52. Venetia
Flashback
Age 18
The day of
P aranoia has taken hold, turning me into a nervous wreck, and I fear I’m slipping into something darker, something I can’t control. Everything was supposed to improve once I got rid of Cameron, clearing the threat from our business path. And outside of Zayden’s and my personal lives, it has indeed gotten better. The business is thriving, and money flows like a river.
My husband has become a phantom, a fleeting shadow in our home. He disappears, sometimes for days, leaving behind an echoing emptiness. The scent of her perfume lingers like a curse, and the red lipstick stains mock me, a stark reminder of his infidelity. It’s as though she’s leaving it all on purpose, and he doesn’t care that she’s laughing at me behind my back. Maybe he even encourages her to do that.
Before, I could cope with this pain by locking myself in my room and crying for hours. Now, it feels like my insides have dried up. I can no longer summon tears, and every time I try, nothing comes out. At this point, I think it’s more likely I’d start crying blood.
I feel empty. My heart has stopped aching, and I think I missed the moment it was ripped from my chest. Now, there’s a void inside me, leaving me incapable of feeling any emotions. My mind urges me to accept this. Maybe I’m not as good as I thought I was. I’ve failed Mom and Dad, failed myself. I can’t be a good wife, a good daughter, or a good friend.
I can’t be anything.
The click of the front door downstairs pulls me out of my reverie, and in an instant, I’m jumping off the bed and rushing down. Disbelief wraps tightly around my bones as I realize he’s come home much earlier than usual. When I see his face and catch the gleam in his eyes—the one not clouded by drugs or alcohol—pure happiness, foreign and bright, sparks within me. A smile blooms on my face as I rush to him, arms spreading wide to lock him in the tightest hug I’ve ever given.
“I missed you,” I whisper against his chest, expecting him to hug me back. But he doesn’t. Moments pass, and still nothing. I lift my head to look at him, but his eyes are glued to the wall, deliberately avoiding mine. “What’s wrong, Zayden?”
His palms press against my chest, nudging me back as his lips twitch with annoyance. “Look,” he begins, awkwardly running a hand through his hair. “We need to talk.”
Worry flares up inside me, erasing the flicker of positivity I felt just a moment ago. My smile fades, and I fold my arms across my chest, clearing my throat. “About what?”
“I want a divorce.”
I freeze, every muscle in my body tightening under an invisible weight. Then, a laugh bursts from my chest, shaking my frame. “O-okay,” I drawl, amusement thick in my voice.
His brows shoot up to his hairline as he scrutinizes me from head to toe. “I’m serious, Venetia. Look, it’s not me, it’s you—” He pauses, his gaze lifting to the ceiling as he realizes he’s said the wrong thing. “I mean, it’s not you, it’s me… Whatever. You get it. I need you to sign the papers.”
My world crumbles, a fragile edifice collapsing into the abyss of my despair. Panic flares, a wildfire consuming my sanity, leaving only ashes in its wake. “What? No,” I stammer. “I don’t—I don’t get it, Zayden. What do you mean? Everything was perfect ? —”
His chuckle cuts me off mid-sentence, igniting a painful mix of anger and despair inside me. “Perfect? Are you fucking blind, Venetia? If you’re talking about yourself, then yes, sure, it was perfect for you,” he says, each word slicing through me. “Look, I thought I could make myself live with this. I thought I could force myself to love you.” A shrug ripples through his shoulders. “But I’m fucking tired of this circus. Tired of pretending to love the idea of this marriage, the idea of you. You can’t imagine how tired I am.”
He’s the one who’s tired? He didn’t do anything for our relationship. He used me in every way imaginable and then wiped his feet on me. I’ve never felt safe with him, never experienced what I wanted—a husband’s support, a reliable shoulder to cry on.
And now he says he’s the one who’s tired.
My fists curl instinctively, nails digging into the soft flesh of my palms. I can already feel the bloody half-moons, but this dull pain doesn’t distract me as I had hoped. “You’ve never been forced into anything with me,” I mumble, hating myself for breaking apart before him. It’s always been my biggest flaw—whenever I argue with someone, I can’t help but shrink back into my shell, becoming small, vulnerable, and utterly miserable.
It feels like he’s compressing me, the walls closing in on all sides, and I’m powerless to escape.
“You know that’s not true. There was a reason we needed to be together and get married. But it doesn’t matter anymore,” he replies nonchalantly, and I shake my head, trying to convince both him and myself. “Don’t shake your head. You can’t fix this marriage, no matter how hard you try.”
“Is it because of her?” I demand, my voice cracking with barely contained rage. My sanity hangs by a thread.
His face betrays him, the ghost of joy piercing my heart like a sharp dagger. I try to fight back the flames of anger, but they only grow stronger, fueled by the sight of him so alive at the mention of her.
“You always tried to make me your business, Venetia,” he says, his hands gesturing wildly, trying to articulate his frustration. “You’re... I don’t fucking know! You’re too much, okay? Look at what you’ve become because of it. Look at yourself.”
His eyes rake over me, disgust etching itself into his features. I know I’ve never been the prettiest girl in the world, and the sorrowful days have taken their toll. The dark circles under my eyes, the unkempt hair, the damaged skin around my nails, and the dirty clothes—I’m the epitome of neglect.
And she’s the walking definition of fucking perfection in her slutty dress and heels. She embodies everything I used to be before Zayden turned me into the shell standing before him now.
He made me like this.
“What did I do wrong?” I push, though my voice lacks conviction. I feel like I’ve asked this question too many times already, and deep down, I know the answer.
He bows his head, clicking his tongue in irritation as if he can’t bear to tolerate me. “Nothing. I just ? —”
“NO!” I cut in, my scream vibrating through the walls of my throat. My anger churns in my stomach like molten lava, threatening to erupt. I’m so tired of being dismissed. “Why the fuck are you leaving me if I didn’t do anything wrong, huh?” I step closer, my insides shaking from the intense emotions that course through my veins. “I did everything for you, for this fucking marriage, but you can’t fucking see it!”
His eyes widen in shock, and he whistles, shifting his weight back onto his heels before laughter bursts from him.
He’s fucking laughing at me. It’s funny to him.
I’m funny to him.
“I’ve killed for you,” I say, the words a final, chilling confession, marking the beginning of my descent. “Can she say that, Zayden? Can she do something like that? Will she ever be able to?”
He releases a weary sigh, his expression reflecting profound indifference as he hunches his shoulders once again.
He doesn’t care. He never did.
Why did I ever think he would?
“Fuck this,” he mutters, wearily rubbing a hand across his face. “I need something to eat. I’m so fucking exhausted from this pointless arguing.” He shoves past me, brushing me aside with his shoulder. The world around me spins, fading into a static ringing.
Divorce means I’ll lose the connections I’ve built with his company and all the people outside of it. It means less money for my sick mother. It means Stella will take him away from me, laughing behind my back.
There’s no going back now. It’s real, it’s happening, and I have to do something. For the first time in my life, I need to make a choice for myself. And I choose this.
If I can’t have him, no one can.
The iron I’d set aside to cool after pressing his shirt catches my eye, and a strange, suffocating sensation grips my insides. It’s like my soul is detaching, leaving my body behind as I move on autopilot, guided by my mind’s commands. Grabbing the iron, I follow him to the kitchen. He sits at the empty table, completely oblivious, waiting for me to serve him something.
Of course he does. He believes it’s my only purpose—to serve him day or night, whenever he pleases to come home.
Seizing the moment while he mindlessly stares at his phone, I swing the iron through the air and smash it against his head. His body goes still in an instant, his forehead colliding with the wooden table with a loud thud.
That was easier than I expected.
I press two fingers to his neck, checking for a pulse. Relieved yet devastated to feel it, I pick up the phone that has fallen to the floor, my eyes scanning the screen. My lips twitch as I read through their texts, my thumb scrolling upward to take in everything they’ve been discussing.
Zayden’s half-destroyed brain aligns perfectly with hers. Logically, they make an ideal couple.
I type a quick message, sending Stella an invitation to this house. I don’t have much time, but strangely, I don’t feel paranoid or scared. I remain composed as I look down at his body, his chest barely rising and falling in slow movements.
It will take her around twenty minutes to get here.
The plan has been a phantom in my mind, a haunting whisper that has finally taken form. Now, it’s a solid presence, its tendrils tightening around my thoughts, urging me toward a new beginning.
Time to reclaim my life.
The doorbell rings, sending a wave of trepidation and excitement through my stomach. I place the napkin between my lips, checking my red lipstick one last time. Once I confirm it’s dry, I run my fingers through my hair, letting the long waves cascade against my chest. Inhaling the bittersweet scent of my cherry perfume, I stand up and slowly approach the door.
I’m surprised at how quickly I’ve made myself look decent. It used to take me hours to even out my foundation, as it creased and settled into the wrinkles under my eyes from all the salty tears. I won’t even mention how long it took to apply fake lashes or just put on mascara.
But today is different. Today feels like I have all the time in the world, and I’m filled with desire to choose myself and to make myself feel better.
Swinging the door open, I watch as the smile on Stella’s face fades before our eyes meet. Her frustration deepens as she takes in my appearance, raking her gaze over my face and body—the person I used to be before Zayden, the person she’s about to replace.
“Come in,” I urge softly, nodding for her to enter. “He’s waiting for you.”
“I—Uh—” she stutters, blinking rapidly as confusion washes over her. I can sense her questioning my intentions.
Eventually, she steps inside, and I close the door behind her, my hand reaching for the gun tucked in my waistband.
The gift I’d gotten myself for Valentine’s Day.
Stella remains oblivious to my plans as she turns her back to me, her head whipping around the room in search of Zayden. A startled gasp escapes her lips when I press the barrel of the gun into her back and disengage the safety with an audible click.
“Don’t make any sudden moves,” I instruct, my voice cold and calculated. I’ve never fired a gun or threatened anyone before, but somehow, this feels instinctive. Maybe I’m not as spineless as I thought I was. “Walk.”
“P-please ? —”
I twitch at the sound of her screeching voice, which ignites my anger. I pull the barrel away from her back, only to swing my arm and slam my elbow into the side of her head, forcing her to comply. My patience is quickly wearing thin.
“Okay, okay,” she squeaks, taking a step forward, her hand holding the spot as she rubs it in an attempt to stop the pain from spreading. Tremors begin to wrack her body as she realizes that what’s about to happen isn’t going to be pretty. “Where to?”
“The basement,” I say, watching as she hesitates, her eyes darting between the doors and corridors. I roll my eyes, struggling to suppress the urge to hit her again. If I let my frustration get the best of me, I might end up killing her before she even sees Zayden. “I’m sure you know this house well enough, Stella. Don’t act stupid, or I’ll put a bullet in your skull right now.”
A sob trembles on her lips, and she begins walking in the right direction, each deliberate step only fueling my impatience. “Faster,” I bark, pressing harder against her back.
She complies, and we descend into the basement, the floor creaking beneath our weight. A dim lamp provides the only light, while the corners of the space remain cloaked in shadows. With a tired rub of my eyes, I fight the memories that threaten to break my composure. In those brief moments when I woke, I would see the same dim light overhead, and feel the lingering presence of sweat and cologne in the air. Their laughter echoes through my mind, but I shake my head, trying to push away the ugly thoughts.
Whatever happens today, it’s over for me. I won’t have to endure any of that anymore. Not them. Not Zayden.
I’m going to be free.
A loud scream jolts me from my reverie, and I open my eyes to see Stella rushing toward my tied-up husband, dropping to her knees before him. She mumbles something indistinguishable, desperately trying to get his attention while he still recovers from the punch I delivered to his head. They seem oblivious to my presence as I stand near the entrance, gun in hand, watching them. I observe how they comfort each other, her hands wrapping around him as she tries to loosen the knots binding him.
Something inside me clicks, and I bite my lower lip until I taste blood, stifling a growl of anger. After all these years spent trying to create a perfect life—a home he would want to return to—I find myself here, with his lover clinging to him, and him looking at her like he once looked at me.
“I can’t believe this,” I say, and their attention snaps to me. They’re both panting, their glistening eyes mirroring the same desperate gleam in each other’s gaze. I step closer, and they retreat, huddling into the corner like frightened mice. “Do you really think I deserve this, Zayden?”
“Venetia, I need you to calm the fuck down,” he pleads, his voice shaky, mirroring the rest of his body. He chokes on his saliva, coughing, and I can’t help but wonder how I ever thought this man would protect me. I barely hit him, and yet he looks so miserable as if I shot him multiple times and he’s losing blood. “Please, let’s just talk ? —”
“How long?” I ask, trying to clear my mind and grasp the feeling I’m struggling to hold onto. I know they’ve been fucking behind my back for longer than I want to believe, but I need to hear it from his mouth. “Tell me.”
“Please, please, stop ? —”
“Shut up,” I interject, aiming the gun at Stella for added effect. “I’m talking to him, not you.” I fix my gaze on Zayden, pleading with my eyes. “I need to know, Zayden. Am I really crazy?” My voice wavers on the last word. “Was it all in my head?”
“Oh, Jesus,” he groans in defeat as he realizes I’m quoting exactly what he used to say every time I confronted him about his affair. He’d blame me for getting on his nerves with ‘bullshit,’ insisting I was making it all up. “I—I don’t—Around a year.”
I close my eyes, nodding, though I could have sworn it was only a couple of months. Time flies faster than you think. “So it wasn’t in my head,” I say calmly. “It was ? —”
“No, it fucking wasn’t!” he cuts me off, a yell ripping from his throat. “I wanted to escape you, Venetia! I fucking did! You know what?!” He wriggles harder against the knots, all futile. I was smart enough to tie him tightly and securely. “I tried to give you a hint, but you were too fucking stupid to understand. Your father blackmailed mine into making me marry you!”
I raise my chin, a frown settling on my features. Somehow, though, I don’t feel too surprised. It seems like nothing can shock me at this point. “Really?”
He freezes, startled by my nonchalance. “Yes, fucking really! I never wanted this! You thought you were the one suffering, yet it was me who truly fucking suffered! ME! Not you!”
The audacity of this man, shouting something like this after years of neglecting and abusing me, both physically and mentally, is fucking laughable.
I don’t know what to believe, but frankly, it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is the real reason we’re here.
“Stop, stop saying that,” Stella whines, trying to silence him by placing her hand over his mouth. “You need to calm down, Zayden!”
As he lets his emotions spill over, Stella grows anxious about my reaction. She realizes that whatever he says will only fuel my anger, and she desperately wants to shut him up. Maybe she’s not as brainless as I thought.
“What, Stella?” I take a step closer, finding amusement in how she presses herself further into the corner. “What? Are you saying my husband is lying to me? That I shouldn’t punish him for betraying me because he’s lying about it?”
“Yes!” she screams, kicking her feet in a frenzy, though I make no move to touch her. Completely consumed by panic and shock, she’s lost all sense of control. “He doesn’t mean it! He’s lying because he’s scared!”
I’m so tired of all the lies. Lies, pretending, and more lies. “He’s the liar,” I confirm, and she nods frantically. “Not you?”
“Fuck, YES!”
“Okay.”
I point the gun at his head, finger poised on the trigger. The loud shot echoes through the concrete walls, a moment of eerie silence settling in before Stella’s scream pierces the air. It’s so loud, so shrill, that I have to squeeze my eyes shut, but even that can’t block out the vibrations coursing through every fiber of my being.
“What have you done?!” she demands, scooting closer to him, her hands cupping his face. The shock in his eyes shines brightly under the basement light, illuminating my flickering hope for a better future. An involuntary smile creeps onto my face, warmth flooding through me and igniting a long-buried sense of possibility that I’ve desperately needed for years.
“He’s dead!” she wails, hysteria completely overtaking her. “You killed him!”
“No, I didn’t,” I reply calmly, the initial idea in my mind gaining traction. I’m still uncertain about what to do with Stella, but after taking the step I’ve long wanted, it feels as if the sun is breaking through the dark clouds, washing away the storm.
She doesn’t retreat as I draw closer, utterly devastated by the loss of her lover. Her face is swollen and red, with streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. Snot drips from her nose, trailing down to her lips and chin, making her look just like me—both of us bearing the marks of Zayden’s effect.
“You wanted him to divorce me.” I kneel before her, inching closer, even as the smell of sweat and blood makes me want to pull away. “You even forced him to draw up the papers. But at the last moment, he refused.”
She finally meets my eyes, confusion etched across her features. She struggles to keep up with my words, her mind consumed by sorrow.
“He refused, and you got angry. So angry that you lost your temper and shot him.”
As the realization dawns on her, her brows shoot up in shock, and disbelief twists the corners of her lips. “No,” she mumbles, choking on her snot and tears. “No, that’s not ? —”
“It is true,” I cut in, dispelling any lingering doubts. Staging this the way I want won’t be easy, but it’s far from impossible. There are plenty of people who can confirm seeing her with my husband, attempting to seduce him and pull him away from me. I can pay the ‘Rats,’ and the guy who sold me this gun will tell the police whatever I want him to. He’ll say that Stella showed up and bought a weapon from him.
And I just… came home to find this gruesome, insane scene with her above my dead husband.
I was able to get away with killing Mark fucking Cameron and destroying all the evidence he had against Zayden, and I don’t think this task will be more difficult.
And since no one but me and the man I hired knows what truly happened to Cameron, I can figure out how to feed the story of Stella killing the poor guy to get my husband’s attention.
“You were so obsessed with him,” I continue, my voice rising as more ideas flood my mind on how to achieve my goal. “You wanted not only his money but his love—the one thing he could never give you.”
I feel like I’m fucking thriving with each word that leaves my mouth, as they inject life into my veins, filling me with a sense of freedom.
Stella breaks down completely, her cries morphing into desperate screams that somehow fill me with more hope. She’s nobody—a homewrecker without a family business, without any support—nothing. She’s not even from this fucking town—she flew all the way here for a job opportunity my dear husband surely set up after they met online.
And me? I am Venetia Ross, the wife of one of the most influential men in the city.
And I’m finally ready to embrace that fucking title.