Page 53 of Sweet Venom

Maybe both. Who’s counting?

I shrugged, clutching the dark container like it was some kind of challenge. Insane? Sure. But watching Azariel’s reaction to the cookies I baked just for him? That was going to be pure entertainment. He’d earned every sarcastic, bitter word I’d piped onto those cookies. Honestly, I couldn’t wait to see how he’d react. I have this twisted love for watching his control loosen and his ice-cold facade slip when I annoy him.

As I made my way down the hall, I couldn’t help but notice the cheerful faces of the staff, each one grinning like they’d just attended a corporate retreat on happiness. They all looked so… happy. So content. Almost like they enjoyed being here, working for a man who’d turn your soul into an ice cube just for fun. Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe Azariel wasn’t the miserable excuse for a human being I thought he was. Maybe it was just me. Maybe he wasonlyawful to me, and everyone else was just too brainwashed to notice how much he sucked.

Yeah, no. I’d seen enough of him to know exactly who he was. Once I stood in front of his office door, I took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the inevitable round of insult sparring. Because, let’s face it, Azariel lives for pushing my buttons, and I live for watching his icy resolve crack like a frozen lake in spring.

I knocked once before entering his office. His voice, smooth and cold, called out from behind the door.

“Come in.”

I pushed open the door like I owned the place and there he was—Azariel, sitting at his desk with his back to me, looking like a human-sized sculpture made entirely of ice and pure, unfiltered disdain. Not even a twitch. Classic Azariel. Too good to acknowledge anyone unless they were as emotionally cold and soulless as he was.

“Mr. Solonik,” I said, sweetening my voice like I was handing him a basket of puppies and not some sarcastic and as hell cookies. “Happy Valentine’ Day.”

Oh God, that felt like I’d just swallowed a nail.

Only then did he turn around—slowly, probably calculating how much effort it would take to politely reject whatever nonsense I was about to throw at him. His bored eyes flicked from the cookie container to my face, and I could practically see the gears turning as he tried to figure out how petty this was going to get. Spoiler alert: very.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” His voice was as dry as the Sahara, but still sharp enough to cut through steel. Or, you know, my will to live.

“Not my style,” I quipped, setting the black-frosted container down in front of him with a flourish. “These are for you. A little token of my appreciation for turning down my plot the other day.”

His lips twitched—just a fraction, like he couldn’t decide whether to acknowledge the effort or just roll his eyes so hard he’d give himself a concussion. “I see. You’ve gone through all this effort to bake cookies just to make a point. How charming.”

I betted my lashes, pretending to be flattered by his fake admiration. “I thought you’d appreciate them. I made sure they’re extra special, just for you.” His cold eyes drifted down to the cookies, and the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, like he was fighting back a full-blown smile. Or maybe he was just holding in a vomit. Hard to tell with this one. I’ve never seen what a smile from Azariel looks like so it’s probably the latter.

The first cookie he saw was labeled “Bite Me.” He stared at it for a beat longer than necessary before raising an eyebrow. “Cute,” he murmured, his voice still dry as a desert.

“And they taste as good as they look. Try one?”

Azariel’s eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, just a flicker, there was something—human?—behind them. Maybe I’d managed to shake the ice king after all. Or maybe he just had to fart. Who knew?

“Did you add poison to them?” He raised a dark brow and he looked as evil as he looked handsome. Damn him for being so attractive. Ugh, men as cold as him shouldn’t look so good.

Focus, Poe. Don’t let his beauty distract you.

“Do you believe me to be so predictable?”

“Yes.”

What an ass.

I opened my mouth to sass him but he cut me off.

“You know,” he said, his voice still flat but laced with an almost reluctant amusement, “if you think this is going to make me feel bad, you’re mistaken.”

I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it’s going to make you think twice before turning down this new plot idea. Or at least give you something to chew on while you reflect on how much of a jackass you’ve been.”

Azariel stared at the cookies for a moment longer, his gaze cold and calculating. Then, without a hint of warmth, he looked back at me, his expression as unreadable as ever. “We’ll see.”

I smirked, feeling like I’d just won something but I don’t know what yet. “Who’s a good boy?”

“Definitely not me.” His voice was low, almost a murmur, catching me off guard. The words hung in the air, charged with something I couldn’t quite place. He leaned back in his chair, the movement deliberate and effortless, as if he knew exactly what effect it had on me. Then, with a casual flick of his hand, he gestured for me to start pitching the plot again.

I’m ashamed to admit it but dread coils in my gut. Pettiness and childish games aside, he was giving me a shot— maybe the shot— to become a traditional author and go wide with my stories. Something no one had done before him. And that need to prove to him that I could do this was all-consuming. It was why I hadn’t been able to sleep the past two weeks. It was also why I’d baked him those hateful cookies. They were a distraction—a distraction from what really bothered me.

When he didn’t say anything, I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the tension building in my chest. “Alright,” I said, my voice betraying more than a hint of hesitation.Just get through this, just pitch the damn thing.“So, I’ve been thinking…”I reached into my bag and pulled out my notes, suddenly feeling the weight of his gaze as I fumbled with the papers. A trilogy. Three separate couples. Each book explores a different, completely dysfunctional relationship—one more broken than the next. I think it’ll give us something fresh. The kind of thing that sticks with readers.”

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