Page 69 of Sweet Venom

“Azariel,” I said softly, my voice barely above a breath, but enough for him to hear. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “We’re not friends. We’re not even cordial. Why did you do all this? This is so much more than a book deal. This is—just why?”

He didn’t answer immediately and that made me turn. His eyes scanned the room as if he was looking for some invisible threat. But when I looked at him, I caught the shift in his expression again, like a crack in the ice. A glimmer of something… softer. Protective and tender.

I swallowed hard, because that look brought back memories that made my heart race and ache all at once. It was the look I’d always wanted. The one I used to dream about. And now that it was real, it hurt in a whole new way.

“You’re right. We’re not friends.” He paused. “And we never will be.”

I tried not to think of how much that hurts. It takes me back to that night so long ago when I wasn’t good enough for him.

But before I could swallow the pain or build a wall in response, he added, “I did it because I knew you wouldn’t do it yourself. You would rather stay in the shadows than bask in thelight of your dreams. And you, little fox, were not made for the shadows. So, I did it for you.”

My breath caught in my chest.

And you, little fox, were not made for the shadows.

And just like that, something in me shifted as I looked in his eyes. The cold, anxious fog I’d been swimming in for years was slowly disappearing. All that remained was warmth. Gentle, quiet warmth, like a flame catching in the dark. Him.

All there was… was him.

I couldn’t help but think as our eyes held that maybe he wasn’t as heartless as I forced myself to believe.

Maybe, just maybe, he was capable of doing something sweet for others— for me. Even if he never showed it, even if he never asked for thanks.

“Now, no more questions,” Azariel muttered, his tone harsh as ever. “I hate explaining myself, so move.” He scowled, the corners of his mouth pulled down and it made him look like a grumpy bear instead of the usual demon with a razor tongue.

I bit my lips to hide a smile. I couldn’t believe how adorable he looked trying to pretend he hadn’t just let a sliver of sweetness slip through. He could pretend all he wanted but I’m never forgetting that he slipped and let me see a side not many get to see.

Yes, he was cold and sometimes a detached bastard with the emotional intelligence of a rock. When he wanted to be, he was the cruel gatekeeper of hell, a puppet master pulling strings just to watch his enemies squirm. He wasn’t perfect—God, not even close. He was stubborn, and infuriatingly unreadable most days.

But he was here.

He did all of this for me. Not because he had to. Not because he wanted something in return. But because he knew I wouldn’t have done it for myself. And that made me believe that beneath the steel, the silence, and the edges he used to keep people out…there was a heart. A big, aching, beautiful black heart that was broken long before its owner knew what love was.

“Thank you. I still don’t know why me but thank you.” I whispered just loud enough for him to hear and before he had a chance to open his mouth and ruin the moment, I turned my back to him.

With a small smile on my face, I took my place at the signing table, smiling at the readers who approached with their books for me to sign, feeling a little more like I belonged than I had believed. And as I looked over at Azariel, who had moved behind the table, watching me with his arms crossed and his signature indifference and coldness.

His gray eyes were scanning the room, but they kept flicking back to me. Not in a controlling or angry way. He was just… watching. Quietly. As if making sure I was okay without ever needing to ask.

And something in me softened even more than before.

Yeah. I’m in trouble.

Deep, soul-shaking trouble.

Because now I wasn’t so sure this was the kind of battle I knew how to win. This wasn’t a war I was even prepared to fight like I convinced myself all these years.

“Chase romance.”

I’d initially thought he meant it for my books. For the stories he needed me to write.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

I looked around the bookstore— the space he carved out for me, the sweet world with readers smiling at me he helped build in a matter of days when I was too afraid to do it myself. This magical moment… it was the kind of thing that could make a woman fall to her knees and offer him her heart.

I couldn’t risk giving him mine.

But I will remember this day. I’ll remember the way it felt when I sat down and believed in myself becausehedid. I’d pour it into my manuscript, into every word I wrote. Because I wanted to keep this feeling alive forever written in the pages that will never die.

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