I Will Become The Villain's Poison Taster Novel Novels & Stories

"It makes the heart slow down until the body thinks it's dying." My hands don't shake as I reach out to drag the small glass vial off his shelf. This is a test. If Willow wants to play with poisons, I will let her. I will let her drop her poison into the water supplies at the Ridge. I will let her think she has outsmarted me, that she has found a quiet way to break my squad before we even cross the perimeter line. And then I will take her plan, turn it upside down, and use it to choke her with her own trap.

VALERIA Dave's small hand rested gently on my hand, calming the fury roaring within me. That simple, harmless gesture instantly relieved the strain in my chest, steadying my heartbeat and making the world feel less dangerous. I forced the vile drink out of my throat, gagging as I spat it. The acrid taste persisted, but there was something more—a bitter flavor—that made me nervous. It was then that it struck me. Poison! There was poison in the drink! My eyes widened. Who could have poisoned me?!

"The cup came from my own brother's house. Your uncle Rick poured the poison into the bottle on the third night of the warm-current season. He chose a vintage I drank only on private suppers because he wanted my death to look like grief had finally caught me." "The boy you love is his tool. Liam has been lying with his shoulders since before he asked for your hand. He was never the architect of this, daughter. He was the instrument. He is the dagger your uncle has been sharpening for three years and you are the wedding it was forged for." "The girl is yours. Your cousin Rose has been his lover for as long as he has been your suitor. She does not love him. She loves being chosen. He never qui

A faint, thrilling heat began to uncoil in her stomach. "If your son knew his father was sleeping with the woman he loves, I imagine he'd be quite horrified," Nicha sneered. The petite woman made a move to get up and leave. This middle-aged man was simply far too charismatic. Even though he was approaching his fifties, his magnetism was undeniably dangerous. "I'm not the only villain here, Nicha. You're just as wicked as I am," Chayon said, his jaw tightening. "And so what?" the younger woman fired back.

But it all felt distant to Elara now, muffled, as though she and this stranger stood inside a small bubble the rain could not quite reach. "I don't know you," she said, though it came out less certain than she meant it to. "No," he said again. "Not yet." There was something in the way he said it. Not yet. As though it were a fact already decided, a sentence already written somewhere she could not see. As though they had a future together that he alone remembered. She should have left then. Every instinct told her to turn, to walk quickly back into the crowd, to forget she had ever locked eyes with the Black Villain on a rainy street corner. She had heard the stories. She had heard what happe

It’s because I saw my future. “A future where you infected me, where I lost my baby, and where I died a miserable death." I looked straight into his eyes. "Now you've walked that path in my place. So, tell me, should I be thanking you?" His cloudy eyes widened violently. A strangled sound tore from his throat. His body began convulsing uncontrollably. The line on the heart monitor spiked wildly before flattening into a single, piercing tone. The floating comments exploded. [YES! THIS is how the story was meant to end! The villainess changed her fate, and the scumbag ended up living her nightmare instead!]

“…you will pray for the quick death I could give you.” I let her go. She stumbled back, cradling her red, burned hand to her chest. She looked at me like I was a monster from a story. Then she turned and ran, a stumbling, silent shadow fleeing back to her tent. I stood there, the cold poison in my hand, the smell of burned skin and fear in the air. She is a mouse, Veylara rumbled, satisfied. But the cat she serves has sharper claws. I know, I thought, tucking the vial into my own pocket. One enemy at a time.

Her heartbeat quickened. “This face… it feels familiar.” She leaned closer to the mirror, studying every detail. The eyes. The nose. The lips. “I’ve seen this face before,” she whispered. Her mind raced, memories colliding— And then it hit her. “No…” Her eyes widened in horror. “This is the villain from that novel.” Her heart pounded violently. “The Dirty Mafia…” Her breath caught. “And this girl…” Her voice trembled. “Rose Whitmore.” Her knees nearly gave out.

His desire for her was like a ravenous beast, voracious and relentless that cared nothing for right or wrong. The consequences be damned. The world be damned. His morals be damned. He wanted her, truly, madly, insatiably. She's like a drug he's hopelessly addicted to.

They might have taken my freedom, my revenge, but they couldn't take my defiance. With a trembling hand, I uncorked the vial. The scent of bitter almonds filled my nostrils, a familiar, comforting scent. This wasn't a swift poison, no. It would be a slow, agonizing descent into oblivion, a fitting end for a life filled with such bitter disappointment.