A Little Drop of Venom, page 1
A Little Drop of Venom
L.C. McKenna
A Little Drop of Venom
Copyright © [2021] by [L.C. McKenna]
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.
The characters and events in this book are fiction.
Cover Design By: Bianca Bordianu www.bbordianudesign.com
Editing: Nichole Heydenberg Poison Press Inc. www.nicholeheydenberg.com
Isaac and Daniel, I love you.
CAMILLE
The delicate crystal wine glass shattered as Camille slammed it onto the marble countertop. What was left of the deep maroon liquid pooled around the shards of broken glass, beading like drops of blood and clinging to the perfect white tile backsplash. Camille let out a low throaty snarl and closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the countertop until her knuckles turned white. She quickly counted to three, trying to calm her nerves before she sent herself careening over the edge.
Walking to the staircase, her heels clicked against the hardwood floors rhythmically. She was seething but trying desperately to hold it together. Taking the stairs two at a time while calling her husband’s name, her voice grew shriller with each passing moment. When she reached the bedroom, the door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open, sticking her head inside to look around.
“Asher?” she hissed into the darkness, as her eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting.
“What are you doing up here?” Her husband’s deep voice boomed from behind her, startling her enough that she let out a low gasp. He was close enough now that she could smell his cologne, infused with leather and a hint of smoke. It was a familiar scent, one that brought her comfort across the span of so many years. Now it made her insides ache.
Camille spun on her heels; her face twisted with a look of disgust. She took in the sight of her husband, his hair expertly styled in an elegant swoop, once a deep chestnut, now flecked with salt and pepper, slight crinkles around his eyes, the only signs of his impending age. Asher aged well. Camille noticed of course, which was why she spent her days at the spa getting the latest treatments, and pumping her face full of Botox, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough for Asher. He held a small glass of scotch in his hand. His Rolex gleamed in the light as he swirled the amber liquid, the ice cubes clinking with each flick of his wrist. Camille wanted to send it flying across the hallway, but she recently had white carpet installed and thought it better to control her impulses.
“I hardly think that’s the question that needs to be asked right now.” She gave a stern look. “Where have you been, Asher? Have you been looking for this?” Camille pulled Asher’s cell phone from the pocket of her silk blouse and dangled it out in front of him tauntingly.
“It’s been going off all night. Apparently, someone is really missing you, darling.” Camille let the words linger, the air around them growing thick.
Asher blinked his eyes repeatedly, the deep gray pools giving away none of his emotions. He took a swig of his scotch and sucked his teeth.
“I’m not doing this with you right now. We have a party going on outside in case you’ve forgotten.” Asher scrubbed his hand over his face exhaustedly. “Give me my phone and go get yourself another glass of wine. I’ll explain later. This is nothing.” Asher opened his hand, waiting for Camille to give him back his phone.
Camille’s brow furrowed and her mouth puckered. She wouldn’t let Asher dismiss her like he always did. She dropped Asher’s phone, staring as it fell in slow motion, landing with a soft thud against the plush carpet. Camille raised her foot and stomped on the phone twice with the heel of her Louboutin before Asher even had a chance to react. The glass crunched beneath her foot. The floor was littered with shards of glass and debris; Camille’s pristine white carpet now marred with the effect of Asher’s sins.
“Seriously, Camille? What the fuck? You do know all of my business contacts are in there, right? I have work to do tomorrow.” Asher’s voice was rigid now.
“You are going to ruin everything I have built here. Get your shit together, Asher,” Camille hissed as she pushed past her husband and stomped down the stairs, her heart pounding in her chest, as rage licked its way up her insides. “Find Mira to clean up this mess,” she yelled from the staircase.
Camille could deal with being angry. She was known for her blunt attitude, but she would never let anyone see her fall. She refused to. Once you fell down here, the climb back to the top rarely happened. And Camille Carmichael being broken over her husband’s infidelities would not be the week’s latest gossip if she could help it.
Camille lingered at the base of the stairs, taking a deep breath and rearranging the twisted look on her face. When she returned to the party, she would make sure her mask was in place. She would appear composed and elegant, the picture-perfect housewife and host, with the razor-sharp edge that made her Camille Carmichael, of course. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and made her way through the patio door and out into the backyard, where all her neighbors were enjoying the party she meticulously planned.
The backyard had been expertly decorated, lights illuminated all the trees, giving the space a warm inviting feeling. Long farmhouse tables were topped with candles, and giant rustic pots overflowed with flowers. There was a makeshift dance floor beside the glistening stone pool, and a bar just beside that. Camille was known for her parties, and each year she set the bar a little higher. Always trying to outdo herself.
Camille stepped through the groups of people and walked straight to the bar. She rested her arms on the polished mahogany bar top. The bartender grabbed a fresh wine glass and poured the Pinot Noir before Camille even asked. Her eyes scanned the backyard. She watched as Asher closed the patio door behind him and crossed the lawn to a group of his colleagues. She would keep her eyes on him for the rest of the night. He was getting sloppy, and Camille couldn’t afford to fix any more of his screwups. She needed to find out exactly what he was up to before he embarrassed her in front of the entire town.
“Fill it to the top,” Camille said as she eyed the glass of wine in front of her.
“Of course, Mrs. Carmichael.” The bartender nodded as he opened another bottle of Camille’s favorite Pinot Noir. Camille always used the same bartender for her parties. Good help was becoming harder and harder to find, and the drinks wouldn’t pour themselves.
Armed with a full glass of Pinot Noir, Camille positioned herself with a group of women where she had a clear view of Asher. She listened halfheartedly as Cindy Schaffer rambled on and on about her children’s sleeping habits. If Camille wasn’t so focused on Asher, she would have told Cindy to stop babbling five minutes ago. How these women could sit and listen to her for this long was beyond Camille. Children were the last thing on her mind right now. Even though she had a daughter, children were always the last thing on Camille’s mind.
Camille could feel the hair stuck to the back of her neck as she stood there in agony, praying to God that someone would shut Cindy up and talk about something more interesting. Anything. The air was thick; the humidity hung all around them. Camille could practically feel her hair beginning to frizz. Her eyes widened as she watched Asher move his hand down to the small of a woman’s back as he stepped past her. She strained to see where he was going, craning her neck as best she could to follow his every move with her eyes.
“Camille?” Cindy asked, her voice slick with concern.
“Yes?” Camille asked as she snapped out of her trance long enough to look Cindy in the eye.
Camille remembered the day Cindy and her family moved in next door, almost five years ago. Her children were still babies. They’d grown closer over the years, but Camille had a time limit for dealing with Cindy. Small doses were best.
“Are you okay? You’ve been so quiet tonight,” Cindy asked, putting a hand on Camille’s shoulder.
“Yes, yes. Fine. Just a little distracted. You know how it can be when you’re the host. I have a reputation to uphold,” Camille said as she gulped her wine, her eyes scanning the backyard.
“Well, everything is perfect,” Cindy droned on, but Camille already lost interest. Her eyes were searching for her husband. He had slipped away yet again.
“Cindy, excuse me just a minute. I’ll be right back,” Camille cut Cindy off and excused herself, weaving in and out of groups of her friends and neighbors, searching for her husband and trying not to spill her wine.
She knew Asher was up to something tonight. She could smell it. One thing was certain. If Asher started this, he had better be ready because Camille would never back down from a fight.
As she wound through the partygoers, Camille caught sight of her husband, slipping through the gate to the front yard. She hung back and watched.
What was he doing?
Nearly everyone in town was in the backyard. Was he waiting for someone?
Hiding in the shadows, Camille’s eyes followed Asher as he paced up and down the driveway. She knew she had caught him in this moment. She just needed to control her urge to pounce until there was something to actually pounce on. And that was no small task. He looked nervous, like he was waiting to be caught, constantly checking over his shoulder. He reached into his pocket for his phone several times, forgetting that his wife smashed it to bits. After a few more minutes of quietly pacing back and forth in the darkness of the night, a sleek black sedan pulled alo
Camille gasped and then quickly covered her mouth with her hand, stifling any noise that might escape her lips. Asher walked straight to the passenger side door and slipped into the car effortlessly.
Crouching down, Camille shuffled towards her own car, hiding behind it to get a better view of whoever was in the car with Asher. She watched as her husband’s arm snaked around the driver’s shoulders. Camille snapped back into reality. Heat coiled its way through her veins. She was Camille Carmichael, not some doormat. She was not a woman who hid in the shadows; she faced everything head-on. Camille stood tall, her confidence coming back as she walked towards the black sedan. Once she was visible to them, the car sped off, blinding Camille with its headlights. She hurled her glass of wine towards them, blinking rapidly, trying to regain her vision. The glass shattered across the car’s back window in slow motion. Pinot Noir splashed through the air. The glass erupted into thousands of tiny shards before scattering across the pristine roadway of Eatondale Drive, serving as the only evidence that what Camille had witnessed was real.
Camille balled her fists at her sides and let out a high-pitched snarl. Surely, her guests heard the pained sound come from the front yard. She stomped up the driveway, furling and unfurling her fists as she did so. Once she reached the back gate, she threw it open and marched across the lawn. All eyes were on her. She could faintly hear the whispers as people stepped out of her way, but Camille didn’t care. All she cared about was unleashing the rage building inside herself. The rage that Asher put there.
As the whispers grew louder, so did Camille’s anxiety. She tried to slow her breathing using the techniques she learned during her guided breath work sessions, but nothing could dull the sting of how foolish she felt for allowing Asher to deceive her. To treat her like some petty fool. She wondered how long her husband had been sneaking around.
“Camille.” It was Cindy Schaffer. Her white, blonde hair was hair sprayed to perfection, not a strand out of place. Her usually cheerful face was splashed with concern for her friend. “Camille, are you okay?”
Cindy reached for Camille’s arm with genuine concern, but Camille pulled away from her without a word or even a look. She didn’t have time for Cindy and her perfect world.
Camille trudged over to the champagne waterfall and with one swipe of her arm, she sent all 40 glasses of Dom Perignon crashing to the floor in an explosion of bubbles.
“Everybody out!” Camille shrieked as she kicked the legs out from under the table wildly.
The backyard was nearly silent, except for the gasps that could be heard from the shock of Camille’s outburst, and the faint steady drip of the champagne as it pooled on the ground below. No one moved. They watched in silent horror, jaws hanging open, as Camille continued with her fit of rage. Nobody else knew what Asher did. Only Camille saw him. At least this time, it was only she who saw him. Who knew how many other times he had been so reckless? Anyone could have seen. Camille picked her friends off in her head, silently wondering if any of them had an inkling of her husband’s extracurricular activities. That alone would be enough for Camille to make them pay.
Camille turned her back on her party and stomped over to the bar, where she demanded a bottle of Pinot Noir. The bartender quickly obliged and popped the top for her. She took a long gulp straight from the bottle and went inside her house, slamming the glass door behind her. A warning to everyone to leave her alone.
Her guests were left in the dark. No one had the slightest clue about what set Camille off. They spoke in hushed whispers as they gathered their belongings, shock still on their faces from the show Camille had just put on. The truth always found a way out at these parties. Usually, Camille enjoyed it, looked forward to it even, but then again, she had never been at the center of it. Surely, someone would note Asher’s absence and put the pieces together.
Camille took her wine to the couch, where she collapsed into a puddle of emotions. Anger splayed across her pained face. It was the strongest of all her emotions, with sadness trailing close behind. Sure, her and Asher’s relationship changed over the years, but that was common amongst couples. Sorrow took over as she sat in the stillness of her home, reliving her favorite moments of her and Asher’s life together. They built a good life together. Full of memories, vacations, and luxury. Camille wondered what Asher was looking for in another woman. She gulped almost half the bottle of wine down. The more she drank, the more the anger took over.
Her nostrils flared as she thought of the embarrassment Asher caused her. It was only a matter of time before the rumors started. A giant red mark was now on Camille’s spotless record. She needed to get ahead of this. They had to leave. She needed time to come up with a story, and she couldn’t do that here. Not with all these curious eyes watching, waiting for her to slip up. More importantly, she needed to get Asher away from the other woman that wormed her way into the Viper’s den. Camille didn’t trust herself not to strike the moment she found out who it was that had caught her husband’s interest.
Outside, a group of Camille’s closest friends— if you could call them that— carried on in a quiet corner together, gossiping wildly. Each of their eyes cast on Camile’s shiny crown, yet none of them had the courage to say it. Her downfall meant that one of them could step up and take her place. Camille was in charge of nearly every committee in town. She had first choice for all the events and parties that took place throughout the summer. She was the head of the social circle, and everyone in town not only envied her, but they were afraid to cross her. She had power here. That was exactly how Camille liked it. She learned that people fell in place faster if you put a little fear into them. Camille relished in the control. Most of these women would claw their way to the top if given the opportunity. The only question is, how far would Camille Carmichael fall?
CAMILLE
Camille clasped the white gold chain around her neck and adjusted the large sapphire to sit at the center of her chest. A present from Asher to show his remorse and commitment to their relationship going forward. After their hurried exit from the Hamptons last summer, Camille was adamant that she and Asher work through their problems and return this summer as a united force. It wasn’t easy. In fact, at times it was truly exhausting, but after what felt like the longest year of her life, Camille finally thought they were on steady ground again. Things were far from perfect, but they were headed in the right direction. Camille was ready to face last summer’s drama and take her throne back. She would fight tooth and nail to rip her crown off whoever’s pretty little head she had to. After all, she was the Queen of the Hamptons. Her subjects would scurry into place given the right kick.
Camille’s plan was to focus on how much stronger she and Asher were after this troubled patch. How much better their relationship had become. After all, they were seeing a therapist and Asher was beginning to take responsibility for his actions. He worked hard to become a more attentive partner. She would be sure to park her new Jaguar in the driveway for everyone to see, instead of in the garage where it should be. She was also sure to have Asher purchase her several new pieces of jewelry she could show off as she casually wore them to lunch with the girls. If she painted a pretty enough picture, she knew all these bored housewives would eat it up and worship her again. It was that simple. Everything was about appearances in this town. If it looked pretty and shiny on the outside, people rarely bothered to do any digging.
“Asher, is everything finished being loaded onto the truck?” Camille called from the bedroom.
A moment later, Asher poked his head into the doorway. He was dressed in shorts and a white t-shirt, very different from his usual suit and tie. “Just about, I’m just going to bring down Sadie’s bike and then I’m going to have them head over to the house to unload.” He looked his wife up and down. She was dressed to the nines for her big arrival back to the Hamptons. “You look nice,” he said, before kissing the top of her head.
“Nice? I don’t want to look nice, Asher. First impressions are everything, you know. I missed an entire season. I want to arrive right in the middle of the afternoon, so everyone knows the Queen is back,” Camille said as she swiped a bit of blush across her cheek.
