Kissed by the Killer

Chapter Five: Shattered Secrets.

Violet Virgilson.

The apartment was quiet now-or at least it tried to be. The kind of quiet that pressed down on you, heavy and expectant, like the air itself was waiting for disaster to strike. After yesterday-after Vincent's blood on my hands and Marco's threats echoing in my mind-nothing felt safe. Not the apartment. Not the streets. Not even the air I breathed.

Even the faint hum of the refrigerator sounded sinister, like it was holding its breath with me.

Vincent lay on the couch, arm draped carelessly over the side, pretending he wasn't in pain. His jaw tightened when I passed with a glass of water, and that sharp, infuriating glance reminded me: he noticed everything. Always.

"You're staring again," he said suddenly, his calm voice edged with steel, like a razor hidden under velvet.

I flinched, caught mid-step. "I'm... not staring."

"Right." His smirk deepened. "Not staring. Just memorizing every twitch, every shallow breath, every trace of fear you think you're hiding."

I rolled my eyes, though my stomach betrayed me with a flutter. "You're insufferable."

He chuckled, low and dangerous. "And yet you're still here, fussing over me. Curious, isn't it?"

"Pity," I snapped, too quickly. "And practicality. You're wounded."

"Mm. Pity." His eyes glimmered. "I'll take that."

I turned away, but my thoughts betrayed me. Marco's words still haunted me-betrayal, a knife, someone close to Vincent feeding him pieces of his life. The idea churned like acid, burning any sense of calm.

"Violet," Vincent's voice cut through. "Sit."

I froze. "Excuse me?"

His tone brooked no argument. "Sit. Before you start pulling things off the shelves in panic."

I obeyed, sliding onto the couch arm. Nothing about Vincent offered safety.

"Who do you trust?" he asked abruptly, eyes dark.

I blinked. "What?"

He tilted his head. "In your life-friends, family, anyone. Who do you actually trust?"

Suspicion laced every word. "Why do you care?"

"Because trust is a currency. And someone's spending it in my name." His gaze locked on mine. "Someone is selling me out."

My stomach dropped. "Vincent..."

"Sometimes betrayal doesn't come from enemies," he continued softly. "Sometimes it comes from those closest. Family. Friends. The untouchables."

The weight in his voice chilled me.

Before I could reply-

A knock.

Sharp. Demanding.

Vincent stiffened, hand sliding to the gun at his side.

"Expecting anyone?" I whispered.

"No. But someone expects me."

The knock came again, louder this time. My pulse thundered.

Vincent opened the door, and the world shifted.

A man stood there-tall, lean, and too familiar.

"Detective Jordan," Vincent muttered, eyes narrowing.

The detective's smirk was infuriatingly polite. "Vincent Valentino Virenson. Fancy meeting you like this."

Vincent didn't flinch. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Business," Jordan said smoothly. "And a warning."

Vincent's voice dropped, deadly calm. "I'm listening."

"You're in over your head. Your enemies aren't just outside your walls. They're inside your circle. Someone close is leaking information. Very close."

The words twisted my stomach into knots. Could he mean...? No. Surely not.

Vincent's smirk didn't waver, but his hand flexed around the gun hidden at his side. "Do you have proof?"

Jordan's smile deepened. "Enough to make a mess. Enough to get you killed if you ignore it."

"Good," Vincent said softly. "I like a challenge."

When the detective finally left, the air was colder.

Vincent collapsed onto the couch, dragging a hand through his hair. "Someone I trusted is selling me out."

I swallowed. "Do you... know who?"

"No." His jaw clenched. "But I'll find out. And when I do..." His fist tightened. "They'll regret it."

The silence pressed heavy between us. Then his eyes flicked to me, sharp and probing.

"And Violet..." His smirk returned, dark and dangerous. "You're hiding something too. Aren't you?!"