My Dark Divine

49. Venetia

W hen West told me he wanted to take me somewhere special to him, I considered many possibilities. But nothing could have prepared me for this.

As we walk down the corridor of the nursing home, a flood of questions fills my mind. I didn’t even know he had a grandmother. For some reason, I feel nervous about meeting her. I’m worried she might not like me. West mentioned that she watches TV all the time, so she’s likely seen me, and now, I’m pretty fucking different from the image everyone is used to. My sweatpants and sweatshirt are marked with mysterious stains, my hair is greasy and stuffed awkwardly under a baseball cap, and my face is completely devoid of makeup.

What if she thinks I’m ugly?

Meanwhile, West looks as magnificent as ever. Despite having survived the toughest withdrawal and being in the same mental state as me, he appears even more perfect and fresh than before, as if he’s just come back from vacation instead of spending time in a dirty motel with me.

It doesn’t seem fair.

I don’t have time to dwell on my thoughts as we step into a room full of elderly people. They sit around a table, cards scattered across it, chattering about something we can’t quite make out, all appearing truly engrossed in their conversation.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” West groans, squeezing my hand like his life depends on it. I glance over at him, confusion evident in my gaze, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “I thought we talked about this enough.”

When I turn my attention back to the group, I notice they’re all staring at us. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to find his grandmother, who peeks her head over her friend’s shoulder with an amused expression.

My throat constricts as she turns to face me, and a wave of dread sweeps over me. Her silver hair is styled with a few red extensions, secured in a low ponytail. She wears gloves, and as she stands up, revealing the dress she’s wearing, I feel like I might collapse.

She’s fucking stunning. And she doesn’t look like a typical grandma. I don’t have any grandparents of my own, but I have the conventional image of one, and this woman is anything but ordinary.

She’s so close now, her energy making me feel small and insignificant. The scent of her perfume, sharp and strong, breaks the trance she’s cast over me. And then I see it—the same mesmerizing shade of eyes as West’s.

“Delilah Cruz,” he whispers into my ear as she closes the distance between us. “Don’t be afraid, baby girl. She isn’t as scary as she looks.”

I wouldn’t say she’s scary. Rather, powerful and fucking magnificent.

“Venetia, it’s so nice to finally meet you,” she says, leaning in and wrapping me in the tightest hug I’ve ever experienced. “West has told me a few things about you. He can never be as attentive as I am, so it’s wonderful to meet you in person.”

“You’re acting like I said something bad about her,” West says, rolling his eyes as I wrap my arms around Delilah and return her hug. “And don’t change the subject.”

Clicking her tongue in mock irritation, she pulls away and gestures for us to follow her. “Don’t give me that again. It’s a fair game.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, feeling a bit out of the loop.

“She rips off money from these poor old people she calls friends,” West replies with a laugh. We settle into soft, oversized chairs around the coffee table, a little farther from everyone else, and I shoot him a questioning look, to which he simply shrugs.

Delilah doesn’t seem bothered at all. She casually pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her pocket. “They asked me to teach them how to play poker, and I did,” she explains, slipping a cigarette between her lips and lighting it. My concern must be evident on my face because she waves her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. They’re used to me smoking here. These old farts and dumb staff know better than to argue with me about it.”

I laugh, realizing that if I were one of the people in this place, I’d never dare to comment on Delilah’s smoking habits. She looks like someone who flips off cops on a regular basis.

“I honestly have no idea how she still has friends here.” I look at West as he speaks, taking in the genuine smile that suddenly appears on his face. Warmth flows through me as I realize it’s the first time in what feels like an eternity that he’s smiled so brightly.

“Oh, come on,” she groans, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “Like I need friends. I wouldn’t mind being on my own.” She leans in, tapping the tip of her cigarette into someone’s cup of unfinished coffee. “But enough about me. Tell me about you. How’s the business? Your engagement?”

“We’re taking a break from business,” West says, awkwardly turning his gaze to me. There’s a warmth in his eyes I haven’t seen before, and it makes me feel restless in my seat, not knowing how to react. Yeah, it still feels a little off when we’re not clawing at each other’s eyes as often as before. “Unofficially.”

“Unofficially?” she parrots skeptically. “You mean you ran off?”

“Yeah,” I chime in, nodding in agreement. “We did. Well, I left first. This… business can sometimes be?—”

“Oh, honey, you don’t need to spell it out for me,” she cuts in, inhaling from her cigarette once more. Her knee begins to bounce, and I catch a muscle under her eye twitching. “You don’t need a valid reason to run away from Lucas. He’s a piece of shit who drives everyone nuts. I’m surprised you’re still holding up under his rule.”

Huh. I never thought I’d be interested in this, but her hatred for him piques my curiosity. She doesn’t need to say much more—her body language and facial expressions tell me everything I need to know.

“My dad is the same,” I admit. “I guess we just got used to it.”

She chuckles, leaning forward to stub out her cigarette in the cup before lighting another one. She raises a finger, silencing whatever West was about to say. “You know talking about your dickhead of a father always makes me nervous,” she says, then turns her bright eyes back to me. “I’ve told West this a million times, and I want to say it to you now: fuck Lucas and his so-called fucking leadership. You both have more potential than he ever will.”

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“I can see it,” she replies. “Well, as soon as you quit snorting your brains out, you’ll be unstoppable. I’m sorry, but you both look like shit now.”

“We’re sober,” West says, rubbing his hands together anxiously. His head hangs slightly, hair casting soft shadows on his face as he struggles with the words. It’s unusual to see him so open and vulnerable, especially given his complicated relationships with his sister and father. Yet here he is, being transparent with his grandma.

It feels like I’m peeling away his layers, one by one, uncovering what’s hidden beneath—something that doesn’t spit acid when touched.

“Yeah. We both helped each other with that,” I chime in.

“I don’t know you as well as I’d like, Venetia, but I’ve heard a lot about you—from West and others. My grandson is an impulsive idiot who often acts out of anger, shutting off his brain,” she says with a hint of humor in her otherwise serious expression.

“I’m still here, just so you know,” West interjects, and Delilah’s lips curl into a brief smug smirk before her stern look returns.

“I see that you can help each other as much as you can hurt each other,” she continues, crossing one leg over the other. “You don’t need to say a word—I can tell how alike you both are. But if you fully embrace that potential, you could be unstoppable.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean,” she trails off, her gaze drifting to the window, “Lucas controls all of Cathedral City, which wasn’t supposed to happen. He needed someone to check him, to rein him in, but he chose to go it alone. And look where that’s led.” She waves her hands emphatically. “He’s gone completely off the deep end. He was already rotten, taking out his fucking anger on?—”

“Grandma,” West cuts in, his voice hardening. “You’re getting off track.”

I glance at him, confusion knotting my stomach, but he avoids my gaze. There’s a barely perceptible unease on his face, one he’s trying to hide.

Before I can voice my questions, Delilah continues. “What I mean is, it won’t be long until he completely unravels and becomes uncontrollable. He’s already used you to wedge himself back into politics, where he doesn’t belong. A person like him can’t have that kind of power. He’s a dictator at heart, the kind who eliminates anyone who disagrees with him. His blind supporters will never see through his facade—at least, not until it’s too late.”

“Are you suggesting—” I begin, uncertain of how to phrase my question. I think I understand her, but I could be wrong.

She glances at West before looking back at me. “Take it away. Make the company a better place. Cut off the excess that seeps from it. It doesn’t need all the crap he claims it does. Sure, it brings in a lot of money, but everything has its limits. Lucas doesn’t see that.”

“Grandma, I thought we were going to have tea and talk about the weather today,” West says, attempting to shift the topic. “It’s the first day you’ve met my fiancée. Let’s take it easy.”

She waves him off, saying something that makes him laugh, while I try to let her words sink in.

Taking down Lucas? It sounds impossible. As cruel as he is, he’s spent years building his empire and has a large following. When I took over Zayden, it was different. He wasn’t respected as a leader, and my father and I transformed his company into something better. People began to believe in us.

But Lucas? He’s a respected man with decades of experience. What could possibly tarnish the polished image he’s created?

And the biggest question—how deep does this go? The way Delilah talks makes me feel there’s something much deeper between Lucas and West, something hidden from me.

Or is she just toying with me? Years in this field have taught me to be skeptical and to never take things at face value.

Whatever the truth is, I’m determined to uncover it.

But for now, I’ll let myself enjoy my time here, putting off my responsibilities for just a bit longer.

I’ve always been struck by my ability to appear untouched, even after a complete breakdown. When the moment demands it, I cover every sign of sorrow and step out with a radiant smile, as if nothing ever happened.

Today is the day. Instead of resting at home, West and I went straight to the office. We’ve been absent too long, and here—surrounded by polished walls and busy faces—we’re safe from whatever wrath our parents might have in store.

Oddly enough, the atmosphere since we arrived has been… too normal. The kind of calm that sets nerves on edge. When our parents saw us, they were silent. No sharp looks, no clipped words—just a brief warning that we’d be meeting someone important in an hour.

As the minutes tick by, unease gnaws at me, turning my insides into a churning mess. I look calm and composed, but my mind races, spiraling into paranoia with every silent second.

West is just as tense. He hasn’t stopped bouncing his leg, his eyes blank and fixed on the wall. Though we sit in silence, his hand finds mine, his thumb lightly stroking my fingers. It doesn’t stop the nerves clawing at me, but in its own way, his touch is grounding, and I’m grateful for that.

We’re trapped in a cocoon of stress, our backs to the door. Then, the click that shatters the stillness, followed by footsteps and a mocking chuckle. Fear, like a venomous serpent, slithers down my spine, and my senses scramble to understand this sudden dread.

And when their faces come into focus, it all becomes clear. My heart stumbles with a sickening thud as a wave of dread and shame crashes over me. A cold knot forms in my stomach, my nausea rising. My hand slips from West’s grip, and I feel his eyes on me, silently asking for an explanation.

But I can’t look at him, no matter how much I wish I could. I can’t tear my gaze away from the two men now seated across from me, each one digging deeper into wounds I thought I had healed.

Logan and Joseph—Zayden’s friends. Men who took pleasure in breaking me, piece by piece, until I no longer recognized my own body, until every inch of my skin bore their marks, a canvas of pain and humiliation. They mercilessly used me, knowing no one believed my story.

Panic surges through me, my breath coming in shallow bursts as I clutch the chair’s arms, trying to steady myself. My vision clouds, tears threatening to spill as my mind desperately tries to shield me from the predatory smirks that haunt me. But I can feel their eyes on me—a cold, invasive sweep that leaves new scars with every leer.

I swallow hard, trying to suppress the prickling sensation that crawls through every fiber of my being, as though a virus is sinking under my skin. Time slows, and I feel my body buzzing with the sensation of invisible insects I can’t seem to shake off.

My dad starts speaking, attempting to divert their attention, but they’re fixated on me. Just me. They don’t care that my father is only a few steps away or that my fiancé is sitting right beside me.

They’re doing this on purpose—trying to make me feel small, reminding me that I’m shattered and that any hope for peace is just an illusion. As long as they’re here, I’ll never escape the shadows they’ve cast over me, never break free from the pit I’ve spent years trying to claw my way out of.

I’m fifteen again, trapped with no way to escape.

West reaches for my hand, and I instinctively pull away, even though I want his comfort more than anything. But my mind won’t let me. He tries again, and this time, I yank my hand back with such force that it slams into the underside of the table. The sharp crack of bone against wood fills the room, and a hiss slips through my clenched teeth. I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling the throb of pain radiating from my hand, heat blooming under my skin. Now, it’s not just them staring at me—West, my father, and Lucas have turned their attention to me too.

Too much. It’s too much . The faint nausea I felt moments ago intensifies, bitter bile surging in my throat as I fight to keep it down.

“Excuse me,” I choke out, pushing myself up from the chair, stumbling as my legs wobble beneath me. My knees nearly buckle, and I have to grip the table to keep from collapsing.

Clutching my bruised hand to my chest, I shove the door open with my shoulder and rush out of the meeting room. Tightness seizes my chest, and I struggle to hold on to the fragile threads of my composure.

Breathe. Just fucking breathe, Venetia.

Somehow, I find my way to the bathroom. I turn on the faucet and shove my hands under the icy water, splashing it onto my face. My makeup smears, and the cold does little to calm the panic gripping me.

Why are they here? Since Zayden died, they’ve stayed silent—never a word, even though they were his closest friends. Back then, I thought they wanted to distance themselves from his mess, afraid I might expose what I knew about the things they did together.

But I didn’t. I wanted to erase them, to forget every agonizing memory they forced on me. It seemed easier to ignore them than to dredge up the pain, but that was a mistake. I should have locked them away when I had the chance.

But I did nothing.

And now they’re back. Not for business, not for any project—those looks say it all. They’re here to haunt me, to savor my misery, just as they always did.

“I see you’ve got yourself in a good spot,” a low voice calls from behind me. I flinch, the sound of it repulsive as it slithers into my ear. Despair sinks into my chest, and I’m moments away from dropping to my knees, begging him to go away.

“Logan—”

“You have no idea how many times I dreamed of hearing you say my name,” he whispers, closing the distance between us. My legs are trembling, and I’m frozen in place, held captive by the fear growing within me.

I couldn’t do anything all those years, and I can’t do anything now.

“But you never said much—just those little, helpless whimpers.” He sighs dreamily, as if lost in memories. “Yeah, I remember.”

Tears sting my eyes as I summon the strength to seize his hand, yanking it away before he can touch my face. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, struggling to keep the sob lodged in my throat. I drop my gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. He’s the same as ever— charming on the surface, but beneath that perfect facade lies the same sick soul. “What do you want?”

A cruel chuckle escapes him, twisting my stomach in disgust. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asks, lips curling into a grin. “I want our time back.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’d ever let you near me again,” I snap, though my voice wavers, betraying the fear I’m trying to hide.

“We never needed your permission before, did we?”

“I have a fiancé,” I say, clinging to whatever strength I still have. “West will kill you for even trying to touch me.”

Logan’s cold, hollow laugh fills the space as his gaze drags over me, dripping with perverse satisfaction. It’s as if he’s driving a knife into my core, each look twisting it deeper and more painfully.

“Does he know, Venetia?” he asks, tilting his head just enough to brush aside a few short black strands of hair. “Somehow, I doubt it. I don’t think you’ll ever find the courage to tell him the truth. Any of it.”

He steps closer, and I retreat, my back hitting the cold marble wall. The shock of it sends a jolt through me, rattling my nerves, and I shut my eyes, gasping for control I know will never come.

Still, after all these years, it’s the only thing I can’t have in his presence.

“To tell him what really happened to your husband,” he presses, drawing out that word with mocking emphasis.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” I lie, shaking my head in a frantic attempt to convince both him and myself. “I’ve been?—”

“Grieving like the devoted wife you were,” he interrupts, echoing the shallow, sympathetic headlines from the media. “Believable to most, sure, Venetia. But not to those who saw the truth. I have to hand it to you—that was a smart move. You packed the poor girl off to a psychiatric facility, and after a couple of weeks of fucking shock therapy, she was completely subdued, her silence the best outcome for you.”

He’s so close that I can almost taste the heavy cologne, a scent permanently etched into my skin and memory. I’m powerless to stop it as my mind battles to erase the revolting memories flooding back, triggered by both the smell and the mocking inflection in his voice—the one that always made him the sickest.

“You were obsessed with him. But when you realized he would never feel the same way about you, you started to hate him. You wanted him dead. All those lies you fed to the press? We could’ve shut them down the second they appeared.”

“So why didn’t you?” I demand, my voice cutting through the tension. I’m exhausted from the manipulations he’s trying to impose on me, and I just want to get straight to the point, no matter the risk. “If you’re so sure of what happened, why didn’t you expose me?”

He pauses, savoring the moment. “Because watching you try to move on, always looking over your shoulder, was far more entertaining,” he begins. “Seeing you thrive while still haunted by what you did, always fearing the past would surface—that was better than any quick revenge. You seemed so scared every day, as if he might claw his way out of the grave.”

“You have no idea?—”

“But I do,” he cuts me off, relishing his power. “We all do. Waiting for the right time was agony. You were so close, yet always just out of reach. But now? Now that you’ve clawed your way to happiness?” His face splits into a twisted smile. “Now, we’ll drag you back, and no one can save you from that.”

“What do you want from me?” I force myself to ask, despite dreading his answer. Somehow, I already know what he’s going to say next.

“I’ll give you the address. You have three days to decide, Venetia,” he answers, his tone sharp and deliberate. This was all planned by him and Joseph long before today, and there’s no point in denying it. “The rules are simple. Give us what we want, or we’ll release everything.”

“Everything?” I counter, pretending to be skeptical, though fear twists inside me. I know that, out of everyone around me, these two men have always known the most, but I need to figure out exactly what they have before deciding my next move. “You mean the imaginary evidence of your delusions?”

“No one listened to Stella back then.” Her name sends a sharp chill through my body, goosebumps spreading across my skin. I haven’t heard about her in years. “But we did. Credit where it’s due, you did an amazing job hiding her away, making sure she stayed tucked out of sight in that hospital. But we were her friends, sweetheart. She told us plenty about you. And now, we have everything we need.”

From his pocket, he pulls out a flash drive, waving it just inches from my face. “The proof of my so-called delusions: conversations, messages, photos—more than you’d expect. Play nice, or everybody will know how much you hated your husband and what you did to him and the woman he fell in love with. And believe me, you’ll lose far more if you refuse.”

My voice is gone, swallowed by terror. I’m left trembling, a puppet with every nerve strung tight, powerless against the fear that consumes me.

It can’t be real.

But it is. Just when I was about to put my life back on track, they came back, throwing me back into the claws of my past.

“I can tell you don’t believe me.” His smile widens as he tucks the flash drive back into his pocket. “I’ll send a preview of what we have when I get home. Just a taste, so you know it’s real.”

The bathroom door slams open, shattering the tension and jolting me out of my frozen state. “What the fuck are you doing here?” West’s voice drips with fury as he glares at Logan.

But Logan merely turns away, throwing me a smug wink before offering a quick, insincere apology and slipping past him, completely unfazed.

Struggling to steady my breathing, I bow my head and place my palms flat on the cold sink. “Netia, what was he doing here? What did he say to you?” Moving closer, he grabs my shoulders, spinning me to face him, then cradles my face in his hands, his gaze heavy with concern. “Why are you crying? Should I chase after the fucker?”

“No, stay , but I’m—” I swallow hard and reach up, desperately trying to pull his hands off me. Every inch of his touch sends waves of burning discomfort through my skin.

I won’t let them touch me again. I won’t let anyone lay a fucking hand on me without my consent.

“Please, just… don’t touch me now, West,” I beg him, but he doesn’t listen. He tries to cuddle me, to hold me close, and I snap. I slap his hands away and push against his chest, shoving him back forcefully. “I said don’t fucking touch me!”

He stumbles, his expression puzzled, his gaze intent as he searches for answers in me. I quickly wipe away the tears that keep flowing, feeling the weight of his worried eyes on me.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry, West, I’m so sorry.

He’s worried about me, and he can’t comprehend why I shut him out. I act out, either aggressively or with silence because that’s how my stupid fucking brain knows to deal with things. He doesn’t deserve to be treated this way.

“Can we go home? Can you take me to my place, please?” I beg, my heart racing with fear. I just need to be somewhere Logan and his shadows can’t follow.

I need to run away.

“Alright,” he murmurs in agreement, though there’s a subtle reluctance in the way his voice falls.

I don’t wait for him to catch up as I rush out of the bathroom and head straight outside. I know the meeting’s still in progress, but right now, neither of us cares. With every step away from the office, one truth becomes agonizingly clear.

I’m fucked, and I have no idea how to escape.