53. West
I stare at her, speechless, my mind a blank slate, unable to comprehend what I’ve just heard. It’s as if a chasm has opened between us, an unbridgeable gulf of shock and disbelief.
All I can do is listen as her remaining strength breaks apart and sorrow pours down like a relentless flood. Even after she’s done speaking, the sobs continue, wracking her body and sending violent shudders through her frame. I know this isn’t the moment to remain silent; she needs my comfort and my words. But I can’t muster a coherent sentence when a searing rage fills me, both from within and without.
She was fifteen when he came into her life and shattered it. I struggle to accept the story she shared: the lies he spun, the way he manipulated her into questioning her reality when he and his friends fucking raped her for years before she put the end to it. Nausea rises in my throat as I picture the horrors she endured and the confusion she felt when she woke up from it all. The aftertaste of her words hangs heavy in the air, vivid and palpable, as if I’ve lived through her pain alongside her.
She faced this nightmare alone, convincing herself she had to endure the torment inflicted by her parents.
“Are you afraid of me now?” she asks, her fragile voice slicing through the blurred red haze clouding my mind. “Afraid of what I really am?”
In an instant, my hands reach for her face, cradling it gently as I brush my thumbs across her flushed cheeks. “Don’t you ever say things like that, do you understand?” She wraps her hands around mine, seeking solace in my touch and nodding hesitantly. “I will never be afraid of you. I’m fucking proud of what you did. You hear me? The only thing I regret is that I won’t be able to kill the fucker myself.”
A chuckle rises in her throat, followed by a sniff, and fresh tears seep through her long lashes. The sight makes me feel as though I’m being carved open from the inside. I can’t bear to watch her cry.
“I still don’t know how I managed to pull it all off,” she admits. “It feels like a blur. My dad helped me, and I had a lot of support from the sidelines. I thought I’d won the war. I thought I could live freely, that the past wouldn’t catch up with me, but I was wrong.”
As her hands drift away from mine, they trace down her body, her face contorting with disgust as she tightens the sheets around her. “I can still feel their touch on me,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out the memory. “It’s like their hands are fucking imprinted on my skin, tattooed so deeply that I can’t cut them out. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of it.”
The urge pulsates within me as her sobs echo in the air. My anger builds, a storm brewing inside, and the itch in my hands becomes a desperate plea for release.
I’m going to enjoy killing them.
“They knew. And now they want to expose me. They have Stella’s texts, in which she talks about how afraid she was for Zayden and how crazy I acted toward him. They want to prove I killed him and destroyed her life.”
Logan exploits Venetia’s fear and paranoia, poisoning her mind with the belief that it’s all over. It’s clear he doesn’t need to do much to instill fear in her—his mere presence turned her world upside down. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw him in the meeting room.
“Baby, listen to me,” I urge, tightening my grip on her face just enough to assert control. She feels so soft and vulnerable, malleable in my hands. “I don’t want you to feel guilty about any of it. You did what you had to do, and no one knew what you were going through. Don’t let anyone tell you what you should or shouldn’t have done. Do you understand?”
She nods weakly, though uncertainty glimmers in her eyes. It’s as if she’s waiting for some catch, some judgment to spring out from me.
In my eyes, she did nothing wrong. That piece of shit deserves weeks of torture, but she couldn’t have done that back then. She did the best she could.
“I will never judge you for anything, and this is no exception,” I say, my eyes following the trembling of her lips before they form a faint smile. She pulls herself into my arms, her hands wrapping around my shoulders as I bury my face in her hair, holding her as tightly as I can. “I’ll be by your side until my very last breath.”
She was a child robbed of her chance at happiness. No one asked her what she wanted; they threw her into a boiling pot, never expecting her to rise. They wanted her to burn, to disappear. But she rose from the ashes, doing what was best for herself and taking over a business that was on the verge of collapsing.
I still remember the first day we met. When I saw her, I thought she had just gotten lost—that’s how young and inexperienced she seemed. She looked like she had no place in a pit full of sharks.
Little did I know that she was just like me. Neither of us had a chance at childhood or even a fleeting moment of joy. We did what we were forced to do, fulfilling everyone’s desires but our own.
And while I don’t give a shit about myself, for her, I’ll tear down anyone who’s hurt her, ensuring her past never casts a shadow over her again.