My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 34 A Den Full Of Vipers

Nova POV

Whatever Grant saw on his phone that made him nearly choke on his own prideful breath—I didn’t care.

I was beyond hurt. Beyond angry. My chest felt split open.

Kill.

Murder.

As in... Tyler is gone.

There was never a real love story between us, but that doesn’t mean he deserved to vanish into a shallow grave. To be erased from the world because of me. Because I let myself get pulled into Grant’s orbit.

Maybe if I hadn’t said yes to that stupid first date... he’d still be alive.

My mind spiraled so fast I didn’t realize my hand was already in Luca’s. His palm was warm, steady, too steady. When he tipped my head against his chest, I didn’t resist. Tears I hadn’t even felt streaming burned into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo.

Grant’s glare was scorching holes into me, but for the first time, I couldn’t bring myself to flinch beneath it. Let him burn.

Tonight was supposed to be a distraction. A night away from the ache of loneliness and the endless bingeing of love stories I couldn’t live. Instead, it turned into a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

"Luca," Grant snapped, voice like broken glass, "what the hell did you do to my shipment?"

The man’s chest vibrated under my cheek as he chuckled.

"What do you think, cara mia? Men like him don’t regret. They destroy. You deserve better than monsters."

Better than Grant.

His words slithered into my ear, tempting, poisonous. And for a heartbeat... I almost believed him.

But I pulled back, muttered something about the restroom, and fled.

The glitter of the ballroom I had admired earlier was dulled now, as if every chandelier carried shadows instead of light.

The women were draped in gowns worth a fortune, but their eyes were flat, cold. Predators in silk. The men were worse with tattoos crawling up their throats, bulges under their suits where weapons sat. They weren’t mafia caricatures from books. They were real, dangerous, alive. And I was in their den.

In the bathroom’s quiet, I clutched my phone like a lifeline and typed into the group chat.

(Nova)

Who’s heard anything about Tyler?

The typing bubbles lit up instantly.

(Lena)

Still AWOL.

I let out a shaky breath then Katie’s reply dropped like a knife.

(Katie)

A body turned up at the Oakland Bridge yesterday. Cops are keeping it under wraps.

My screen blurred. My chest caved in.

Tyler.

It was real.

(Lena)

No, it can’t be. Tyler’s a good swimmer.

Her denial scraped something raw in me. My hands trembled so badly I shoved the phone into my clutch without replying.

Cold water splashes to the face. I fixed the mask, but it still felt suffocating, like it wanted to choke me.

And then I knew I couldn’t go back to Luca. Whatever lies Grant was feeding me, at least I knew his poison. Luca was worse. Too smooth. Too eager. Too dangerous in ways even my body sensed.

If Grant really did kill Tyler, then the war between us was mine to fight not Luca’s to twist.

So I squared my shoulders, steadied my breath, and walked back into the ballroom. Back to Grant’s side.

The rest of the event was a blur of steamy aggression from Grant to Luca. He pretended to ignore me, but I caught the subtle shift in his shoulders, the unspoken relief when I chose his side this time instead of Luca’s.

I tuned their words out, clinging to the edge of my sanity, until we were finally making our way toward the exit. I thought the nightmare of the night was done, but then Luca brushed past me. Smooth as sin, he slipped something into my hand clutch.

I didn’t dare look immediately. If Grant noticed, this would be another explosion waiting to happen. So I kept my head down, pretending composure, until I stumbled. My clutch hit the floor.

Looking up to apologize, my gaze met a pair of eyes behind a lacy mask. Familiar eyes. Too familiar.

"Sorry—"

I bent down quickly, fingers fumbling for my clutch. She didn’t move. Didn’t even pretend. Her stillness was the kind that made my stomach knot.

I bent down to grab my clutch, muttering a quick apology, but the woman in front of me didn’t move. Didn’t even twitch.

Her eyes met mine through a delicate lace mask, eyes I knew. Too well. They pinned me, like a butterfly to glass.

My pulse stumbled.

"You never were good at following instructions, were you?"

The voice. Oh God. My heart sank straight to my knees before she even lifted the mask.

Sandra. Psycho Sandra. Grant’s ex-secretary who once accused me of sleeping with him before I even got the chance to taste his cologne properly. If she only knew how thoroughly "fucked" I am now, she’d probably laugh until her lungs collapsed.

"Hello, Sandy. Long time, no see,"

I stammered, my fake confidence shaking like bad mascara in the rain. She smiled. Wide. Too wide. Her lipstick was perfect, not a smudge, but her teeth were clenched like she wanted to bite me in half.

"How did you—"

I caught myself. Wrong question. Never ask a psycho how they did it.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I tried instead, shifting to step around her.

She shifted too. Blocked me. Every. Single. Time.

The music thudded and to anyone watching, it looked like two women whispering secrets at a ball. But the truth pressed cold and sharp against the skin of my arm.

I froze. My lungs refused to expand.

"You were saying?" she purred, her voice low and syrup-thick, as if we were sharing some forbidden joke.

The crowd swirled around us, oblivious, while I stared at the hand too close to my body and the glint of a blade hidden in the folds of her dress.

"I warned you once," she continued, each word deliberate, like beads on a rosary. Her perfume of vanilla and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit crawled up my throat.

"This is the second time. The third..." Her lips brushed close to my ear.

"The third time I see you with my Dom, it ends with you drowning in your own worthless blood."

My knees nearly gave out. I wanted to scream, but my voice got caught somewhere between my brain and my throat.

"Nova, come on, you’re wasting time."

Ivin’s voice snapped through the haze. My head jerked up. Relief clawed at me, but I couldn’t answer. Sandra’s smile widened as she drew back, the knife vanishing as quickly as it appeared.

And then she was gone. Slipping into the crowd as if she had never been there at all.

My body shook so hard it was a miracle my legs still worked. I stumbled toward Ivin, clutching my purse like it was the last thing keeping me alive.

The ride home was silent, thick with everything I couldn’t say. But the night wasn’t done with me.

Because when the car pulled into the driveway, red and blue lights painted the gates. Police cruisers lined up, waiting like wolves.

For Grant? For me? For Tyler?

I didn’t know. But every instinct in me screamed that tonight was only the beginning of something worse.