
He says something low. And she smiles at him.
I pause trying to figure out what the fuck I amfeelingand why I’m watching a woman I know nothing about. But the smile makes me want to rip his throat out.
She does something that makes me question if we know each other: she watches me. Her sharp gaze flickers over his shoulder, subtle but intentional. A glance that’s too quick to be curious, but too bold to be meaningless.
And she doesn’t look away.
My grip around the glass tightens, a slow swirl of something unreadable curling in my chest. Suspicion. Intrigue. Irritation.
