Page 140 of Lovely Venom

“What’s going on with you?” She turns in my arms. “You still haven’t told me what happened last night, and you’ve been distracting me with sex.”

I let out a rough exhalation, bracing for the conversation I’ve been avoiding.

I can’t honorably say I’ve spent so much time inside her as a means of distraction. It was a selfish need to satiate this clawing hunger that’s already bordering on starvation, because I’m well aware there’s an inevitable cold front headed our way.

“We were able to salvage some things in your house.” I start with the good news. “Most of your bedroom survived.”

She swallows, glancing up at me nervously. “And the living room?”

“Everything’s gone.”

She closes her eyes as quiet devastation moves through her.

“I have your passports,” I add, getting that out of the way.

“What?” She blinks up at me in horror.

“They’re safe,” I assure her, leaving out the part that she won’t need them.

“How is that possible if everything else—” Her face pales. “You already had them.”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since we installed the security on your house.”

Silence lingers while she processes that, and as much as I want her to explain why she had them, I can already see that she won’t.

“The house manager is sorting through your clothes,” I tell her. “Anything that needs dry cleaning will be sent out, and the rest will be laundered before she puts it away.”

“What do you mean she’ll put it away?” Her brows draw together. “I can’t keep them here. I’ll have to find another place in the city, so I’m close to work⁠—”

Her expression falters as she searches my eyes and concludes where this is heading.

“I told Viktor you’re taking a leave of absence.”

Her breathing shallows, and a visible tremor runs through her as she steps back, creating distance between us.

It throws me off, because I anticipated anger and a probable argument, but I didn’t expect this kind of anxiety.

“Did you plan this?” she rasps.

“Did I plan what?”

“The fire.” Her gaze darts toward the door. “I don’t have my phone. Am I…locked in here?”

That allegation lands like a physical blow, and every muscle in my body goes rigid as the truth reveals itself in her eyes. I’ve seen that look too many times in men I’ve interrogated over the years. It’s the terror of exposure.

The familiar echo of Angelo’s suspicion gnaws at me as I study the woman who’s burrowed so deep inside me, I can’t cut her out.

I’ve known she was lying to us about her identity from the beginning. But it never crossed my mind that whatever she was hiding could be so dangerous, she’d genuinely fear what I might do to her if I uncovered it.

I’ve been patient, convinced she would come to trust me on her own. Now, with the sting of her accusation hanging between us, I realize she never will.

“Your phone is on the nightstand in the bedroom, and you’re free to move around the estate.” I step out of the shower. “And to answer your first question, no, I didn’t plan this. I just don’t want to fucking bury you.”

Unsurprisingly, she doesn’t respond.