Page 34 of Sweet Venom

Ugh.

I should be preparing my ideas for the book. I should be thinking about the story, about my second meeting with him. But instead, my mind keeps circling back to that cold gaze. That sharp, calculating mind. That unfeeling heart.

I’m hopeless. I’m starting to think there’s no cure for this unhealthy, pathetic obsession.

I scrolled further, my pulse quickening when I noticed a message pop up from an anonymous account. I get those a lot—fans, trolls, you name it—but something about this one feels… different. Raw.

“I have loved you with a dark madness of a thousand storms, each one more violent than the last, tearing through my broken soul, yet I would not cease, for to cease would be to let you slip from my grasp, and I could no more release you than I could tear the moon from the sky.”

My breath caught in my throat. My heart stopped dead in my chest as I re-read the message.

It was beautiful. Poetic. So hauntingly raw, it felt like it was written just for me. But the words were unfamiliar. I didn’t recognize them from any novel, any literary work. It wasn’t a quote from a classic. It wasn’t even from some modern romance. I tried searching for it online, but nothing came up.

I stared at the screen, my fingers frozen above the keyboard, unsure whether to respond. Before, I used to reply to everymessage I received, innocently thinking they came from a good place. But that was before the messages started getting ugly—insults about my books, my writing style, my appearance. Because who the hell needed to comment on that?

This one was different. It felt different. The message could have been from anyone. A fan of my writing. A random admirer. Or maybe someone who had crossed the line between admiration and obsession. I tried to tell myself not to overthink it, but something about it… stuck. The intensity of those words felt personal. Raw. As if it was written by someone who knew me or at least knew how to reach into the darkest corners of my soul.

How… odd. Because no one had gotten that close to know me.

Unsure of what to do, I glanced at my reflection in the window. My eyes were wide, a mix of confusion and wonder swirling beneath the surface. I wasn’t sure who it was. I didn’t even know why it was affecting me so much.

I thought of typing out a response. But I hesitated. It probably wasn’t the smartest move. There were too many sick people in the world, and one innocent reply could be misinterpreted in ways I didn’t want to imagine. After a second thought, I closed the chat. It was better to leave it be.

I glanced back at the blank document on my laptop, trying to force myself to focus. But it was impossible. All I could think about were those poetic words. Yes, it was strange. Creepy, even. But… I couldn’t help but feel flattered, too.

After a few minutes of overthinking, I shut the laptop, feeling an overwhelming need to breathe. To clear my head. I needed to focus on my work, but when I closed my eyes, his face was still there, burned into my mind. That emotionless expression. That mysterious, superior air he carried with him, always keeping everyone at arm’s length like he was some unreachable dream.

He was. He had always been an impossible dream.

I didn’t know why I was so drawn to him. It didn’t make sense. He was unfeeling. Cruel. Just... cold. And yet, my heart had never cared.

I don’t believe in coincidences. Not at all. Me ending up in New York with Azariel as my boss? It’s no coincidence. There’s more to it. I know it. But even as my brain tells me to run, my heart... my heart tells me to stay. It’s always told me to stay. Until he told me to go. And when he did, I had nochoice.

Exhausted from thinking too much, I lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I’ll see him again. We’ll talk about the deal. And maybe—just maybe—it won’t be the complete shit show I’m expecting, with the Devil himself.

Chapter

Eleven

TO LOVE, TO HATE, TO CURSE

Poe

“Roses are red, violets are blue, love is a headache, and so are you.” – A

The next day, I stepped into Blackthorn Publishing, the Valentine’s Day-themed donuts I got from a too damn cute bakery a few blocks from here— carefully balanced in a carton box with heart-shaped stickers all over it and paused in the lobby for a moment like I did last time I was here. God, I love this place. Not too fond of their cult leader but love their sense of decoration. I love how different it is compared to everywhere else in the city where there’s the usual and boring Valentine’s Day frenzy— balloons, hearts, stupid cupid, and an overload of red and pink.

Not this place, though.

My favorite decoration? The tiny black paper cupids with their brains hanging outside their heads, swaying from the receptionist’s black garland. It’s honestly genius and so creative.Who knew Cupid could look so... twisted? It’s like they took the idea of love and killed it. Good.

I took a moment longer to pause in the center of the lobby, taking in the decor, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips. This is the kind of holiday decor I can get behind. It’s dark, moody, and just a little bit petty. Just my style.

I can’t help but wonder whose idea this was. I really don’t want to give Azariel any credit, but, let’s face it, this feels like something that coldhearted jerk would pull off. He has this talent for making everything seem so deliberate—even the tacky stuff. There’s no sugary sweetness here, just a raw, almost haunting celebration of the day, one that only he could pull off. Dammit. Now I’m kind of impressed. And I hate that.

“Liar.”

I blinked and glanced behind me. Nothing. Great. Now I’m hearing voices. Hearing voices is a sign of schizophrenia, right? Do I need to Google this, or should I just wait until it’s time for my inevitable intervention?

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