THE SWEET VENOM

Ashes between us

The silence lingered long after Adrian’s footsteps faded into the hall. His cologne clung to the air, invasive, unwelcome—like the memory of vows she could no longer believe in. Vivienne pressed her palm against the cool marble of the counter, grounding herself, though her chest rose and fell in shallow, trembling breaths.

Damien hadn’t moved. He leaned against the doorway as if carved from shadow, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on her with the kind of scrutiny that stripped her bare. Where Adrian’s presence was suffocating in its insistence, Damien’s was no less consuming—his silence demanded confessions she wasn’t ready to make.

“You shouldn’t let him touch you,” Damien said at last, his voice a low growl that made the hairs on her neck rise.

Vivienne closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. “You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t let happen.”

“I do,” Damien replied, pushing away from the door. His steps were unhurried, deliberate, until he was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. He braced one hand on the counter beside hers, his face lowering until his lips were near her ear. “Because the way he looks at you—like he still owns you—it makes me want to remind him that he doesn’t.”

Her breath caught. “You’re not mine either, Damien.”

His laugh was dark, humourless. “Not yet.”

The words slid under her skin, dangerous and intimate. Vivienne forced herself to step back, her spine meeting the counter’s edge. “You don’t understand. Adrian’s—he’s not going to stop. He’ll twist things until I start questioning myself. That’s what he does.”

Damien’s expression hardened, jaw clenching. “Then let me deal with him.”

She shook her head quickly. “No. That’s exactly what he wants. A confrontation. If you push him, he’ll use it against me, against you. He’ll paint me as the wife who betrayed him, who let his best friend—” She stopped herself, biting down on the bitter truth before it could spill.

Damien’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping. “Your brother would kill me if he knew. Is that what you’re afraid of? Or are you afraid you might actually want this?”

The sting of his words settled in her chest. She wanted to argue, to deny him, but the burn in her throat betrayed her. She hated that he could see through her defences, that he spoke to the secret she barely admitted to herself—that every time Adrian cornered her, Damien’s shadow was the only place she wanted to hide.

“Don’t,” she whispered, though the word trembled.

“Don’t what?” Damien’s hand slid along the counter, closer to hers, not quite touching. “Don’t tell you the truth? Don’t make you feel something real after years of his poison?”

Vivienne’s resolve wavered. Her pulse hammered in her ears, loud enough to drown out reason. Adrian’s ghost still lingered in the room, but Damien’s presence was the fire threatening to burn it all away.

She tore her gaze from his, moving toward the sink just to breathe. “This can’t happen. Not like this. Not when Adrian’s—”

Her words cut off as Damien moved faster than she expected, his hand catching her wrist. The contact was searing, anchoring. He didn’t pull her close, didn’t force her—he simply held her there, his eyes searching hers with unspoken questions.

“You’re stronger than him,” Damien said softly, almost reverently. “But even strong people break when they’re alone too long.”

The truth of it lanced through her, cruel in its tenderness. She blinked back the sting of tears, angry at herself for being seen so clearly.

“Damien…” Her voice cracked on his name.

Something flickered in his gaze then—a dangerous mix of restraint and hunger. For one agonising second, she thought he might kiss her. The thought alone sent heat racing up her spine. But instead, he released her wrist, stepping back with a sharp breath as though her nearness burned him too.

“You should lock your doors when he leaves,” Damien muttered, his voice rough, ragged. “Adrian isn’t the type to give up. And I’m not the type to forgive.”

Her chest tightened at the weight of those words. Forgiveness. Love. Betrayal. They twisted together until she could hardly tell which way was up anymore.

Damien lingered at the doorway, his eyes still locked on hers, before finally leaving her alone in the kitchen.

The silence that followed wasn’t peace—it was the echo of everything unsaid.

Vivienne pressed her trembling hands against the counter, her reflection in the darkened window staring back with accusation. Ashes, that was all she seemed to be left with. Ashes of a marriage, ashes of her resolve, and the embers Damien threatened to reignite with every word he spoke.

And somewhere deep down, beneath the fear and the guilt, she realised something terrifying.

She wanted him to.