Page 58 of Sweet Venom

Just as I was picking up the phone to play somePaul Anka, there was a knock at the door. I froze wondering who it could be. I had no friends in the city, and my family lived in other states. Definitely not expecting company. I sat my phone down next to the glass of orange juice and dragged myself to the peephole. My heart stopped for a split second.

Azariel.

Of course.

The big weirdo knew where I lived. How? I didn’t even want to know. I refuse to think that Vernon—my Aunt Kadra’s right-hand man—was the one who gave him the address, but let’s be real, that’s probably how he got it.

But why was he here? Why the hell was he showing up unannounced like some dark, obnoxious storm cloud? I blinked, rubbed my eyes, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. But nope, he was still there, standing in front of my door like he had some kind of claim on it. The beautiful Devil himself.

The eggs I just ate immediately staged a revolt in my stomach as a wave of anxiety rolled through me. Yes, anxiety. Not butterflies or bats at all. Why was he here? Why at this hour? After the last meeting, he didn’t contact me. So, why is he here? I had no energy for asshole comments or an unfeeling attitude.

For a moment, the inner child in me strongly considered pretending I wasn’t home—just crawling back to my laptop and acting like no one was knocking at my door. But of course, I couldn’t do that. My parents didn’t raise a coward. And besides, it’s probably not the best look to tell your boss to kindly fuck off,not when you’re trying out this shiny new version of yourself that actually handles things like an adult.

Regretfully.

And it’s really hard. Because through the peephole, I can see his impassive, condescending, annoyingly perfect face. And I just know he’s standing there thinking of all the creative ways to insult me for taking more than five seconds to open the damn door. I took a deep breath and silently hoped he was in a halfway decent mood or at the very least, not in the mood to completely ruin mine.

Then, without overthinking, I swung the door open.

The moment we were face to face, everything seemed to stop—like the air around me suddenly got too heavy, too thick to breathe. I couldn’t find my next breath. His eyes, those annoyingly beautiful storm-gray eyes, swept over every part of me slowly. Carefully. And for a second, it felt like he was trying to memorize me and like every detail mattered. But that couldn’t be real… right?

His harsh gaze lingered just long enough to make my skin prickle. I felt exposed. Like he was seeing right through me. Could he? Could he see every flaw, every crack, every part of me I tried to keep hidden? God, I hated that even now he still had that effect on me. That somehow, without saying a single word, he could make me feel naked… seen… like I mattered and didn’t matter all at once.

The silence between us stretched, making me more anxious so I cut through it. “What do you want?” I asked, trying to sound confident. But my voice wavered, just enough to betray me.

Perfect.One sentence in, and I’d already handed him a weakness on a silver platter.

Azariel didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that I could feel his presence in the space between us. My breath caught. I swear I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

No, heart. Don’t you dare join the Azariel fan club.

“Do you know what love is?” His voice was smooth, controlled, but his gaze shifted and seemed more intense as if he was eager to know the answer himself.

I had to admit that the question knocked the breath out of me. I tried to open my mouth, ready to meet him with some well-timed sarcasm, but nothing. My usual armor had slipped, and he could see it. One question, and it was like he’d short-circuited my brain with just one question.Damn it.

“Do you?” he repeated, his tone dripping with that quiet, dangerous calm he always had that drove me mad.

Sometimes, I caught myself daydreaming about the side of him he kept buried under all that ice. The fire. The wild, untamed version—if it even existed. What he’d look like when he finally loses control. I bet it’s breathtaking and terrifyingly beautiful.

Yeah. I’m not proud of it. Not proud of it at all.

I shifted, my mind scrambling for some witty comeback because I felt vulnerable and I hate that. I hated it when I felt weak around him. “What kind of question is that?” I snapped, trying and failing miserably to cover up how much he was rattling me. Azariel didn’t flinch at the harshness of my tone. He never did. His gaze only sharpened. “Do you know what love is, Poe?”

For a second, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell him that I’ve known love for a long time. I wanted to say that I’ve tasted it in stolen glances, in the quiet of night, in ‘almosts’, in the sweet dreams of what could’ve been.

But I didn’t dare say that.

Instead, I lied. I wasn’t an idiot. Something in the pit of my stomach told me that saying yes would be like tearing open an old wound that never really healed in the first place. A wound I’ve spent years pretending didn’t still bleed every time I thought about him. And admitting that? Admitting I still carry that pain and that I still felt unwanted and unwelcome when I look at him— that would be worse than just staying quiet.

So, I looked him in the eye, steady my voice, and said, “No. I don’t.” A lie. But it’s a lie that will keep my heart from unraveling at his stupid feet.

Azariel narrowed his eyes, not bothering to hide the flicker of disbelief that crossed his face. It’s subtle, but I managed to see it. It’s clear in the tightening of his jaw and in the way his tattooed fingers flex at his sides like he’s restraining something. I knew he didn’t believe me. And worse, it seemed like he didn’t like my answer. But he said nothing. Just looked at me like he was trying to see through the lie I was wearing like armor against him.

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