Page 70 of Sweet Venom

And as I looked back at him, still standing there like nothing could touch him—I saw past the armor.

For the first time since we were kids, I saw him. I saw him because in him I see myself.

And it scared me.

It terrified me.

Because as the world around us faded into the background, my heart kept beating faster, louder, like it knew I was fucked.

I wasn’t falling for Azariel. No. I fell when I was just five years old and I’ve been falling ever since.

And I didn’t think I knew how to stop. I didn’t know if I even wanted to stop falling.

Yes, I’m so fucked.

Chapter

Twenty-One

THE DARK ONE

Azariel

“I’d walk through hell if it meant holding your hand at the end.” – A

As the line of readers moved forward, Poe smiled and signed, though she looked every bit as anxious as she had when we’d first stepped through the door. I watched, quietly, from behind her as her hands shook slightly, but she powered through. She was stronger than she realized. She was braver than she realized too.

The woman had a sharp tongue and quick comebacks but behind that mask there’s a woman with the sweetest heart. She hid it well, though. I remember the sweet little thing who would watch me from the shadows of my family’s mansion until she did what many didn’t and most still don’t do– she stepped out of the shadows and tried to give me her friendship.

Now she’s a woman— an infuriating stubborn one at times but there’s also the one that loved her family dearly. So muchso that she talked with her parents and brothers more than once a day. Not many grown children do that but she did. There’s the girl who doted on her cat like a king even though he’s the biggest motherfucker to her. That white furry rat was lucky she loved him—otherwise, I might have snuck some rat poison into his tuna bowl a long time ago for being such an asshole parasite. She’s good. She always has been.

She’s also the girl who cried while watching Korean dramas even though the little cheat always watches the end of the series to make sure there’s a happy ending.

That’s who she was to her core. Sweet, sour and mine.

I always intended to give her… her dream. Give her the world but I needed that girl back—the one who believed in love and magic not the cynic who wrote romance but didn’t believe a word she wrote.

I should’ve asked, but I’ve never been good at asking permission and she would’ve fought me anyway. So I went ahead and, for three days straight, worked behind the scenes with my team to get her unpublished books and name trending on social media until she blew up. It also helped that famous members of her family reposted her posts, along with the ones I was pushing through the Blackthorn Publishing account. Hell, even my aunt Arianna and my cousins helped spread the word. When I say she’s a sensation, I’m not exaggerating—celebrities are posting about her books, too.

It was easy, though. The books were gold but she only needed to get the word out. Is it unfair to other authors? Maybe. But I don’t care. No one deserved it more than her. That’s her dream and she is mine.

Now, I’m here like I’ve always been. Behind her, rooting for her. But once I rooted for her from the shadows and through a screen. Now, she’s here.

With me.

I kept my eyes solely on her and kept silent watching everything unfold before me. Readers held books tight to their chests—some cracked and well-worn, others pristine and untouched. Eyes bright. Smiles shy. They spoke to her like she was something sacred. Like her words had changed something in them.

And every time, she answered with that soft, stunned sweetness. That barely-there smile she didn’t even know she wore. The one that curved slowly and quiet, like it was afraid to take up too much space. She laughed with her hand half-covering her mouth like someone might call her out for enjoying herself.

God, she was trying so hard not to take up too much space in a room built for her.

“Can you... please sign these for me?” A young girl asked, her voice nearly cracking as she held up three books. All from Poe.

“Of course,” Poe said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She was still a little anxious, but each time she glanced up at the next fan, her eyes softened. They all adored her, and something deep in my chest ached at the thought.

I moved from behind her and I watched Poe’s face closely. Her emerald, green eyes are wide with gratitude and joy even though I can still see a little bit of shyness. It’s… endearing. Most people get to this point and they feel like they’re entitled to this just because they’re good authors. The gratitude was lacking.

Not, Poe, though.

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