Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Fifteen : Reckless Redemption.

Vincent Virenson.

The roar of engines filled the air, sharp and wild like a pack of hungry wolves. Neon lights cut across the asphalt, painting everything in red and blue as if the night itself was bleeding. This was my hunting ground, my kingdom, my madness-and tonight, I wasn't here for the race. I was here because my veins burned with something hotter than gasoline.

Her.

Violet Valley Virgilson.

No matter how fast the cars tore down the tracks, nothing outran her name in my head. Violet Valley Virgilson. Married, yet her laugh still echoed like a sin I hadn't confessed.

"Vincent," a familiar, syrupy voice cut through my thoughts. Caroline.

Of course. She always found me at my weakest, like a vulture circling a dying prey. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she came closer, her dress a shimmering trap under the neon haze.

"You've been distracted," she purred, brushing her hand against my arm. "Don't tell me it's that woman again."

I gave her a sharp look. "Careful, Caroline."

"Careful?" She tilted her head, lips curling. "I've seen the way you look at her. Like you're starving. Like she's the only meal left in the world." She leaned closer, her perfume thick, suffocating. "But she's not yours. She never will be."

Her words struck, but I masked it with a smirk. "Jealousy doesn't suit you."

"I'm not jealous." Her nails grazed my jacket. "I'm reminding you who's here when she isn't. Rudolpho owns her, Vincent. And you? You're chasing a dream that'll wreck you."

I stepped away, letting the distance cut her claws. "Maybe I like wreckage."

Before she could snap back, another voice sliced through the tension. Marco.

"Interesting conversation," he drawled, walking toward us with his usual smirk. Marco lived for chaos. He thrived on it. "What's the score tonight? Vincent the wolf still howling for another man's bride?"

I clenched my jaw. "Watch it."

"Oh, relax. I'm not your enemy." He pulled out his phone and waved it like a weapon. "But news travels fast. Rudolpho and Violet are at Mark's gala tonight. Big investors. Big show. And guess what? Rudolpho already introduced her as his wife."

The words were gasoline on fire. My stomach twisted, my blood boiled. My Violet, standing there beside him, smiling for everyone else, wearing his name like a chain.

"Don't," Caroline warned, reading the storm on my face. "Don't even think about it, Vincent."

But I was already thinking.

Marco's smirk widened, wicked and knowing. "You won't let him parade her around, will you? Not when you've got leverage. Not when you've got... proof."

I knew what he meant. The video. The one of Rudolpho tangled in sheets with another woman. Vicent Virenson never carried a weapon unless he knew how to fire it. And tonight, I was ready to pull the trigger.

Caroline grabbed my arm, panic flashing in her eyes. "If you do this, you'll start a war you can't win."

I yanked my arm free. "Wars are the only thing I know how to win."

For a moment, silence wrapped us, only broken by the screech of tires and cheering racers. My decision was made, carved in stone. Violet wouldn't end the night in Rudolpho's shadow. Not if I had to burn every bridge to drag her into the light.

I swung my leather jacket over my shoulders, eyes locked on the city skyline. The gala wasn't far. My pulse raced with the same reckless rhythm as the engines around me.

"Vincent," Caroline called, desperation cracking her voice. "Don't go. Don't do this for her."

I didn't look back.

Because when obsession turns into destiny, there's no brake strong enough to stop the crash.

Tonight, Rudolpho would learn what it meant to gamble against me.

Tonight, Violet would dance in my arms.

And God help anyone who stood in my way.

---

The gala glittered like a palace dipped in gold. Chandeliers spilled light across the ballroom, violins sang in the air, and the rich and ruthless mingled like predators circling prey. Money wasn't just currency here-it was perfume, power, poison.

I walked in like I owned it. Because tonight, I did.

Every step echoed confidence, arrogance, and something sharper-vengeance. My eyes swept the crowd until they landed on her.

Violet Valley Virgilson.

She stood at Rudolpho's side in a gown that shimmered like liquid midnight, her beauty eclipsing every diamond in the room. But her smile-it wasn't real. I knew it. Her lips curved politely, but her eyes were caged birds, desperate for freedom.

And then, the dagger:

Rudolpho, puffed-up and smug, introducing her to Mark, the host.

"My wife, Violet Valley Virgilson," he declared.

The words stabbed, but I didn't bleed. Not tonight. Tonight, I was the one holding the blade.

I slid through the crowd, and conversations hushed as my presence sank in. Vincent Virenson was not the type you ignored. I reached Rudolpho just as Mark excused himself, leaving them alone-and vulnerable.

"Vincent," Rudolpho sneered, his arm tightening around Violet's waist. "What a surprise."

"Surprise?" I tilted my head, letting the smirk play on my lips. "No, Rudolpho. What's surprising is how quickly you introduce women as wives when they're little more than... distractions."

His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "Careful."

I pulled out my phone. A single tap, and the screen lit with the video. Rudolpho. Half-naked. With someone who definitely wasn't Violet. The proof played silently, damning him with every frame.

Violet gasped softly, her hand tightening around her clutch. Her eyes darted between me and Rudolpho, disbelief and fury warring on her face.

"Where did you-" Rudolpho started, but I cut him off.

"Don't bother asking." My voice was cold steel. "The question is: what do you think Mark will say if I show him this? Investors don't pour millions into scandals, Rudolpho. They run. And when they run, you fall."

For the first time, Rudolpho paled. Sweat prickled his forehead, and his grip on Violet faltered. He was caught in my trap, and he knew it.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed.

"Oh, I would." I leaned closer, my voice low, lethal. "But I'm merciful tonight. Leave. Walk out of this gala with what little pride you have left. Or stay, and watch your empire crumble before dessert is served."

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Guests glanced our way, sensing tension but not daring to intervene. Finally, Rudolpho cursed under his breath. He released Violet's arm, his eyes spitting venom at me.

"This isn't over," he growled.

"It's already over," I shot back.

And just like that, he stormed out of the gala, leaving Violet standing in the wreckage of his downfall.

Her breath hitched, anger and relief colliding. "You-" she started, but words failed her.

"Yes?" I stepped closer, my smirk softening into something rawer.

"You humiliated him. In front of everyone."

I tilted my head. "Correction: I saved you."

"Saved me?" Her laugh was sharp, bitter. "Do I look like a damsel in need of rescuing?"

"No," I admitted, eyes locking with hers. "You look like a woman who deserves better."

The orchestra swelled as if on cue, a waltz filling the air. Without asking, I extended my hand. "Dance with me."

She hesitated, torn between fury and temptation. But then-she placed her hand in mine.

The world vanished.

Her body fit against mine as if it always belonged there. Her scent was roses dipped in rebellion, her touch electric. We moved across the floor, gliding in rhythm, every step a battlefield of unspoken words.

"People are watching," she whispered.

"Let them." I spun her, pulling her back against me, lips brushing her ear. "Let them see who you truly belong to."

Her breath shivered, her pulse quickened, but her defiance still burned. "I don't belong to anyone."

"Maybe," I said, tightening my hold, "but tonight... you're mine."

Her eyes met mine, blazing with conflict-anger, desire, confusion. The kind of fire that burned and healed at once. For a moment, we weren't enemies. We weren't savior and victim. We were just... us.

The music faded, applause rippled, but I didn't let go. I couldn't.

And when I finally walked her out of the gala, the night air cool against our flushed skin, I knew one thing with dangerous certainty:

This wasn't just obsession anymore.

This was war.

And I was already too deep to surrender.

---

Violet Virgilson.

If my life were a movie, tonight would've been directed by Satan himself.

I stood in the middle of that dazzling ballroom, every eye burning into me, the echo of Rudolpho's retreat still hanging in the air. My so-called husband had stormed out, leaving me like a trophy someone else had just snatched. And who was holding the prize now?

Vincent Valentin Virenson.

Of all men.

The devil I should hate. The criminal I should fear. The one who-God help me-I couldn't stop wanting.

My fingers still tingled where his hand had held mine. My pulse still raced from the waltz we'd shared, each step a dangerous confession I hadn't spoken aloud.

I should've slapped him. I should've told him he ruined everything. I should've reminded him he was the reason my father was gone.

Instead, I let him lead me out of the gala, into the velvet night, like some heroine in a twisted fairy tale.

The cool air hit my skin, and I finally snapped out of my trance. I yanked my hand free. "What the hell was that?"

Vincent looked maddeningly calm, as if blackmailing Rudolpho and claiming me on the dance floor was just his evening workout. "That," he said smoothly, "was me saving you from a lifetime of humiliation."

"Saving me?" My laugh came out sharp, bitter. "You humiliated him, Vincent. My husband."

His eyes burned hotter than the city lights. "Don't call him that."

My chest tightened. "What else am I supposed to call him? He is my husband. And you-" My voice cracked, traitorous. "You're just..."

"Say it," he demanded, stepping closer.

I forced the word out like poison. "A lover."

The word hung between us, heavy, damning, yet intoxicating. I hated myself for saying it. I hated myself more for how my body reacted-heart racing, knees weak, mouth dry.

And then, softer, when I thought he couldn't hear: "A lover I won't forget."

But of course he heard. His eyes flickered with triumph, with something darker, something that promised he'd use those words against me later.

"Get in the car," he ordered, his tone low, dangerous, final.

"I'm not a child you can order around."

"No," he said, opening the sleek black car door, "you're a queen who deserves a throne, not chains. Now get in before I carry you in."

The audacity of this man. I wanted to smack him. I wanted to kiss him. Instead, with a muttered curse, I slid into the car.

The leather seat felt too soft, too intimate, like it remembered other stolen moments between us. He climbed in beside me, shutting the door with a thud that sealed me into his orbit.

The city blurred past the windows, but all I could feel was his gaze on me-heavy, consuming, inescapable.

"You didn't have to do that," I muttered, staring at my reflection in the glass. "Expose him like that."

"Yes, I did," Vincent replied. "Because every day you stay with him, he breaks you a little more. And I don't tolerate anyone breaking what's mine."

My head snapped toward him. "Yours? I am not yours, Vincent!"

He leaned in, voice rough, eyes dark. "Tell that to your heartbeat."

And damn him-my heart betrayed me, pounding loud enough to be heard over the purr of the engine.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to laugh. Instead, I whispered, "You're insane."

"Maybe." His lips curved into that dangerous smirk that both infuriated and undid me. "But insanity never felt this good, did it?"

My silence was answer enough.

The ride stretched on, tension thick enough to choke me. When the car finally pulled up to my home, I practically bolted out, desperate for air, for distance, for clarity.

But as I reached the door, his hand caught mine, firm and unyielding.

"This isn't over, Violet," he said softly, the kind of softness that was more lethal than a shout.

I turned, my eyes blazing, my body trembling. "It has to be."

He stepped closer, his breath hot against my ear. "You can lie to yourself, but not to me. Not after tonight."

And then he let go, just like that, leaving me standing at my door with my heart in ruins and my soul on fire.

Inside, I leaned against the wall, sliding to the floor, my dress pooling around me like the ashes of who I used to be.

Reckless redemption. That's what tonight had been.

And God help me, I wasn't sure whose soul needed saving anymore-mine or his.