He wasn't just troubled. He was engineering his own poison. And he’d been slipping micro-doses into my coffee for weeks.

The first time Leo kissed me, my lips went numb.

Darling Venom

I looked at him—really looked. The crooked smile wasn't charming anymore. It was a rictus. The vulnerability wasn't intimacy. It was a trap.

Every rescue was a new injection of his venom. And I was addicted to the role of the savior.