Page 102 of Venomous Desires

My heart pounded louder than my footsteps as I made my way to the staircase. And my mouth twisted in bitterness.

There it was—Judas’s large portrait on the stair wall. His cold, piercing eyes seemed to follow me, a permanent sneer etched into his painted face. The damn thing had always unsettled me, but now it felt like it was just waiting for me to trip on the stairs.

“Demon,” I muttered under my breath, narrowing my eyes at the portrait. It wasn’t just his face on that canvas—it was his arrogance, his power, his twisted sense of control. And here I was, wrapped in his clothes, trying to sneak out of his house like a thief.

But I wasn’t a thief.

I tip-toed down the stairs. The house was too quiet, the kind of silence that felt like a trap. As I reached the bottom, I looked around, taking in the layout. The wall separating the lounge area from the entryway was my only shield. If I could just make a run for it, maybe—just maybe—I could slip out unnoticed.

Run? Barefoot? My subconscious mocked, and I bit back a groan. Of course, he’d taken my shoes too. And where was my bag, anyway? I tried to recall, but the hazy memories from earlier weren’t cooperating. Then it hit me—my bag was in the lounge area.

Of course, it was. Damn it.

I took a deep breath, the ache in my legs and the throb in my head reminding me how wrong this could go. Slowly, carefully, I treaded toward the lounge, every nerve in my body on high alert. The thought of Judas sitting there, waiting for me with that infuriating smirk, sent a shiver down my spine.

But it couldn’t get any worse now, could it?

I peeked around the corner and dread pooled in my stomach. My luck had already run out today; if he was in there, I was done for. Steeling myself, I took another cautious step, praying I wouldn’t find him lounging in one of those oversized chairs, watching me with those cold, cruel eyes.

But then again, with my luck, he might just be sitting there, waiting for me to make a fool of myself once more.

I was careful—so careful—but clearly not enough. The next moment, my elbow grazed the edge of a vase perched precariously on one of the corners. Time seemed to slow as it wobbled, teetering on the brink of disaster. Instinct kicked in, and I lunged forward, catching it just before it could shatter against the floor. Relief flooded through me, a small victory in this twisted game.

But my happiness was short-lived.

I felt it—the chill that seeped into the air, wrapping aroundme like a cold, clammy hand. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, and my breath caught in my throat. It took everything in me not to turn around, not to confirm the presence I knew was there.

He was watching me.

I could feel his gaze pinning me in place.

I clenched the vase tighter, my knuckles turning white as I fought the urge to bolt.

But running wasn’t an option. Not with him sitting there.

And now there was no escape.

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. There was no avoiding it now. Slowly, with every ounce of courage I could muster, I turned around.

There he was.

He looked every bit the demon I knew him to be—cruel and merciless, with a hint of satisfaction curling at the corners of his lips. The smirk that played there was both infuriating and terrifying, as if he took pleasure in my fear, in the way I’d been caught in his web with no way out.

His powerful hands rested on the arms of the chair. He didn’t need to say a word; his presence alone was enough to make me feel small, powerless, and utterly at his mercy.

“Going somewhere?” he mused.

I gulped and tore my eyes away from him with difficulty when my eyes caught something I should have noticed sooner.

I ceased breathing. Blinked once, and then twice, desperately trying to chalk this up to another play of my imagination, a manifestation of my demons and hallucinations.

Maybe I was exhausted to the point that I was fabricating things.

Stumbling three steps back, my back met the icy wall, and the edge of the table dug into my side. The pain exploded on my skin, and my mouth parted in horror as I grasped the view infront of me.

No, this wasreal.

I was not dreaming or hallucinating. In front of the couch, there were several pictures scattered; some lined up and others on the plush Italian carpet. No, the pictures didn’t startle me. Not a bit. It was the awfully familiar faces on the photos that took my breath away, replaced with tangible fear and dread.