2. Venetia
T he sun clings to my skin like an irritating, scorching veil, its heat so intense that it feels as if it’s burning right through my SPF. I shift in my chair, my nails clicking against the glass before bringing my margarita to my lips for a short sip—the only way to survive days like this. This city is a paradise of heat and palm trees for others, but a suffocating, sweaty nightmare for me.
Most of the guests have flocked to the other side of the backyard, having fun on the water slides, while I’ve forced Grace to stay with me. She’s all about fun and chatter, but I’m definitely not in the mood for any of it. I’d rather sit quietly, sipping my liquid heaven while watching the wasted adults act like children, judging them with a silent thought—I could never fucking act like that.
“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t take the chance while you can,” Grace chirps, and I turn my head, my expression questioning. “The water slides! You don’t have those at your place. It’s a chance to recreate some moments from your childhood.”
She makes a valid point, but I didn’t have a childhood filled with fun. My mother made sure of that. I never ate sugar because it would make me fat and cover my face with pimples. I never cut my hair because girls were supposed to have long hair to be pretty. I never wore jeans because they weren’t lady-like.
You get the idea.
And, of course, simply having fun was out of the question. It would make me loud and bubbly, and no one wanted that. I wasn’t allowed to show any emotions, and if I did, I faced the hard cuffs of reprimand on the back of my neck. If my mother saw me enjoying myself on the water slides, I’d be stuck for at least an hour listening to her lecture about how unladylike it was.
“I already told you,” I sigh. “Go ahead if you want. I’m out.”
With her head tilted, Grace lets out a low laugh through her nude-colored lips. “I won’t leave you here alone. If I do, you’ll be gone before I even blink.”
Not immediately, no. But I would leave earlier. My friend thrives on the company of energetic people, while I feel like crawling out of my skin. I’d much rather stay home, watch a terrible reality show, and expend my energy critiquing the directors and whining about the acting.
The moments I get to myself are rare, and I prefer to cherish that time for my own pleasure. Technically, though, I’m not here to have fun today. There are certain occasions when I need to blend in and be with my partners—my friends . Thankfully, this so-called party is winding down, and soon I’ll finally be able to head home.
Just as Grace begins to talk again, something suddenly interrupts her. I glance over at her, but she, along with everyone else, is fixated on something off to the side. Curious, I follow their gazes, and when I see who’s approaching, any remnants of my positive mood evaporate.
A familiar disgust rises in my stomach as I watch West angrily wipe his nose, smearing the blood that runs down his face. He’s been in a fight again, probably too high to realize he couldn’t take on his opponent. Nothing new there.
His dark brown curtain bangs, slightly damp and styled chaotically, cast shadows across his face. A loose-fitting blazer hangs on him, and his white shirt has bloodstains on the collar.
Noah, his friend, mumbles a question to him, and then he glances over our way. As his eyes lock onto mine, a shiver darts down my spine, leaving faint goosebumps behind. I appreciate that he’s far enough away not to notice.
He looks downright fucking menacing—6’6” tall, sapphire eyes blazing with anger, and his face is bruised and bloodied, radiating scorching fury. From the moment I met him, it felt like West Reyes thrives on chaos—the danger, the insatiable craving for power, and that never-ending high. He’s not just impulsive; he’s fucking reckless. Nothing seems to stand in his way of getting what he wants, and right now, it’s clear he wants only two things.
Fighting and getting high—that’s his life, and he has an uncanny ability to suck the air out of any space he enters, just like now. There’s a heavy weight in my chest, squeezing my heart and constricting my lungs. My face becomes a canvas, painted with dark shades of negative emotions as I hold his gaze, refusing to back down.
Inside, however, I’m screaming to escape the invisible, suffocating cage he’s built around me.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he looks away, nearly knocking his friend off his feet as he storms into the house. My lungs welcome a rush of intoxicating oxygen, and I lift my glass to my lips, downing the rest of my margarita in one swift gulp.
“God, the way he looks,” Grace whispers, masking her disappointment over how he never gives her the attention she craves. “What do you think happened to him?”
As I exhale, I feel the tremors of my entire being—the fucking West Reyes effect. I lean back in my chair, flexing my shoulders. “Got high, drunk, and picked a fight with someone stronger. Nothing new.”
She gives me a skeptical once-over. “Stronger? Name at least one person you know who could take him.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. After a moment, I say, “There are plenty of men in this town, Grace. Someone could definitely take him down.”
Skepticism radiates from her as she folds her arms across her chest. “What’s going on between you two, anyway?” My eyebrows knit together in confusion, but her lips curl into a sly grin. “Oh, come on. Out of everyone here, he looked at you .”
The manner in which she speaks about West is always amusing. Saying she has a crush on him feels a bit childish, and it seems deeper than that. We’ve known each other for two years, and during that time, she’s acted strangely around him, turning into a doll with noodles for brains whenever he speaks.
And every time she tries to connect with him, she resembles a fish repeatedly banging against the aquarium wall—striving for something impossible.
It’s not that West doesn’t like her ; he doesn’t like anyone. Many women cling to him like Velcro to fabric, yet I’ve never seen him in a serious relationship. It seems that no one wants to endure his mood swings.
“Stop it. You know I hate that guy. Since it’s mutual, I believe he looked at me simply to come up with a new way to mess with me.”
I don’t say this just to make her stop; it’s the truth. One of the main reasons I can’t stand West is that he always acts like a child. He never misses an opportunity to get on my nerves and ruin my day. I’ve tried to ignore him, to deny him the reaction he craves, but it’s always been futile. No matter what I do or don’t do, he still manages to devise a plan to irritate me.
I can only guess what ridiculous scheme he’s come up with this time.
“I don’t know why you’re so resistant,” Grace says, breaking through my thoughts. “West doesn’t care about anyone else, but you can have all his attention without even trying.”
Concealing the disgust that threatens to show on my face is a struggle. I can’t stand when she keeps reminding me of it, as if it’s something to take pride in. West doesn’t matter to me. “You can have him anytime. I don’t need his attention.”
Lost in thought, she twirls a strand of her cherry-red hair around her finger, her silver necklace catching the sunlight and casting a bright glare. She’s a beautiful woman, wasting her time on someone unworthy of it.
“I can’t forget the way he looked next to Noah,” she muses dreamily. “I always thought he was a big guy, but compared to West, he’s nothing.” She shifts her gaze to me, a playful sparkle in her eyes signaling what’s coming next. “Do you think it’s as big as the rest of his body?”
I set my empty glass on the table and bury my face in my hands. This isn’t the first time she’s pondered such things out loud. “Please don’t start.”
“I’m just curious. I’ve heard rumors. The way he looks—” she trails off, her voice lowering to a seductive purr that makes me cringe. “I’d bet my tongue on that.”
“Oh, Jesus .”
“Call me crazy, but his temper is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” she persists, diving deeper into her favorite topic. “I bet he’s overprotective in relationships. Lucky is the woman who gets to have him.”
“By the way,” I say, lifting my face from my hands, intrigued by a new topic. “I invited Eli here, but he still hasn’t shown up. Should I call him again?”
Grace shifts in her chair, her expression turning serious. “How many times have you called?”
I glance up at the sky, squinting against the brightness. Rubbing my eyes only sends black spots dancing across my vision, and a prickle of shame tugs at me. There’s no point in lying. “Twenty-four.”
“Jesus Christ, Venetia,” she groans. “No way.”
I open my mouth to offer an excuse for him but realize I can’t. I know I’m being persistent and annoying—Eli and I aren’t even officially dating. Well, I thought we were because we went on dates and spent a lot of time together. But then, when we started discussing our relationship—I brought the topic up—he brushed it off, saying he wasn’t ready for anything serious. It fucking stung, and I’ll never forget the sense of betrayal that followed.
I’ve always been a dreamer, and I think I misunderstood his intentions, painting a perfect picture of us as a couple in my mind. Eli is the only thing that feels like a gulp of fresh air, my lifebuoy amidst the murky waters of this dirty business.
My life revolves around my dad’s company—my position in our real estate investment trust and dealing with assholes like West. I’m constantly planning, plotting, brainstorming, and managing shady schemes. Everyone I know is from this world— except Eli. He’s a genuinely nice guy, untouched by this mess, and I’ve worked hard to keep him that way.
But then there are times like this—he disappears from the radar for a week or two. He doesn’t go online or answer his phone, and I can’t help but overreact, wondering what I did wrong. He feels like my only salvation, and I don’t want to lose him.
“I’m just worried,” I say, attempting to justify myself. I know it sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but I genuinely am. I can’t stand the silent treatment. Why not meet and discuss what’s bothering you instead of ignoring me?
“If he needs time, I get it,” I lie. I’ve never understood how people can say things like that. What you really need is to address the issue while your emotions are still fresh, not to wallow in silence. “I just wish he’d say a word or two to me.”
Grace’s shake of the head, full of disapproval, digs under my skin, fueling my irritation. “I know it’s none of my business?—”
“Yet you still poke your nose into it,” I break in, my voice edged with sharpness. “What? Are you going to tell me how I’m overreacting and being pushy?”
Her lips thin into a line. “No. What I want to say is that he’s not worth it, Venetia. When was the last time he fought for you?”
Her question cuts through my defenses, making me fidget in my seat. I swallow hard, feeling a thick lump of emotion form in my throat. “I don’t understand what you mean by that.”
She rests her hands on the arms of her chair, fingers tapping against the cushion. “I mean you’re acting like both a man and a woman in this … relationship ,” she says, emphasizing the last word with a mocking tone. “You pay for your dates, you call and text him to ask how his day was, and he… he doesn’t do anything. Remember that time a guy tried to hit on you at the bar?” she asks rhetorically, perfectly aware that it’s something I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try.
I don’t respond to her, unsure of what expression is on my face. But she nods to herself and continues, “He said nothing. I’m not saying he had to beat the guy to a pulp or kidnap and torture him like those psychopaths we obsess over in books or movies—” Grace’s voice trails off, as if she’s contemplating the thought. “That’s a dream that’ll never come true. But the point is, he could’ve at least said something to him. But he didn’t.”
Yeah, he didn’t. And it fucking hurt. Grace doesn’t even know what happened after that. He got drunk and dragged me to the bathroom, where he made me give him a handjob. I was barely holding back tears the entire time. When I finally asked him what about me, he said he didn’t have time and needed to head back home.
What a fucking shame.
But the next morning, he called me and apologized. He said he should’ve punched that asshole and paid more attention to me. He sounded genuinely sorry about what happened, and it made me feel a little better.
After all, I chose Eli. I choose him every day. Every couple has issues, but that doesn’t mean it’s worth destroying the relationship. For years, I’ve avoided real relationships with men, too afraid to commit, breaking their hearts and shattering their dreams when they hoped I’d stay after the wild night. I’ve always gotten what I wanted—taking complete control and pushing myself to the edge, without caring at all about their pleasure.
It’s been a fun way to live, but everything has its end. Now, I want to try and build something with Eli.
I’m drawn out of my thoughts when West walks out of the house. He looks better; the blood has at last stopped running down his face. I watch as he approaches Noah, mumbling something to him. He runs a hand through his hair before grabbing a glass of something—probably bourbon, judging by the color—and plopping down on the couch near the pool, not far from where I sit.
Discomfort creeps in as I tear my gaze away from him and redirect the conversation with Grace to something trivial. I could really use a distraction.
But I can feel his eyes locking onto me, intensifying. I’m unsure of what he thinks he’s doing, but I don’t fucking like it. I’d much prefer it if he ignored me like usual.
What he’s doing feels like a provocation, a challenge, a test of my patience. I could snap and say something nasty to him, but that’s exactly what he wants. West thrives on this kind of tension, and I refuse to fall into his trap.
I angrily scoot to the corner of the chair, letting my hair fall over my face to shield myself from his gaze and offer him a glimpse of my ass instead.
I only realize how stupid I am after I do it. But I can’t keep sitting up straight; his penetrating stare is too much to bear.
Grace keeps babbling about something insignificant when laughter erupts from our left side, cutting her off. She turns at the sound, looking anything but annoyed. Instead, a smile blooms on her face, and I instinctively glance over to see what’s made her so happy.
But it’s nothing special. The joke that once amused them has lost its charm for West, who now watches Noah doubled over, shaking with laughter. Drowning his bourbon in one gulp, he snaps his eyes back to me, and I lose the last of my patience.
Leaping up from my chair, I turn on my heel and storm into the house, forgetting about my friend. I feel his stare pierce my back, fueling my anger to an indescribable degree.
I’ve put up with this shit long enough, and since I still have some free time, I want to spend it the way I want.
The smell of medicine hangs in the air, painfully puncturing my lungs and instantly gripping my chest with worry. Usually, this place carries a different scent—a mix of wet fur and wood—which signals something significant.
Someone new has arrived, and they’re definitely in bad shape.
I pull the hood off my head and quietly close the door behind me. Taking a few careful steps forward, I peek around the corner of the corridor. The moment Gracie spots me, she jumps off her little bed, her nails clicking against the polished floor as she races toward me. Cleo and Jasper notice me right after, mirroring her excitement as they bound over.
A smile breaks across my face as I drop to my knees, arms wide open to welcome their little bodies. They slam into me, wet tongues darting out to lick my fingers and the fabric of my hoodie before they reach my face.
I laugh, gently pushing them back as I rub their bellies. “How are you doing, little babies?” I ask, leaning in to press a kiss to each of their noses. “You’re getting bigger and stronger, aren’t you?”
“Venetia!”
I turn my head at the sound of my name, my smile still in place as I spot Harper, the manager of this rescue center. She watches me with amusement, but a hint of worry lingers in her eyes. “You’re getting dirt on your clothes, and none of them have had their bath yet.”
Jasper captures my attention as he sinks his teeth into my sweatpants, grunting with effort as he tries to rip the fabric apart. His teething began not long ago, and since then, he’s become an uncontrollable menace, biting literally everything in sight.
“I don’t care about my clothes,” I reply calmly, watching as the worry in Harper’s eyes disappears. “Where’s his Fuzzball?”
She tilts her head as she rests against the wall. “He tore it apart this morning. I’ve never dealt with a hurricane like him. I don’t even know if it’s worth giving him another.”
I snort and rub Jasper behind the ear before flipping him onto his back and quickly rubbing his belly to divert his attention from his destructive urges. My eyes catch a wet stain on the side of my sweats, along with a few small puncture marks from his teeth embedded in the fabric. Laughter erupts in my chest before I can suppress it, and I stand up, earning a half-bark, half-cry of disapproval from the puppies.
“I thought you had a party today,” Harper says as I step closer, turning my attention toward her. She looks worn out, her blue eyes framed by dark circles that contrast with her light smile as she tucks a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “We would’ve prepared if we’d known you were coming.”
I playfully roll my eyes at her and place my hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle nudge. She says the same thing every time I walk in, fully aware of how ridiculous it sounds. I opened and funded this animal rescue center four years ago, as soon as I had enough money to sustain it. It remains the only source of joy and fulfillment in my life—a secret haven where I can stop pretending and truly be myself.
Helping and caring for someone brings a sense of unconditional love—a thing I’ve never felt before.
No one, except my dad and the employees here, knows that I’m the owner of this place. Officially, it’s all Harper’s property—a detail I arranged to ensure nothing happens to this sanctuary. I was raised to keep my chin high, show no emotions, and please everyone but myself. If the outside world knew what I was doing, it would ruin the carefully constructed image I’ve built over the years. Society would still love me, of course; that won’t shatter the mask I wear in public.
But my business partners? They would lose their perception of me—the cold, ruthless businesswoman I am now. In a world full of sharks ready to bite off your limbs the moment you let your guard down, even a glimpse of softness can be dangerous.
At least, my dad believes so.
These days, with the weight of my responsibilities, it’s becoming harder to sneak away to this place. I tend to show up in the evening, when the sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon. At that time, everything here is strict and precise; the animals are getting bathed and preparing for bed.
I don’t just come to play with them and scrutinize every inch of the center to ensure nothing has gone wrong—I already do that enough at my dad’s company. Typically, I help bathe the animals, feed them, or assist with their medical care.
Harper just mentioned that they hadn’t had bath time yet, so I’m fortunate to be able to help her now. “The party was terrible. The only good thing was the free drinks,” I finally say as we walk toward the bathrooms, hearing the three dogs trailing behind us.
Moving down a corridor bathed in bright yet comfortable light, we proceed further into the center. The staff room door is slightly open, with muffled voices drifting from within. I take a brief look inside, catching sight of our administrator, trainer, and attendant engaged in a lively discussion about something important, completely oblivious to Harper and me as we stop by.
As I refocus on the corridor, a voice calls my name. I stop in my tracks and raise my hands in a playful surrender. “Just checking on you guys. Everything good?”
They nod in unison, and the trainer—Marcus—grins widely at us. “We’re just taking a little break to celebrate my greatest achievement. Callie ate from my hands today.”
A wave of confusion washes over me, prompting a frown as I turn completely to face them, resting my palm against the door. “Wait, what? So soon?” I ask, disbelief coloring my voice. Callie is a cat rescued a month ago from an abusive owner, and she has struggled immensely with socializing. She has bitten everyone here, including me, and has spent most of her time cowering in a corner, her wide, scared eyes devoid of trust.
Marcus’s face breaks into an arrogant smirk as he folds his arms across his chest. “Doubting me, boss?”
“To be honest, we all doubted you,” Emma, the attendant, chimes in smugly. She takes a sip of her beloved green tea, the brand label dangling from her favorite mug. I’ve never understood how she can enjoy green tea; it tastes like piss. “Even you doubted yourself, admit it.”
He raises his hands in defeat. “Fair enough. But yeah, that’s the truth. I’m not trying to get ahead of myself—she’s still frightened—but this is a small victory.”
A warm feeling spirals through my chest at the realization of his achievement. My employees are the best at what they do, and I never doubt their abilities. In the four years since the center’s founding, they’ve saved over a thousand pets and found them better homes.
I can never take these achievements for granted. Each success feels like they’ve accomplished something impossible, and my pride for them continues to grow.
“Don’t be so humble,” I say, peeling my palm from the door and taking a step toward the bathrooms, reminding myself that I have a job to do before the center closes. “You’re a hero.”
He shouts a thank you as we continue our way to the bathrooms. Inside, the space is painted in neutral colors, with only a few areas dipped in a soft shade of yellow. I initially envisioned a blue palette, but quickly realized that would make it look like a dentist’s office. With the help of a designer, I created a place that exceeded my expectations.
Here, I always feel comfortable.
Normal people might equate this comfort with home, but the word ‘home’ leaves a bitter, icy aftertaste in my mouth. It makes my skin crawl, and I long to escape, to free myself from the unease it brings.
In this center, I feel safe. If it were up to me, I’d never leave. Being here feels like being wrapped in the coziest blanket on a rainy evening. When I arrive, I don’t burden myself with any layers. Sometimes, I think about how I could let my guard down while volunteering here. If any of my colleagues were to wander in, they wouldn’t recognize me. Before I arrive, I wipe off all my makeup, revealing my bare, imperfect skin, and trade my fancy suits for a simple sports set. I even take a shower before coming because animals can’t stand the smell of perfume.
So, yeah, I doubt anyone would recognize me.
When Harper and I reach the bathrooms, she walks over to the large tub and turns on the water. While most of the animals we care for are scared of baths or downright hate them, these three pups would gladly take them all day if they could.
Melancholy sweeps through me as I watch the three dogs racing around the floor, their mouths wide open, tails wagging as they playfully smack into each other.
“They grow up so fast.” My voice comes out strange and thick, echoing oddly in my ears. It’s as if I’m about to cry, even though I’m typically the type to keep my emotions locked away.
I think my emotional barriers dissolve as soon as I step in here. Though these animals look perfectly fine now—clean, fed, and well cared for—my mind can’t help but recall the depths of human cruelty they’ve endured. I’ve witnessed enough horrors during my time here to know what I signed up for. I wanted to help them, which meant confronting all the suffering from which they needed saving.
But even when you think you’re prepared, seeing the extent of the damage and pain can shatter you. My only salvation is the knowledge that we do our job well and that, at the end of the day, every animal gets a chance for a brighter, better life.
I don’t notice the bathtub is full until Harper turns off the faucet and bends down to pick up Gracie first. My gaze snaps to the little dog as her paws start paddling in the air, ready to swim even before she hits the water. I can’t help but laugh at the sight, my chest trembling as I try to hold it in. Harper beams as she sets Gracie in the tub, giving her a gentle nudge to get the process started.
“Have you thought about taking a vacation?” she asks softly while I grab two nearby chairs and pull them closer to the tub. “Maybe a few days off? You work so much. You deserve it.”
I help her get the other dogs into the water, as usual, letting them enjoy themselves before we start washing them. “You could visit us more often, then. Their behavior changes every single day; I swear, there are new tricks every time.”
She settles into one of the chairs, her bright eyes locking onto mine. I chew on the corner of my mouth, feeling a twinge of anxiety kick in. I rarely go out without my makeup and perfectly styled hair, and now I feel like she can see every red spot and pimple on my skin. I know she probably doesn’t care—imperfect skin is normal—but that doesn’t ease my worry. I don’t like feeling so vulnerable and exposed, and my hands itch with the desire to pull a hood over my head and disappear.
Instead, I look down. “My father won’t let me. Our REIT is thriving and needs my full support. I can’t leave him to handle it alone.” My explanation feels like a broken record, a worn-out, annoying tune that grates on my nerves every time I say it. I sound more like a child than a twenty-two-year-old woman capable of making her own decisions.
“You look troubled,” she observes. “Is everything truly okay? I’m not asking about business, Venetia.”
I clutch a fold of my hoodie, absently twirling it between my fingers in search of comfort. “I’m fine. Just tired .”
The moment the last word leaves my mouth, I want to scold myself. I fucking hate it. It’s something only weak people use as an excuse, and I’m anything but weak. If my father heard me say it, I know he’d be angry.
I can’t allow myself to use that excuse again—at least not in front of others.
Fortunately, she takes the hint and doesn’t pry further. Both of us dive into our tasks, and before long, my anxiety melts away while we attend to the fur babies, as it always does when I’m with them.