Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Sixteen: Forbidden Fervor.

Violet Virgilson.

If guilt had a taste, it would be bitter champagne lingering on my tongue.

If shame had a sound, it would be the echo of applause still ringing in my ears from the gala dance I should never have taken.

But if desire had a heartbeat, it would be pounding in my chest right now.

I leaned against my bedroom door, dress pooling around my ankles like a midnight sin. The sequins that had sparkled under the chandeliers now looked like a thousand tiny witnesses judging me in the silence. My fingers trembled as I pressed them to my lips-the same lips Vincent had leaned too close to, whispered too much to.

God, what was I thinking? Letting him drag me into that dance. Letting him claim me in front of everyone as though I were his. As though my body belonged to him to twirl, to hold, to possess under the scrutiny of flashing cameras and a hundred wealthy onlookers.

No. I wasn't his.

I was Rudolpho's.

At least, that's what the papers said. That's what the gala invitations said. That's what the world believed. That's the chain still clamped around my ankle, disguised in diamond rings and golden vows.

Yet when Vincent's hand had circled my waist, I'd forgotten the weight of the chain. I'd forgotten the vows I'd made under duress. I'd forgotten everything except the dangerous heat in his eyes-the promise, the fire, the forbidden fervor that burned too close to the surface.

I wanted to hate him. God knows I should have. But hate doesn't leave your body trembling hours later. Hate doesn't make you replay every step of a waltz like it was salvation.

Desire does.

And desire was poison.

---

The silence of the room pressed heavy, mocking me. I could still hear Rudolpho's voice in the back of my mind, smug and greedy as he'd introduced me to Mark as his wife. My stomach twisted at the memory. It wasn't a title I'd chosen-it was a crown of thorns shoved onto my head.

And Vincent... Vincent had ripped it away tonight. With that video. With that smirk. With his ruthless declaration that I "deserved better."

He had humiliated Rudolpho, yes-but in the same breath, he'd branded me his.

I pressed my hands to my face, groaning. "God, what am I doing?"

---

A knock rattled the door. My heart stopped.

Not Rudolpho. He wouldn't knock-he'd barge in, slam the walls with his presence, reek of whiskey and entitlement. No, this knock was softer. Familiar. Dangerous.

I didn't need to open the door to know who it was.

"Violet." His voice was low, velvet over gravel. Vincent Virenson. The man who had turned my life upside down in a single night.

I swallowed hard, every instinct warring. Open the door, and I would let in temptation, ruin, danger. Keep it shut, and I would never know if my heart could survive saying no to him.

The knob turned. My breath hitched. I should've locked it. I should've barred myself from him the way a saint bars herself from sin.

But I hadn't.

And he knew it.

The door creaked open, and there he was. Vincent. Dark suit, darker eyes, and that look-God, that look that stripped me bare without ever touching me.

"You shouldn't be here," I whispered.

"Neither should you," he countered, stepping inside, closing the door behind him. "Not in this house. Not in his bed. Not in his chains."

My back hit the wall as he moved closer. "Vincent-"

He stopped just a breath away, his presence overwhelming, his voice dropping to a whisper meant for sin. "Say you don't want me, Violet. Say it, and I'll walk out that door."

My throat tightened. My lips parted. The words I don't want you hovered on my tongue.

But they refused to leave.

Because it would have been a lie.

---

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken truths. His eyes searched mine, daring me to deny what we both knew. My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as if pain could anchor me.

"You can't," he said finally, a flicker of triumph in his tone. "Because you do."

"I'm married," I snapped, desperation cracking my voice.

"To a man who doesn't deserve you." He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek. "To a man I could destroy with one tap of my finger. Tell me, Violet-if your marriage is real, why does your pulse race for me?"

I shoved at his chest, but it was weak, half-hearted. My strength wasn't in resistance-it was in denial. "You're dangerous."

His smirk was sharp, wicked. "And you like it."

God help me, I did.

---

The air grew heavier with every second. My body betrayed me, leaning toward him even as my mind screamed to stay away. His hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray curl from my face. My skin burned where he touched.

"This is wrong," I whispered, but it sounded more like a prayer than a rejection.

"Wrong," he murmured, his thumb grazing my jaw, "has never felt so right."

I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting the tears stinging at the edges. My father's face flashed in my mind, stern and protective, warning me of men like Vincent. My mother's voice, sharp and judgmental, demanding I hold my head high no matter the cost. My vows, the chains of duty-all of it warred inside me.

But when I opened my eyes, all I saw was him.

And in that moment, the world disappeared.

---

I don't know how long we stood there, breathing the same dangerous air. Seconds? Minutes? Eternity? All I knew was that if he kissed me now, I wouldn't stop him.

And that terrified me more than anything.

So I did the only thing I could. I slipped sideways, creating distance, my voice trembling as I forced the words out.

"Leave, Vincent."

For once, he didn't smirk. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, his whole body taut with restraint. Then, slowly, he nodded.

But his parting words carved into me like fire:

"This isn't the end, Violet. You can lie to yourself all you want. But that fire you feel? It's ours. And it will burn everything in its path."

He left. The door clicked shut.

And I collapsed onto the bed, burying my face in my hands, trembling from the storm he'd left behind.

Forbidden fervor.

That's what tonight had become.

And God help me...

I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop.

---

Vincent Virenson.

The night air bit sharp against my skin as I left her door, but it was nothing compared to the fire burning in my chest.

I should've walked away hours ago. I should've left her at the gala, let Rudolpho rot in his lies, let Violet keep drowning in the cage he'd built around her. That would've been the noble thing to do.

But nobility was never my virtue.

And Violet Valley Virgilson... she was never meant to belong to Rudolpho. Not tonight. Not ever.

---

I replayed the gala in my head like a reel stuck on repeat. The golden lights. The polished marble. The endless clinking of glasses. Rudolpho's smug voice introducing her as his wife.

My teeth clenched at the memory. His hand around her waist like she was property, a trophy to flaunt for business leverage. A diamond cage paraded as devotion.

He had no idea how close he came to losing everything in that moment.

If I had shown Mark the footage-the video of Rudolpho tangled with another woman in the shadows-it would've been over for him. His empire, his investments, his carefully curated reputation, all burned to ashes in one heartbeat.

But I didn't. Not yet. Because leverage is power, and power is patience.

Besides... I wanted Violet to see it herself. To see him for what he was. To know that the only real thing she had tonight was the waltz we shared.

---

Her scent still clung to me. A whisper of jasmine and champagne. Her touch lingered like phantom heat where her fingers had trembled against mine. The look in her eyes when she couldn't say she didn't want me-God, that would haunt me for a lifetime.

She could lie to herself all she wanted. But her body didn't lie. Her pulse didn't lie. The way her breath caught when I leaned close-truth. Pure, undeniable truth.

She wanted me.

And that truth was a weapon sharper than any blade.

---

I lit a cigarette, though I barely tasted the smoke. The ember glowed red in the darkness, but even fire seemed dull compared to the blaze running through my veins.

I thought of her whisper: This is wrong. The way her voice had cracked like a prayer. The way her whole body leaned toward me even as she begged me to leave.

It wasn't wrong. Not to me.

It was inevitable.

Rudolpho might have his paper marriage, but I had something stronger: her fire. And sooner or later, fire consumes paper.

---

The dance replayed again in my mind.

The orchestra's swell. The spotlight that seemed to bend toward us as if the universe itself wanted to watch us burn.

I remembered the way she had trembled, but not from fear. No, it was the tremble of restraint, the kind that comes when every nerve is screaming for release.

I had felt it. Every shiver. Every hesitant breath. Every stolen glance at my mouth.

If I had kissed her then, in front of them all, she wouldn't have pulled away. She would have burned with me.

And God help me, I almost did it.

---

But tonight wasn't about surrender. It was about planting a seed.

And that seed was already growing inside her.

I'd seen it when she looked at Rudolpho afterward-disgust, doubt, a crack in the chains. I'd seen it when she looked at me-longing, fear, and that dangerous hunger she couldn't hide.

All I had to do now was wait.

Because fire spreads on its own.

---

I leaned against the balcony railing outside her room, cigarette ash falling like snowfall into the shadows.

The city pulsed below-cars, neon, strangers laughing in the night-but all I could think about was her. Violet, crumbling inside a house built of lies. Violet, bound by chains she never chose. Violet, daring herself to resist me even as her body betrayed her.

She thought she could run from this. She thought she could bury it under vows, under guilt, under that pathetic excuse of a marriage.

But she was wrong.

She was mine.

Not yet, not fully, but inevitably.

And when she finally admitted it-when she finally let herself burn-there wouldn't be a damn thing left of Rudolpho's hold on her.

Only us.

Only fire.

Only forbidden fervor.

---

I dragged the last of the cigarette, crushing it under my shoe. My reflection stared back at me from the glass doors-dark suit, darker soul, and eyes that had already chosen a woman I shouldn't want.

But want had nothing to do with it.

This wasn't want anymore.

This was war.

And in war, I never lost.