Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 57: Favorite Part

Chapter 57: Favorite Part

- Kathrine Andrews: ( Song of the Chapter: House Of The Balloons by The Weeknd)

The morning light was an unwelcome intrusion, spilling through the window and dragging me back to reality.

My body ached—not in a bad way, but in a way that reminded me of every moment from last night. Every touch. Every breath. Every whispered plea.

And worst of all, Glyndon was still here.

Her warmth pressed against my side, her leg tangled with mine beneath the sheets. Her fingers, once gripping me with hunger, now lay curled around my bare waist in something softer. Something dangerous.

Like she belonged here.

Like she wanted to be here.

Like I wanted her here.

A lump rose in my throat at the realization, and my fingers twitched, instinct warring with impulse. I should move. I needed to move.

Because the second I did, this moment would end.

And I wasn’t ready for that.

But then Glyndon stirred.

Her fingers flexed against my skin before suddenly pulling away like she’d been burned. Her breathing hitched as she shifted back, rolling onto her side with a sharp exhale.

Then, barely above a whisper, she said, "Fuck."

Yeah. That about summed it up.

I forced my body to move, sitting up and dragging the sheets with me as if they could shield me from whatever the hell this was. My pulse was still unsteady, my skin still tingling with the ghost of her touch.

I could feel her eyes on me, but I didn’t look at her.

I couldn’t.

"Don’t tell me you’re about to pretend that didn’t happen," she muttered.

My jaw clenched. "What do you want me to say?"

She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "I don’t know. Maybe something more than dead silence? Something more than acting like you didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?" I snapped, finally turning to glare at her. "Didn’t make a mistake? Didn’t do something fucking stupid?"

The flicker in her expression was brief, but I caught it before her walls slammed back up.

"Right," she murmured. "A mistake."

Something twisted inside me, something ugly and aching.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her clothes. The way she yanked her shirt over her head, fast and rough, felt like a slap. Like she couldn’t get dressed fast enough.

Like she regretted it.

Like she regretted me.

I looked away. I had to.

But then she laughed. Low. Bitter.

"You always do this," she said, shaking her head. "You always act like I’m the only one who wants this. Like I’m the only one who can’t stop. Like I’m the only one who can’t stop myself from wanting... This."

I flinched. "That’s not—"

"No?" She turned, stepping closer. Her eyes burned into mine, cutting through every carefully placed defense. "So tell me, Kathrine. What happens now?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

I didn’t have an answer.

Because I didn’t know.

And that was the fucking problem.

Her lips twisted like she’d expected that. Like she already knew I’d never give her what she wanted.

Then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door handle twisted, and a voice rang out from the other side.

"Hey, Kathrine, you up?"

Emma.

Shit.

Glyndon’s lips curled at the sound. Amusement flickered in her eyes, but there was something else too—something sharp.

"Guess I’ll leave you to your friends," she murmured.

" Don’t put this on me. You are the one in denial. You are the one who thinks you are going to hell for being gay. You are the one with a boyfriend. You are the homophonic one." I paused glaring at her " So stop acting like any of this is supposed to matter to me. You are nothing to me and will never be. Just because I let you fuck me does not mean you get to act like you have rights over me or like I owe you something."

And then, without another word, she threw some clothes on and walked to the door, pulled it open—right in front of Emma—and brushed past her like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn’t just wrecked me.

Emma’s gaze snapped to me, then to the bed, to the mess of tangled sheets and discarded clothes.

Her mouth parted, but no words came out.

Because what was there to say?

She wasn’t stupid.

She knew.

And now, I had no fucking clue how I was supposed to explain it.

The door clicked shut behind Glyndon, leaving me in silence.

I stared at it for a long moment, my heart still racing, my skin still tingling from where she had touched me. From where she had held me.

And then, reality crashed in.

Glyndon had a boyfriend.

Glyndon hated me.

Glyndon made my life a living hell.

And yet, last night, she had begged me to let her touch me. She had looked at me like I was the only thing in the world she wanted.

And I had let her.

I swallowed hard, pulling the sheets tighter around me as if they could shield me from the weight of it all.

I should be furious. I was furious.

But not just at her.

At myself.

For letting her get close. For letting her win.

The sound of a throat clearing.

I barely had time to sit up before Emma started stepping inside like she owned the place. "You awake?"

I barely nodded before her gaze landed on me—on my tangled sheets, my messy hair, the evidence of what had happened last night still lingering in the air.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, hell no."

I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. "Emma—"

"Tell me I’m wrong," she demanded, crossing her arms. "Tell me Glyndon didn’t just walk out of the same bed as yours."

Silence.

Emma let out a strangled noise. "You did not."

I exhaled sharply, standing up and grabbing the nearest shirt—mine, this time. "I don’t want to talk about it."

"Oh, that’s too bad," she shot back. "Because I do."

I gave her a look. "Emma—"

"Kathrine," she mocked right back. "I didn’t know you meant toying with her SEXUALLY? Do you know how bad this is?"

I did.

I knew exactly how bad this was.

Glyndon had spent years making sure everyone knew exactly what she thought of me. She had mocked me, humiliated me, made damn sure I knew my place.

And now?

Now, she had just crawled into my bed.

Emma scoffed, throwing her hands up. "Unbelievable. I mean, really. You hate her."

I flinched. "I know."

"She hates you."

"I know."

"She has a boyfriend."

I swallowed hard. "I know."

Emma shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. "Then what the hell were you thinking?"

I wasn’t.

That was the problem.

Because last night, with Glyndon’s lips on mine, with her hands gripping me like she’d die if she let go—none of it had felt like hate.

It had felt like something else.

Something dangerous.

Something I didn’t want to name.

Emma groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Please tell me you’re not about to catch feelings for her."

I laughed, but it sounded hollow. "Are you kidding me? I can’t stand her."

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Yeah? Then why do you look like you’re about to be sick over it?"

I clenched my jaw, turning away. "Just drop it."

"Fine," she said after a moment. "But she won’t."

My stomach twisted.

Because Emma was right.

Glyndon wasn’t the kind of person to just pretend this never happened.

And if I knew anything about her, I knew she wouldn’t let me forget it.

_____

The last day in Paris felt like it stretched on forever.

The morning was a blur of final tours and rushed packing, everyone buzzing with excitement about going home. Everyone except me.

Because every time I moved, I felt her.

Glyndon.

She sat across from me at breakfast, eyes downcast, picking at her food while her boyfriend talked loudly beside her. His arm draped around her shoulders, his voice booming with laughter like he wanted the whole damn room to know she was his.

I wasn’t even looking at her. I wasn’t.

But I could still feel her looking at me.

Glances, barely-there flickers of hesitation.

Like she wanted something.

Like she didn’t know what to do with it.

I stabbed my fork into my eggs, ignoring the way my pulse skittered under my skin.

This is fun for you, remember? I reminded myself. It’s just a game.

A way to get back at her. A way to make her feel something for once.

So why did it feel like I was the one suffocating?

—

The day went on, but the tension didn’t fade.

It only got worse.

During the last walk through the city, her boyfriend held her hand. And she let him.

But she still looked at me.

When our group stopped at a café, she sat with him. Laughed when she was supposed to. But her fingers twitched against the table, restless. Her shoulders were stiff.

And I knew—I knew—she was aware of me, just as much as I was aware of her.

Every time I spoke, her eyes darted toward me.

Every time I moved, her breath hitched the tiniest bit.

Every time I so much as existed, she noticed.

And she hated that she did.

It was almost funny.

Almost.

—

Back at the hotel, everyone gathered in the lobby, waiting for the bus.

I stood by the window, watching the streetlights flicker on as the sun dipped lower.

Then I felt it.

The weight of her stare.

I turned my head slightly.

She was across the room, standing with her boyfriend, his arm loose around her waist. But she wasn’t listening to him.

She was watching me.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt like she wanted to look away.

Like she couldn’t.

I smirked.

She sucked in a breath, her jaw tightening, her eyes flashing with something dangerous—something raw.

She hated me.

And she wanted me.

And that?

That was my favorite part.

Search the lightnovelworld.cc website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.