Page 92 of Sweet Venom

My heart fluttered in my chest, my eyes burning with unshed tears. There were hundreds of letters, hidden in books all over the library. Letters from Azariel, each one more vulnerable than the last. He had kept them from me, tucked away in the books he loved, each one a piece of his soul that he had never dared to share.

I could hardly breathe, my body overwhelmed by the realization. Azariel—the man who never spoke of his feelings, who was so guarded and cold—had poured his heart into these letters for me. He had written them over and over, all this time, never sending them, never knowing that I would find them.

Suddenly, I felt dizzy. The library seemed to spin around me, my chest tight with so many emotions. This beautiful and broken man had written me thousands of letters. Thousands. And now I had found them all.

I drop down to my knees, surrounded by letters written by him, and let the tears fall freely. My heart swelled, so full I thought it might burst. I picked up another letter, my hands trembling with the weight of it.

My blue haired dream,

I lied.

I do want your friendship.

I do want your heart.

— AS

I let out a soft, trembling sob, clutching the letter to my chest like it could hold me together. I could hardly believe it. Azariel had loved me all along—in his quiet, aching way. And now, he’d given me everything he had kept hidden in the shadows of his heart.

He had spent years loving me in silence, from a distance, convinced he wasn’t worthy.

“Oh, you stupid, beautiful man,” I whispered through my tears. “If only you had seen yourself the way I did back then—the way I still do—you would’ve spared us both all those years of aching for a love that was written in every single one of your scars.”

Then, I quietly tucked each letter back inside the books and returned everything to its place. There was no going back after this. I wasn’t the same girl who arrived in this city chasing a dream of becoming a traditional author—no. I was the girl I had buried deep inside myself to protect her from more heartbreak.

And now, she was back.

And she was still so sweetly in love with her heartless—no, not so heartless— beautiful dark prince.

Chapter

Twenty-Six

ORDINARY

Poe

“My world could burn to the ground, and I’d still choose you from the ashes.” – P

The weight of the letters Azariel wrote for me still lingered in my mind, their meaning pressing heavily on my chest. Each one had a different date, the oldest from my college graduation to the most recent one, which was from three weeks ago.

God, he was there at my graduation, hidden in the shadows like always. That image hurt my heart. I remember that day. I looked into the crowd, feeling my family’s love and support, yet I had a hollow ache in my chest. I felt like something was missing, and he had been there all along.

All this time... he knew what I knew from the moment we first met. We were destined for more. My heart recognized on the first day we met.

So he wrote letters but never sent them. Why? I remember the words he wrote about how he thought he wasn’t worthy of love—of friendship. Life had been especially cruel to him from a young age, convincing him he didn’t deserve either. But he did. He always did, and I was willing to give my heart to him, even when I didn’t understand what it all meant.

For years, I thought he was cruel. I believed I wasn’t enough for him. But now I see—it wasn’t that he found me lacking. It was his fear. He was holding himself back.

Oh, you beautiful, broken prince. Your darkness never scared me.It never will. The only thing that scared me was that he was the only one with the power to completely shatter my heart. Only him.

I think about how he hid those letters in places he must’ve known I’d look. He hid them in books. There was no doubt in my mind that he wanted me to find them. And I did. So, what now?

Was this what he meant when he proposed we chase romance? I thought he was just talking about the book. But maybe he wanted me to find the romance waiting for me... in him.

I didn’t have all the answers. Hell, I still had so many questions. But there were things he’d done for me that I couldn’t ignore. Signing me to his publishing house. Offering me a three-book deal. Publishing all my books and making them an instant success. Supporting me through my first-ever meet-and-greet with readers—one he arranged just for me. And the way he kept all my books, a dozen copies, in his home library. He bought them all. Filled his library with them. He filled his library with… me.

He wrote me letters, too. Dozens of letters he never sent.

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