Sweet Venom by Rina Kent - 31

31

T his wasn’t my brightest idea.

Not sure what I was thinking when I offered to accompany Jude here, but he seemed to be on edge, and I wanted to soothe that somehow.

That’s how I find myself walking beside Jude to the entrance. He’s silent, but his shoulders are bunched, and his brows are knit together.

I want to reach out and do something—not sure what, as long as it helps with the tension.

It’s probably foolish, but ever since I figured out that my feelings for Jude run beyond the physical, I can’t stop myself from trying to be there for him.

In the beginning, I thought it was my bad habit of caring for people too much. But then I mulled it over and decided this is different.

In reality, Jude cares about me, too. Not only does he have a bodyguard following me everywhere, which I think is a bit excessive, but he also buys me my favorite ginger ale, embroidery supplies, and tons of books that are…uh, a bit embarrassing because I tend to read unconventional romance. I just hope he never reads them and judges me, because these books are my comfort reads, and they mean so much to me in my self-acceptance journey .

Besides that, Jude’s been there for me. All the time. Even when we’re sitting together and I embroider while he watches hockey on TV, when we eat together, when I fall asleep reading and he carries me to bed. It feels…peaceful.

And that scares me.

Because I’ve never had this type of peace before, and I feel like something will happen and I’ll lose it all. I talked to my therapist about it, and apparently, it’s because I’ve conditioned my brain to always be in survival mode.

A fight, flight, or freeze response.

It’s because I’m expecting the worst-case scenario even when nothing indicates that things will get worse.

Childhood abuse and lack of parental love has altered my brain and shaped my life in a manner I can’t control.

Or couldn’t.

Now, I’ve become more aware of my reactions and my self-deprecating habits.

I’m learning to remember all the good things happening in my life lately. How Dahlia is happy, how we don’t have to suffer or worry about money. I remember that I’m having fewer nightmares and doing better in school. I remember that I’m making some people’s lives better at the charity and with my embroidering.

I’m living. Breathing. I don’t think about death anymore.

I don’t feel lonely or scared or unsure or like I’m trapped in a black hole.

It’s largely due to my own self-acceptance and finally seeing my self-worth, but a part of it is because I have Jude.

It’s not that he made me find myself, I had to go through a coma and a life-changing experience to realize I wanted to live, but he always encouraged me to stand up for myself, even if it was against him .

In the beginning, I was always tight, waiting for when he’ll lash at me, call me names that were entrenched in my psyche for life.

Stupid. Worthless. Ugly. A nuisance.

Not only he’s never said those, but he’s always called me beautiful and looked at me like I was the most precious person in the world. I feel beautiful in his arms—something I never felt before.

Being with him helps me ground myself and dig deeper into the knots of trauma I kept in the dark my whole life.

Now, I focus on the fact that he’s right here , currently walking beside me, and my anxiety subsides a bit.

My gaze flits to the looming Callahan house.

No. Mansion.

From the outside, it’s a fortress of dark stone and towering windows that feel more like creepy, watchful eyes than anything meant to let light in.

The entrance is lined with massive iron doors, their intricate medieval carvings swallowing up the faint glow of the lamps that line the path. As we approach, a woman in a pristine skirt suit pulls the door open.

Streaks of white hair line the sides of her face, and I pause upon seeing her familiar features.

“Lucia.” Jude acknowledges her with a nod. “Is dinner over yet?”

Lucia slides a mechanical gaze over me, then focuses back on Jude. “We just served the second course.”

“Awesome.” He lets out a frustrated breath as he shrugs off his jacket and gives it to Lucia.

She waits for me to do the same, so I remove mine and thank her .

As we resume walking, I steal one last glimpse at Lucia, who’s standing in an erect position by the door.

“Is that…?” I ask, my voice low in the silence.

“Mario’s mother, yes. She’s our chief of staff.” Jude glances at me. “She’s helping me find who was behind the attack that pushed her son into a coma and you under Julian’s claws.”

I hang my head, the reminder of Mario and what he’s going through because of me tightening my stomach. I wouldn’t blame Lucia if she hates me.

The air inside the house is colder and heavier, laced with the faint scent of polished wood and something ominous.

The foyer is too large, too pristine, with high ceilings that stretch into shadows and floors of black marble so polished, I can see my reflection looking back at me. A crystal chandelier hangs above, glittering but cold, its light casting sharp patterns across the walls.

Everything feels meticulously placed—not a single chair is out of line, not a speck of dust on the sleek furniture.

The deeper we walk inside, the quieter it gets.

A long hallway stretches out before us, lined with gold-framed portraits of men who share Jude’s features—the same sharp cheekbones, the same calculating brown gaze, all frozen in time.

Just beneath the scent of fresh polish and old wealth, the smell of faint smoke, whiskey, and leather linger in my lungs, suffocating me.

Jude moves through it all like none of it touches him.

But to me, it feels off. Like a legacy built on expectations, silence, and ghosts that refuse to leave.

But then again, that seems to be the case for all of this town’s founding families—almost as if they’re trapped in place, unable to ever leave .

We approach large double doors that two well-groomed staff members open, and then we’re in a giant dining room with glittering candelabras and shiny plates.

“You’re late,” an authoritative older voice rumbles from the head of the table.

Regis Callahan.

Jude’s father looks like an older version of him, his features harsh and unforgiving, and his facial expression is as cold as ice.

“You didn’t mention bringing company,” Julian says, seeming more menacing in his natural habitat, his gaze pinning me in place.

“I never said I wouldn’t.” Jude wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close to his side. “Violet, meet Annalise, my sister-in-law.”

The woman in question, an ethereal beauty with soft features and a gentle smile, gets up from Julian’s side and gives me a hug, which is awkward because Jude barely releases me. “Hi, Violet. It’s lovely of you to join us. Jude’s never brought a girl home before.”

I stare at him, but he seems preoccupied, glaring at his father even as his grip tightens around me.

“You’re not going to introduce me?” the father asks.

“Certainly,” Jude grunts out a reply. “Violet, meet the sperm donor, Regis.”

“Enough,” Julian says with an edge, and his wife gulps a mouthful of wine.

Regis’s face reddens, his fingers clenching around a napkin, and I tense, thinking he’ll assault Jude or something.

“Sit down.” His voice booms in the hall like thunder.

I can feel Jude’s arm tensing before he releases my waist, takes my hand, and goes to sit on his father’s left. I hesitate before I settle in beside him.

The staff members quickly place dishes in front of us. The lobster smells amazing and looks to be high quality, but my stomach is so tight, I have no appetite.

I prefer the easygoing atmosphere we left at the penthouse instead of this suffocating tension that could be cut with a knife.

“How is school? Hockey?” Annalise asks in a careful tone.

“Good.” Jude grunts, smearing his fork all over the dish, but he’s not eating. Usually, he’d devour anything I cook for him.

“That’s great,” she pipes up. “I’m glad you’re doing well. It feels like forever since I last saw you.”

“That’s because he’s an ungrateful cretin who has no notion of family ties whatsoever,” Regis says, then takes a sip of his wine.

I touch Jude’s hand under the table. It’s balled in a tight fist on his lap as if he’s enduring something. It relaxes a bit beneath my touch, but he doesn’t uncurl it.

“What can I say?” Jude’s lips pull in a mocking smirk. “I learned from the best.”

“What on earth is wrong with you tonight?” Julian’s harsh voice echoes with a warning. “Have you left your manners at the door? Or do you believe Violet’s presence will shield you from consequences?”

“No, leave him, Julian,” Regis says. “He seems to have a lot to say for once. Let’s hear it.”

Jude barks out a humorless chuckle. “So you can lock me up in the basement for your entertainment?”

He…locks his son up in the basement ?

I mean, after I woke up from the coma, Dahlia told me many things about Vencor and how cruel these families can get, but isn’t Jude doing well? He’s a star athlete, and, according to Dahlia, a very successful member of the organization.

Thinking that Jude comes with all of these labels attached makes my head whirl.

Lately, I seem to gloss over the fact that Jude is a killer. He’s ended many people’s lives, and he’ll continue to. But right now, as I look at his father, I blame him for bringing Jude into this world.

Jude had no choice but to fit the mold he was shaped in.

“I won’t. You have my word.” Regis swirls the wine in his glass. “So go ahead.”

“Father, this is not the right time⁠—”

“Silence, Julian. Stop speaking on his behalf and cleaning up his messes. Let him voice all his complaints.”

“Complaints. Sure, let’s call you murdering my mother a fucking complaint, Father.”

Silence falls like doom on the table. Annalise winces, putting her fork down, seeming to have lost her appetite. Julian glares at Jude, but Regis is staring at his younger son with an unchanged expression.

“Your mother was murdered in broad daylight by a mentally unstable person. You know that, considering all the killings you’ve indulged in since then to avenge her. If anything, the girl sitting by your side witnessed the murder in full detail, no? Tell me, young lady, did you see me murdering that woman?”

I swallow hard, my hand trembling on top of Jude’s, and he flips his over, uncurls it, and holds my fingers tightly. “Violet has nothing to do with this.”

“Nonsense,” Julian interjects. “The sole reason she’s even sitting next to you is because you targeted her due to Susie’s death.”

Annalise’s face blanches, and she gives me a sympathetic look and a little pained smile. I try to smile back, but I’m so agitated, I’m not sure if it reaches my lips.

“See?” Regis says. “I didn’t murder your dear mother, Jude.”

“Just because you didn’t stab her physically doesn’t mean you didn’t kill her a thousand times over the past twenty years.” Jude’s panting, his hand gripping me so powerfully, it hurts a bit, but I still stroke the back of it with my thumb, trying to ease some of what’s paining him.

“She killed herself,” Regis says.

“Father!” Julian shakes his head.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Jude asks.

“Enough is enough. Julian said you didn’t have the mental capacity to accept or even face Susie’s true image and that if we let you play the role of slasher for a while, you’d come back to your senses, but that obviously didn’t work. Killing all those people only made you feel hollow and brought no sense of peace whatsoever. And for whom? A woman who attempted to kill you?”

“Shut up.” Jude’s whispering now.

“Why? Because you don’t want to recall the times she held you underwater in the tub when you were six years old? When the bubbles escaped your mouth and you thrashed and screamed, but she didn’t let go? Or when she held a pillow to your face, trying to smother you when you were eight? Or the fact that she tried to kill you several times after birth when you couldn’t have remembered? Because I do. If Julian, Lucia, or I hadn’t gotten there in time, I’d be one son down.”

“Shut the fuck up. ”

“Your mother was mentally unwell, Jude. Just because you refuse to acknowledge it doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. Sure, she loved and doted on you when she was in her normal phases, but she also seemed to have a strange contempt for you on her off days. If you hadn’t gone on a hunger strike and nearly died at six after I locked her up in a mental institute where she belonged, I would’ve never allowed her back in. I only did so because she promised to medicate, but how often did she flush her medication down the toilet? How often did she play the victim just to make you defend her and prevent me from forcibly admitting her again?”

“That’s not true.” Jude’s shaking his head, his eyes glassy. “Even if it were, she only became mentally unwell because she married you.”

“It’s the other way around.” Regis releases a long sigh. “Marrying that woman was my tragedy.”

“Then why didn’t you let her go?”

“She wouldn’t leave no matter what I offered and even threatened that if I kicked her out, she’d devise a way to take you with her and never let me see you again.” Regis lets out a low chuckle. “You probably don’t know this, but she’s the one who came on to me, not the other way around.”

“Liar.”

“It’s true.” Julian swirls his glass of wine. “She stalked him for years while he was married. I saw her in all the places we went to, even when I was young. She used her family’s power and influence to get close to Father until she eventually had her way. I recently found out she was the reason behind my mother’s suicide, though unintentionally. My poor mother was led to believe Father was cheating on her again, and she couldn’t handle it, so she overdosed on pills, paving the way for Susie to walk right in. ”

“You’re fucking lying.” Jude’s speaking so gutturally, it makes my chest hurt. “Mom would never⁠—”

“Because she was so sweet and caring?” Julian laughs. “I fell for that, too, but that woman was very mentally disturbed.”

Annalise flinches at his words, but I can’t focus on her, because Jude’s face is pale, his grip growing lax.

“And while we’re at it, all those babies she was so obsessed with having?” Regis says. “Most of them happened because she’d take my sperm to clinics for in vitro fertilization, Mr. Sperm Donor’s son.”

“Enough!” Jude stands up. “I won’t sit here and listen to you slander my dead fucking mother just because you can’t take accountability for your actions.”

“I admit I was wrong,” Regis says. “I should’ve freed you from her claws before she converted you with her propaganda.”

“If you think I believe either of you, then you must be out of your mind.”

“Believe your memories, then.” Regis rises and motions at Lucia, who’s standing by the door. “Do you ever recall the dark side or are you too far gone and they’re always roses and sunshine?”

Jude’s shoulders are so crowded with tension, I’m afraid they’ll snap.

“I’m happy for you to consider me the devil, but your mother was no saint.” Regis grabs the envelope from Lucia. “Julian said it’s better we spare you the disappointment since she was the only light in your life, but your constant worship of her is starting to grate on my nerves. Either hate us both or stop with the high-and-mighty speech.”

“Father…” Julian starts to stand, but Regis holds up a hand .

He offers the letter to Jude. “Read the last thing she wrote in the handwriting you love so much. I’ve been hiding it so it doesn’t shatter your illusions, but you deserve to read the suicide note she left for Julian.”

“Mom didn’t commit suicide. She was murdered.” Jude snatches it from his father’s fingers, and I think he’ll rip it, but he opens it.

I stand up, getting close to him, not sure why it feels imperative to be by his side right now.

From my position, I can make out the words written in a mixture of cursive and print letters.

Julian,

When this letter reaches you, I’ll be dead.

Don’t be alarmed. I’ve been planning it for a while now, paid one of the other patients I met in the mental institute to kill me in broad daylight and make it look like murder.

I’m writing this so you’ll kill him afterward. I don’t want Jude to find out I’ve been plotting my suicide. It’ll hurt him if he thinks I wanted to leave of my own volition, so maybe murder will hurt less.

Truth is, I can’t live a life without purpose, and that purpose left me with my hysterectomy. I always wanted so many children from Regis, a football team of them, actually, but my body was uncooperative. How sad.

Sometimes, I hate Jude for being the only one who survived. The voices tell me he cursed my body and that if I kill him, I’ll get all the kids I want.

But I don’t want to do that, truly, Julian. Please believe me. I love Jude, he’s my little miracle, and the reason I continue to breathe. But sometimes, I get intrusive thoughts about him. I also don’t like that Regis is only keeping me around for Jude’s sake. He loves him more than me, and I think I’m a bit hurt.

But I still love my son and I’m lucky I have him. I’m just scared I’ll hurt him. Or kill him.

That said, I hope Regis is pained by my death. If he hadn’t shoved me in all those mental institutes and pumped me full of stupid antipsychotic drugs, I would’ve given birth to many children, and he would’ve loved me.

But now, I can’t do that, so I guess there’s no reason for me to stick around. I’ll haunt Regis if he marries someone after me, though, so maybe don’t let him.

Take care of Jude for me, Julian, okay? He’s your only brother and he does look up to you, even if he doesn’t show it, so don’t leave him to the vultures out there. Tell him I loved him so much and that I’m sorry I couldn’t love him the way he deserves. I failed him as a mom, and I’m truly, truly sorry.

I hope he lives a happier life than I did.

Love,

Susie Callahan