V for Venomous

The Viper.

Vivienne.

My heels struck the marble floor with sharp, deliberate taps, a mirrored resonance to the burning in my chest. Luca's words still repeated themselves in mind, mocking me over and over again.

I stood in my room, staring out the floor to ceiling window. This view always calmed me it reminded me of my place in this world—above everyone, but tonight, it was mocking me. My reflection stood there staring back at me, reminding me of everything I didn't have.

Luca.

He didn't even think twice, no. He just pushed me aside as if I was a pile of nothing.

And why?

All because of Mira. The name itself felt like a bitter pill, a noxious concoction leaving a foul taste in my mouth.

She was beneath me– a nobody scrabbling in the gutter trying to get herself known. Yet, she had captured his attention, his complete and utter obsession.

My fingers dug into my palms, the pain was a distraction from all the rage bottled up inside me.

I was always second to none— repeat NONE.

The feeling of being second best was utterly foreign, a bitter pill to swallow, especially given the circumstances. The fact that she was just a mere street fighter, who just came up from nowhere.

That only fueled my anger more. Who did she think she was, shadow me like this?

I crossed through my room, onto the plush Persian rug yielding silently beneath my heels.

I stopped in front of my mirror. I saw my usual flawless façade – the crimson lips, the impeccable hair, the piercing gaze. But beneath the surface, I saw the crack — I was humiliated.

Humiliation wasn't an option.

Not from her. Not from anyone.

She had to be brought down, methodically and systematically.

I needed to bring her down in the worst way possible. Shame her. And maybe that way Luca will finally see that he was wrong.

He would remember who truly deserved his attention.

I sank into my bed. Mira is basically invisible unless she herself wants you to notice her. How would I bring her down?

A direct confrontation wasn't on the cards at least for now.

First, I needed to observe, to study her – to understand her weaknesses, her fears, the very essence of her being. Only then would I be able to dismantle her.

The underground fighting club wasn't the best place to go. The underground fighting scene wasn't just violent; it was lethal, a brutal arena governed by bloodshed.

But if that's where she thrived, that's where I'd go.

A chilling smile played on my lips. Mira stood no chance. And when the dust settled, Luca would finally see who truly deseve9his obsession.

And he would regret ever glancing at her pathetic face.

***

The underground fighting club was dimly lit, rich with the scent of sweat, blood, and cheap liquor. The hum of music vibrated through the walls, mingling with the sharp crack of fists meeting flesh.

I had been here before, but tonight was different.

Tonight, I had a purpose.

I dressed the part: casual but refined, just enough to command attention without seeming out of place.

My eyes swept over the room, taking in the usual suspects—men with dangerous eyes, scarred knuckles, and egos as thick as the smoke hanging in the air.

None of them intimidated me.

In fact, this was my kind of playground. The right words, a well-placed smile—that was all it took to get what I wanted.

Settling onto a barstool, I ordered a drink and let my fingers toy with the rim of the glass. I watched the fighters in the far corner sizing each other up. That was where I needed to be. But not yet. Rushing would make them cautious, and I needed them comfortable and talkative.

A man slid into the space beside me, leaning against the bar with the confidence of someone who thought he owned the room. His broad shoulders and rough exterior told me everything I needed to know—he was exactly the kind of man who could give me answers.

"Never seen you here before," he initiated the conversation.

I turned to him, offering a small, knowing smile. "I'm new in town. Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about." I let my gaze sweep over him, flirtatious but controlled. "Seems like you've been around here for a while."

He chuckled, his voice rough. "You could say that. You looking to place a bet, or just here for the view?"

I shrugged, holding his gaze a fraction longer than necessary. "Maybe both."

Letting my attention drift to the fighters, I feigned curiosity. "I heard about someone—the one they call 'The Phantom.' Is she really as good as they say?"

His expression hardened for a moment. A flicker of wariness passed through his eyes before he masked it with a smirk. "Phantom, huh? You've been listening to the right stories." He studied me for a beat. "Mira's been around for a while. She's got a way of making people regret underestimating her."

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice as if sharing a secret. "I've always been intrigued by women who make men regret. What's her deal? How does someone like her earn a name like that?"

He shifted, but I could feel him warming to me. Men like him thrived on feeling in control, on having knowledge others didn't. I was giving him that, letting him believe he held the power in this conversation.

"She doesn't fight like the others," he said, lowering his voice. "She disappears for weeks, then suddenly she's back—like a ghost. She hits fast, ends fights before they even begin. By the time you see her coming, it's too late." He hesitated before adding, "No one knows much about her past, but she's got demons. And when she fights—damn, she fights like she's got nothing left to lose."

My mind raced, dissecting every word.

Demons. That was a lead.

A crack in Mira's perfect, untouchable exterior. But I needed more—something real, something that could be used against her.

"So, nobody knows anything about her?" I asked, keeping my tone light, inviting him to keep talking.

He glanced around before leaning in. "There's one guy. An old associate. Used to run with her before she went solo. He talks too much when he's drunk. Says things he shouldn't."

Bingo.

"Where can I find him?" I asked, tilting my head just enough to seem intrigued, not desperate.

A slow smirk spread across his lips. "That kind of information doesn't come free."

I didn't hesitate. Reaching into my purse, I pulled out a thick stack of cash and placed it on the bar with deliberate slowness. "I always pay for what I want."

His eyes flickered to the money before he gave me a final, assessing glance. Then, he slid a piece of paper toward me. "He owns a dive bar on 6th. Goes by the name of Declan. Never trusted the bastard, but if anyone knows about Mira's past, it's him."

I pocketed the number, feeling the satisfaction of victory settle into my bones. Flipping my hair over my shoulder, I flashed him a smile. "Thanks for the tip."

As I walked away, I felt his eyes lingering on me, but it didn't matter. I had what I came for—an entry point into Mira's world, a way to peel back the layers and expose whatever she was hiding.

But I wasn't done yet. No, this was only the beginning.

Soon, Mira wouldn't just be the untouchable fighter, the cold woman who had ensnared Luca's obsession.

She would be something far more dangerous.

Something vulnerable.

Something I could break.