Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
THE HEART THAT BURNS COLD
Azariel
“I’d rather be called heartless than fall for the lie that love is all we need. Bullshit.” –A
Months ago
F ound her.
If she’s not inside sparring with father, you could usually find her in what was once her baby sister’s garden, though over time, it’s become a sanctuary for both her and me. Long ago, she tended to in honor and with love for Aunt Mila. But then she met Dad, and she fell in love with the roses. She says they remind her of him…of us.
Needing her presence after not getting a single hour of sleep the night before and along as fuck day today, I pushed open the wrought-iron gate with a creek that sounds like a sigh from the garden itself. I stepped in, I breathed deeply—the air, thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and roses— Mom’s roses. The dark-red petals, almost black in the dimming light, glistened like drops of blood against the prickly thorns. There’s something hauntingly beautiful about the crimson hue, a paradox that stirred both peace and war within me. It’s fucked up, but it’s always been this way, ever since I was a boy…until the color blue.
Fuck.
Shaking myself free of the tedious thoughts, I focused on the garden instead, moving through it in search of the first woman who ever saw something worthy in me. The first one to see something that wasn’t so fucking ugly.
Mom has taken care of this garden for as long as I can remember and spends most of her days here. For a woman capable of snapping the neck of a man twice her size, she’s surprisingly tender with the flowers who have thorns. Maybe that’s how she got through my iron-clad defenses.
Mom’s heart was too big for her chest, though she doesn’t seem to believe it herself. But I do. The only reason I believe there’s good in this world is because of her. She may be cruel to her enemies, sometimes heartless to the rest of the world, but to us? To Dad, Raiza, and me? She gives everything. And fuck, if that doesn’t make me feel like one lucky bastard. Because even though I don’t share her blood, I carry everything else she gave me… her heart, her love, her legacy. And now, I carry it all with pride.
I looked around the large garden and didn’t see her anywhere but then the wind shifted, and suddenly, there she was. The woman who didn’t give birth to me yet she still gave me life when all I had before was darkness. Mom knelt in the dirt like royalty dressed in all black unbothered by the grime, her sharp and stunning features softened by focus. Her black hair hangs over one shoulder, and her hands—gloved in black lace, tend to a rose bush. She muttered something under her breath and snipped a branch, like she’s scolding it for being a piece of shit.
Mom would be the only one to get angry at a rose.
I stopped for a moment, just watching her lit by the moonlight and roses not as beautiful as her. My mother is a corner of the world where my edges don’t feel so jagged. She scolded the roses but has never scolded me—her sharpness and her dark side is for everyone else.
Never her people.
I was lucky enough to be a part of her world.
“Azariel.” Her voice cut through the air like the shears in her hand, but her tone was soft for me. She hadn’t turned around yet, she felt me. “I was starting to think you’d run off and join the circus.”
The circus?
I mentally snorted.
The circus held beautiful memories for me, since it’s the place where I felt for the first time that I had a real family. She and my father did that for me. But being surrounded by clowns and children all day? Fuck, no. I must deal with that shit on a daily basis already.
I suppressed a smile as I stepped closer. “Circuses don’t accept heartless men.”
Mom chuckled. “Well, good thing you aren’t heartless.”
Her laugh sounded like the beautiful melodies she played at night with her cello.
I crouched beside her, brushing dirt off my black jeans. “I missed you.” It came off like a whisper. I didn’t say shit like that, only to her, because it felt natural. She glanced over, her whiskey eyes so much like my little sister’s Raiza’s, and her red mouth tugged into a small smile.
“Of course, you did.” she said seriously, then smiled some more. “The roses were demanding to know where their favorite grouch had gone.”
This time I snorted softly. Yeah… her roses are just like her—prickly but beautiful. “Business dragged longer than expected.”
“You work too hard.”
“There’s no such thing.” I mumbled.
She waved a hand, knowing it is futile to argue with me about business. I’ll never rest. Not until I have everything. I’ll never go without again.
“I assume you missed your sister’s latest disaster.”
“Do I want to know?”
“No, but you’ll hear about it anyway. Your father has already labeled it ‘the Fuck-up of the Century.’”
I couldn’t help the small smirk that twitched at my lips. Raiza, pain in the ass that she is, could do no wrong in my eyes. I’d never tell her that—her head’s big enough. Father made sure of that.
Mom hummed as she adjusted a rose. “Speaking of news…” She paused, carefully casual, though I knew better than to trust it. “Have you heard about Poe?”
Poe.
Crack.
Her name hit like a splinter in my chest. I gritted my teeth and kept my expression blank. “No.”
Mom went quiet for a beat too long. She’s baiting me, and I didn’t bite—at least not yet.
Finally, she played her hand. “She’s backpacking across the world with that friend of hers. Kaisen.”
I froze. For half a second, my fingers clenched into the fabric of my coat, but I forced them to relax before she noticed. Or maybe she already had. My mother notices everything.
“Good for her.” I stood, brushing dirt off my hands, my voice perfectly even.
“Good for her, indeed,” Mom said, smug as anything, and I know she’s watching me now. Her rose shears gleamed in her hand like she’s already dissecting my thoughts. Only she could.
I crossed my arms, scowling at the nearest rose bush as if it was to blame. Kaisen. That fuck. Poe—backpacking, seeing the world, with him. I pictured her laughing, sunlight caught in her blue hair, and something deep in my chest burns like acid.
But I schooled my expression, as always. Cold. Dead. Untouchable. “Does Father know you gossip this much?” He did and he loved it because it’s her.
“Your father only hears what he needs to.” Mom stood, brushing off her black dress without care, though there’s a smear of dirt on her cheek now. “Besides, you’re the one turning red at the mention of her name.”
I frowned. “I am not.”
She patted my cheek condescendingly. “Of course not, my heartless son.”
I scowled harder. She’s enjoying this, I can tell. She’s always been the only person alive who can tease me and walk away unscathed.
Mom returned to her roses, but her voice is quieter now, less smug. “You could call her.”
I stared at the roses, trying not to show how her news affected me. “Why would I do that?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The silence stretched between us, heavy with all the things I didn’t say.
Finally, I sighed through my nose. “What’s Raiza done this time?”
Mom smiled faintly, turning back to her work. She let me change the subject because she knew me too well. “Oh, let me tell you…”
And as she spoke, I let myself focus on her voice, on the garden, and not on the way my chest still burns.
Not on Poe.
Never on her.
It’s for the best.
That’s what I drilled in my head all afternoon before midnight fell and I did something stupid.
Fucking Blue.
My private elevator doors hissed open as I stepped onto the black polished floor of the publishing house I now own. My black leather shoes clicked against the marble tiles, each step louder than the last, like a drumbeat announcing my arrival. Heads turned, eyes widened, and whispers swirled around me. I don’t acknowledge them. Let them stare. Let them wonder. I’m a dark smear against the pastel canvas of their corporate lives. They weren’t prepared for this.
Good.
I walked through the open-plan office with the grace of someone who knows time itself will wait for them. My long coat swayed behind me like a shadow, and the air grew colder in my wake. Conversations died as I passed, pens stuttered in their holders, and papers shuffled like nervous birds. I don’t really care what they think. They’re irrelevant.
The glass-walled meeting room stood before and the team waited for me. I gathered every member of the editorial, design and production teams.
I had the option to fire every single one of them in retaliation but I thought better of it knowing that they weren’t at fault and only followed orders. I canned their bosses, though and hired new ones handpicked by me.
Wanting to get through this, I pushed the door open without slowing down, the force of it nearly slamming into the wall. A few of them flinch. I take the head of the table, my chair creaking as I lean back with the air of a king assuming his throne. My cold gaze swept over the group, daring anyone to waste my time. A young guy with buck teeth and glasses larger than his face visibly swallowed hard as if he was nervous. Poor fuck.
“Begin,” I commanded, my voice sharp, almost slicing through the awkward silence.
The team stumbled over their words, rambling about contracts signed, manuscripts acquired. It all blurred together. Authors I have zero interest in meeting. Stories I’ll never read. None of it matters. Only her. My fingers tapped the armrest in a slow, deliberate rhythm. I’m here because I have to be, not because I want to be. I chose to buy this publishing house and yes I could appoint someone of trust to handle it but I won’t. Because of her.
And then, like a thread being yanked out of nowhere, her name cut through the haze.
“Poe James,” someone said, and my focus snapped to the speaker—a mousey woman clutching a tablet as if it’s her only protection. “She’s our most recent signing. She’s coming in today to meet the team and discuss the release timeline.”
I knew this already.
How did I know? I was the one who signed her.
I sat up straighter, my tapping stopping mid-beat. “Poe James,” I repeated, savoring the sound of her name on my tongue.
“Yes,” the woman, Darlene I believe her name is or maybe is Dania, answered, her voice trembling slightly. “She’s?—”
“I’ll handle, Miss. James,” I interrupted, my voice cutting her off without hesitation.
The room went still. I could feel every set of eyes on me, the confusion flickering on their faces. Publishers don’t usually work one on one with their talent.
“Sir,” another team member, what’s his name said, “we already have a team set up for Miss. J?—”
“I think I made myself clear,” I snapped, my tone freezing. “You’ll work with the other authors. Poe James is mine.”
The words come out harder than I intend, but there’s no going back. Not that I would. I don’t know why—don’t ask me why—her name has always felt like a thread pulling me into some dark, uncharted abyss that makes me feel like I’m not in control. The idea of anyone else handling her book fills me with a burning rage and fuck, I’m jealous.
The team exchanged uneasy glances, none of them daring to argue further.
“Is that clear?” I asked, my voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.
They all nod, murmuring among themselves, like a flock of sheep trying to avoid the wolf’s teeth. I leaned back in my chair, feeling the heat in my chest cool into something more calculated and darker. I’ll deal with her. On my terms. On my turf.
I waited. I tried to stop it, but this pull I feel for her? It’s a chain I can’t break, no matter how much I want to.
The meeting dragged on, but I’ve checked out. The voices around me blurred into static. My attention drifted to the glass walls framing the office, my eyes locking on the grotesque horror outside. Red. Pink. Hearts. Ribbons. Cheap, fake roses. It’s as if the devil himself took a hammer to the Valentine’s aisle and called it a day.
I cringed, my jaw tightening. Who approved this shit?
“Who’s responsible for this... monstrosity?” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, but loud enough for the room to catch my frustration.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her—my secretary. Her name escaped me. Glenda? Wanda? It didn’t matter. She’s standing near the door, clutching a notepad, like she’s trying to become invisible. I gestured her forward with a flick of my fingers, and she hesitated, her uncertainty thick enough to slice through.
“What’s your name again?” I asked flatly, without looking up.
“Uh, Linda, sir,” she answered, her wide hazel eyes practically pleading for a quick exit.
“Right. Linda.” She didn’t look like a ‘Linda’, but I can’t be bothered to care. “Take down those absurd Valentine’s decorations. Replace them with something... less vomit-inducing.”
I paused, an idea forming in my mind—something dark, fitting for the taste of the building. “Black hearts. Black roses. Something that screams fuck love and the idiots who believe in it.”
She blinked at me like I’ve just spoken in tongues. “Black hearts, sir?”
“Yes, black hearts,” I snapped, the irritation starting to bubble over. I turned my gaze to the rest of the room. “Is that so difficult to understand? Or do you all prefer to keep working in a space that looks like Cupid vomited on it?”
The team looked nervously at one another, unsure whether I’m joking.
I’m not.
“Do I need to explain myself to everyone here?” I asked, my voice icy, my eyes locking on each of them one by one. “Because if I do, we’ll be here all day, and I don’t have the patience nor the time for that.”
It is not that hard to comprehend. Who the hell wants to work in a space that looks like Cupid died here and left his remains behind?
The room fell into wide-eyed silence, and I released a long, resigned sigh. “Consider yourselves dismissed.”
Chairs scraped awkwardly as they filed out, throwing furtive glances at me—and at Linda—as they went. I waited until the last of them left before I leaned back in my chair, my gaze flicking back to the offensive colors outside.
“Black,” I muttered to myself, my voice dark with disgust. “Everything should’ve been black from the start.”