3. Venetia
M y leg trembles violently, a relentless rhythm against the sudden stab of pain that I barely acknowledge. Warm, wet liquid trails down my fingers, and I don’t need to look down to know what I’ve done.
I keep promising myself that I’ll stop this nasty habit of tearing the skin around my nails, yet I fail each time. As a child, it wasn’t serious; I mostly feared my mom would notice and punish me for ruining my skin. She always said that appearance is the most important thing for a lady and that I should care about it more than anything else.
And I did. I cared more than anything, ultimately achieving what she wanted. But now she’s gone, and I can’t seem to get a grip on myself.
I gave Eli another week, debating whether I was truly overreacting or if I had really done something to upset him. I tried to recall what I might have said, or if it was simply the way I rolled my eyes—a gesture that has become almost second nature—but nothing came to mind. Sometimes my brain blocks certain memories, especially when it comes to arguments. I can forget where or why they started in the first place.
My thoughts are devouring me. I can’t sleep, can’t eat, and can’t focus on work. Negative reflections and paranoia gnaw at my mind, leaving me unsure of where to go or what to do.
The need to channel my mental struggle into something physical has failed miserably; my fingers are bleeding, yet I don’t feel any relief. Usually, this distraction works well enough, but now it’s not helping at all.
The irony is that I’m terrified of losing this , but when I examine it more deeply, I realize I don’t even know what I’m afraid of losing. Grace and the others have joked about him being a ‘ half-boyfriend ,’ as they put it, and despite my attempts to convince myself otherwise, it’s a fitting description of Eli.
So what am I scared to lose? Probably the feeling of comfort. The feeling that diminishes with each passing day.
But that’s only because I haven’t done enough to keep things afloat. I’ve never been good at relationships, and I’ve made more mistakes than I can admit. Maybe now I need to push harder to find happiness.
I pivot and walk to my closet, sliding the door open to retrieve a pair of gloves to protect my hands from the mess I’ve made. After putting them on, I whirl around and march out of the house, impatience humming beneath my skin, pushing me to move faster.
I just need to see him.
Anxiety seeps from my body as my eyes fixate on the front door of Eli’s house. Tremors ripple through me, and the voices in my head clash, each trying to overpower the other. How can this feel like too much and yet like the bare minimum at the same time?
On one hand, I feel like an obsessed psychopath, not giving this man the time or space to think about whatever we have. On the other hand, I’m fighting for our relationship, wanting to make amends if I’ve messed things up.
And no, the second thought doesn’t sound weird at all when I say it out loud.
I knock, bracing myself for a difficult conversation. I don’t want to be pessimistic, but after being ignored for weeks, I doubt this will go smoothly. Still, I’m determined to do my best.
The door swings open in seconds, sending a pleasant thrill through my body. It feels like he’s been expecting me.
As soon as our eyes connect, his neutral expression darkens, shifting from somber to what seems like annoyance. A wave of pain crashes into my gut, causing a tremor in my upper lip.
“Venetia,” he says, his voice colder than ice. “What do I owe this visit to?”
I frown, unable to help it, as I swallow hard and twirl my fingers. “I don’t understand, Eli,” I mumble, straightening up and clearing my throat. I need to maintain my composure. At least fucking try to. “You’re not going to invite me in?”
His nostrils flare, exposing the anger threatening to break free. Yet, despite this, he nods and steps aside, allowing me entry.
I waste no time—desperate for him not to change his mind—as I go inside, immediately cringing at the decor. I’ve never liked the look of his house—all brown wood and questionable paintings that I’m certain he doesn’t understand. Here, I feel nothing but a strong urge to turn away, to close my eyes and block out the sight.
But I didn’t come here to think about that. So, after he closes the door and turns to face me, I decide to cut straight to the chase. “Why are you ignoring me, Eli?” It feels utterly humiliating to ask this, and I can’t shake off the worry that I’m fucking everything up again.
With his hands in his pockets, he leans against the wall and exhales a long, drawn-out breath. His eyes avoid mine, as if he can’t stand the sight of me. “I don’t understand how you can be so brave coming here and asking me questions like that.”
My lip quivers once more, but this time the tremor is stronger. “W-what?”
He detaches from the wall and raises a hand toward me. “You made a fool of me, Venetia. You invited me to a party where I clearly didn’t belong, and then your dear friend practically laughed in my fucking face!”
Confusion completely takes over me, and despite the flurry of questions swirling on the tip of my tongue, I struggle to decide which one to ask first. He makes no sense. “What do you mean, Eli? I wanted you there. I told you—” I trail off when, suddenly, a spark of awareness cuts through the haze of uncertainty. “Which friend are you talking about?”
A laugh slips out of him as he turns around and walks away. I nearly trip over my own feet in my rush to catch up, the paralysis fading as fear of him abandoning me threatens to engulf me. “Eli, wait! Just talk to me. I don’t… I can’t understand what you’re talking about.”
Slowly, he turns back to face me, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “West. I’m talking about West.”
Silence descends and settles in the air between us, dense and heavy. While I still grapple with what the fuck is happening and what West could have possibly said to Eli, one thing becomes clear.
They’ve never liked each other. Eli’s feelings stem from jealousy, while West on the other hand, doesn’t need a reason to dislike anyone—it’s just who he is.
No matter how many times I’ve tried to explain to Eli that West and I are nothing but business partners—his father’s real estate company works closely with my dad’s investment trust—Eli has remained insecure about it.
“What did he tell you?”
He pauses, seemingly weighing whether I’m worthy of the truth before running a hand through his messy hair. “I told you, Venetia. He laughed in my face. Said I had no place there, that the party was only for privileged people like you . I just don’t understand why you would do that to me. Why would you choose him over me?”
I shake my head, reaching for him, but he shrugs my hands away. Tears blur my vision, and inside, I scream for him to understand, to hear and believe me, but he doesn’t. I’ve never given him a reason to doubt my loyalty, yet now he makes me feel as if I’ve betrayed him—like I’ve slept with the entire city, which is why he can’t trust me.
Trying to prove myself to him feels like attempting to strike a match in the rain. So much effort for nothing.
I keep looking at him, even though he won’t spare me a glance. If he dislikes West so much, why hasn’t he confronted him? Why hasn’t he fought for me?
Grace was right. I’m not asking him to fight West physically; simple words would suffice.
A part of me wants to laugh at how I never learn from my mistakes. Before Eli, I had one boyfriend who quickly became my husband, and throughout those years together, I’d tried to elicit the same fucking things from him.
I always did what was expected of me, putting men first and neglecting myself in the process. And where has that gotten me? Here I am, humiliating myself for nothing— again .
Tiny icy needles prick at my eyes, causing Eli’s features to blur into a splash of colors. A ringing fills my ears, blending with my heartbeat as it quickens, the second wave of my frustration crashing over me.
West has always been an unbearable asshole, but this? This is beyond forgiveness. He thinks he can ruin everything I’ve fought so hard to build and protect for so long without facing any consequences.
That infuriates me, but what’s even more annoying is how he underestimates me. He believes I’m powerless because our company relies on theirs. His father owns the entire city, and West thinks that gives him the right to do whatever the fuck he wants.
But they’re nothing without us. Money is the key to success, especially for sharks like them. We secure the funding for every single one of their projects. We control the money far more than they realize. If he thinks I’ll sit back and tolerate his tricks, he’s mistaken.
Annoyance swiftly builds into anger, intensifying as I remain rooted to the spot, Eli’s complaints muffled beneath the weight of my emotions. I could kill West—strangle him with my own hands. God, I’ve fantasized about it countless times, imagining how he’d finally shut up, that arrogant gleam in his eyes fading as I applied pressure to his neck, feeling his heartbeat beneath my fingertips...
But he’s stronger than I am—much stronger. His hand can cover my entire face. How am I supposed to take him down? I need to think. Rage is useful when it fuels desire, providing that rough kick in the ass, but logic and rationality must prevail if I want a real solution.
So I inhale a deep, calming breath, taking a moment to gather my thoughts.
And after a couple of seconds, an idea crystallizes in my mind, and my face breaks into a smile.
Heavy metal thumps through my headphones as I walk toward my destination, my head bobbing from side to side. I crack my muscles, exhaustion sweeping over me like a tidal wave. I could’ve spent the evening at the center caring for the animals, but West fucking Reyes has a knack for ruining everything. He poisons everything around him, making it wilt without a chance to recover.
As I inhale, I feel the tremor in my breath, my lungs aching from the depth of the intake. But I’m not afraid; in fact, I feel the opposite.
I’m fucking thrilled.
With long strides, I quickly reach one of his properties. That greedy bastard owns too many houses, each one tailored to his whims, and tonight, this one is pure gold for me. It’s a place where he keeps his beloved Bugatti. The idiot never drives it—probably too scared he’ll fuck it up like he does with everything else. It’s one of his most prized possessions, one of the first big purchases he made after getting rich. What I can’t overlook, though, is his hard work and dedication. Whatever it takes, he always gets the job done.
That’s the only quality that resonates with me.
He earned that car through blood, sweat, and millions of lost nerve cells. That’s why burning it down will fucking break him.
I’ve never done anything like this before, and honestly, I’m surprised at how quickly the idea came to me. There was no hesitation on my part.
I reach the fence, climb over it, and hop down, landing with a thud that sends vibrations through my sneakers. Luckily, he never parks it in the garage, so I don’t have to hack the panel. Instead, the car sits in the yard, its polished surface gleaming in the dim streetlight, as if beckoning me to act.
I don’t waste time. Pulling a bottle of gasoline from my bag, I unscrew the lid and pour it over the car. Amidst the distant wail of sirens, the splashing of liquid echoes, accompanied by the sound of my feet scraping against the rough asphalt. This neighborhood is usually quiet, offering me plenty of opportunities. Honestly, considering how many times this fucker has messed with me and set me up, this hardly feels like enough. I could have devised something more elaborate to drive him even crazier, but I lack both the time and the desire.
I shake the bottle slightly, tilting it to check if any gasoline remains. Once I’m sure I’m out, I toss the empty bottle to the ground and step back, reaching into my bag to retrieve a lighter. I unscrew the lid with a quiet click, feeling amusement start to outweigh my anger.
I’ve been patient and silent for far too long. That’s what my parents always tried to teach me—a key to winning. I’ve lived this way my entire life, always keeping my emotions at bay, swallowing the hot coals of anger that churn in my stomach, rotting me from the inside and turning me into a mess.
But tonight, I’ll do what I want. For the first time, I’ll follow my own desires.
My thumb presses against the little circle on the side of the lighter, sliding it down until the orange glow flickers to life. A barely perceptible warmth radiates from the flame, swaying slightly in the breeze and urging me to finish what I came here for.
I drop the lighter onto the car, flinching slightly as the blaze consumes the hood first. A flash of light erupts before the flames spread to every inch of the vehicle, devouring everything in their wake. The car alarm blares to life, and a laugh slips past my lips as I allow myself a moment to watch, relishing the sight of destruction unfolding before me.
Fuck you, West.
I take a step back, one after another, keeping my eyes on the beautiful scene before me, determined to etch it into my memory forever. Then, I turn around, sliding the black hood off my head and gazing up at the main camera. With a swift motion, I raise my middle finger, ensuring the fucker sees the smile lingering on my face before I turn and dash toward the fence, climbing over it. The thrill of excitement sends pleasant tingles through my core and fills my veins with youthful glee.
Just a few minutes have passed, and I already find myself wishing I could do that for the first time all over again.