Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Fourteen: Lingering of a Lover. Violet Virgilson. The carriage ride back wasn't a return. It was a punishment. Rudolpho sat across from me, smugness dripping from every pore, while I sat stiff-backed, forcing my hands to stay still when every instinct screamed to claw the door open and run barefoot through the streets. His eyes gleamed, hard and satisfied, like a hunter with a wounded animal in his snare. Vincent's eyes haunted me instead. Dark, desperate, wounded when I said those words. You are just a lover. The lie still burned on my tongue. The wound still bled in my chest. "You did well," Rudolpho finally said. My head snapped up. "Excuse me?" "You ended it. You came back with me. That's all that matters." I leaned forward, voice like venom. "You think I ended anything?" His jaw flexed, his composure straining. "You're my wife. Not his mistress." I smirked bitterly. "Then maybe you should've remembered that before you threw me to the wolves." He twitched, his hand jerking up-ready to strike me. But he froze, realizing where we were. Because the carriage had stopped. At my mother's house. --- When I stepped out, the sight of her on the doorstep nearly broke me. "Violet!" she cried, rushing forward, arms open. "Oh, thank heavens-" She froze when she saw Rudolpho looming behind me. "Mum," I whispered fiercely as she hugged me. "You shouldn't have told him where I was." Her body went rigid. Her eyes darted nervously to Rudolpho, then back to me. But before she could answer, Rudolpho's voice cut through like a whip. "Mum, leave us." My mother shrank back. Rudolpho grabbed my chin, tilting my face to his, his grip bruising. "Next time you think to run, remember this." His eyes slid meaningfully to my mother. "There are always consequences." I jerked free. "You're a coward, Rudolpho. Hiding behind women." His hand swung halfway before he caught himself. Even then, the fury in his eyes nearly knocked the breath from me. He turned on his heel, snapping, "Come. Enough theatrics." And just like that, he herded me back into the carriage, leaving my mother trembling in the doorway. --- That night, after he'd paraded me through his estate like a trophy, after his eyes had prowled and accused and threatened, I escaped to the garden. And she followed. "Violet," my mother whispered, wringing her hands. "I didn't mean to-I only told him because he said-he said he'd ruin us both if I didn't. I never wanted this for you. I never wanted you to marry him." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "But you did it anyway." Her eyes shone. "I thought I was protecting you. Please, forgive me." I looked at her, my chest aching, torn between fury and the weary love that refused to die. "Mum," I whispered, voice cracking. "You don't protect a daughter by handing her to a wolf." She broke then, sobbing quietly into her hands, while I stood in the moonlight, heart heavy, lungs burning with the ghost of Vincent's kiss. Because even in this cage, he lingered. And God help me, I wanted him more than freedom itself. --- Vincent Virenson. The silence after Violet left wasn't silence at all. It was war drums. Every tick of the clock was her voice replaying: You're just a lover. But her eyes-those eyes had betrayed her. They had screamed: Don't believe me. I'm lying for you. And that was enough to damn me. Enough to keep me pacing the floor of my empty house like a caged beast, fists clenched, whiskey burning down my throat. The boys avoided me. Smart. They knew better than to laugh when my temper was this sharp. Still, Anders, bold idiot, asked at the racing spot one night, "Boss-you want us to... take care of the husband?" I turned on him so fast he stumbled back. "No," I snarled. "He doesn't get to die so easily. He gets to live knowing she'll never love him." The boys went silent. Good. Let them feel the weight of it. --- Nights were hell. I lit cigars, I drank, I threw myself into races, fists, blood, sweat, but none of it dulled her. Her lips. Her voice. That whisper, soft as smoke: A lover I wouldn't forget. I was ruined. --- One night, without meaning to, I found myself at Rudolpho's estate. Lurking in the shadows, bottle in hand, staring at the windows like they mocked me. And then-her. Violet. She appeared at the window, half-lit by moonlight. Her hand pressed to the glass like she was trying to claw through it. And for one impossible heartbeat, she looked straight at me. My chest split open. My fists clenched. She wasn't his. Not really. Not ever. --- Caroline found me at the racing spot two days later. She slinked toward me, her smile sharp, eyes burning with something dangerous. "You should forget her," she hissed. "She's poison. She'll ruin you." I arched a brow. "Funny. You sound threatened." Her face twisted. "She doesn't love you. She can't. She'll crawl back to him every time. Why waste yourself?" I leaned close, my smile cruel. "Because she already has me. And she'll never love anyone else the way she loves me." Caroline's eyes flared, venom sparking. She stormed away, leaving me laughing bitterly under the roar of engines and smoke. Let her scheme. Let Rudolpho threaten. They didn't understand. This wasn't over. --- I began to plan. Every thought, every ounce of fire in me burned toward one truth: bringing Violet back. Not stealing. Not forcing. Not chaining. But reminding her. Reminding her she wasn't his possession. She wasn't even mine. She was the storm. And I was the only bastard alive willing to stand in it, begging for lightning. --- The night I made my move, the air itself seemed to tremble. I would rip through gates, fight Rudolpho, damn the world if I had to. Because when Violet and I met again, one truth would devour us both. We weren't finished. We would never be finished. And lovers like us? We didn't linger. We consumed.