Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
THE DEVIL’S DARK HEART
Poe
“The only thing red today is the bleeding heart I’ll never give away again.” — P
B lackthorn Publishing.
Not long ago, I had been making up scenarios in my head about being one of their authors, and now I was there to meet with them to discuss the book deal they had offered.
The building was not only huge but very intimidating. The black building towered over the street, all glass and dark steel, shining so brightly under New York’s sun it was almost blinding. The name of the publishing house was emblazoned across the front in sleek coal letters, bold and dramatic, as if to remind everyone who passed by that this was where literary dreams came true—or crashed and burned the hell down.
I gulped hard as I stood on the sidewalk, craning my neck to take it all in, my heart doing an awkward little tap dance between excitement and nerves. The glass windows reflected the city around it, but they didn’t give away anything inside.
The entryway was as grand as the rest of the building—arched glass doors with intricate detailing that looked expensive even from there. There was a massive revolving door spinning rhythmically, ushering in people who looked like they had their entire lives together—unlike me. Business suits, polished shoes, confident strides.
And then there was me, standing there in baggy jeans and my black blazer—no bra underneath, gripping my black bag like a lifeline. I shifted on my feet, torn between running in and bolting in the opposite direction.
Don’t be silly, Poe… your dream lies inside this building.
“This is it,” I muttered under my breath, willing my legs to move. “Don’t screw this up, Poe. You can do it.”
I took a deep breath and stepped inside, the revolving glass door spinning me into a world that felt more like a movie than real life. The air was cool and smelled of faint coffee and expensive perfume. The polished black marble floors gleamed under the soft, ambient lighting, and everything screamed sophistication, money, and success.
But then my eyes caught something unexpected.
Valentine’s decorations.
Not the typical corny kind that I hated—no pink and red hearts or cheerful red ribbons in sight. Instead, it was all black. Black roses draped over sleek glass vases, black heart-shaped balloons hovering ominously near the ceiling, and garlands of dark lace strung across the space like some sort of gothic Valentine’s Day nightmare.
Wow…
I stopped mid-step, my bag slipping slightly off my shoulder as I took it all in. It was strange, unsettling, but also… it was me. The usual sugary sweetness of Valentine’s Day was nowhere to be found there. Instead, it was like Cupid had his heart broken and decided to wear his heartbreak like a crown.
I loved it.
The receptionist, a middle-aged woman with glasses too big for her face and curly orange hair, glanced up from her desk, her sleek black suit perfectly matching the eerie vibe of the decor. She barely spared me a second look, as if that entire scene was just another normal Tuesday.
How rare… it almost felt like a Déjà vu.
Huh.
I squared my shoulders and approached the receptionist’s desk, my boots clicking softly against the floor. The woman behind the desk didn’t look up immediately, her perfectly manicured red nails tapping away at her keyboard with a practiced air of disinterest.
I cleared my throat, offering a polite smile. “Hi, I?—”
She raised a single eyebrow, finally deigning to glance at me, her expression hovering somewhere between bored and mildly annoyed. “What do you need?” she asked flatly, her tone making it clear she was annoyed, and the day had just started.
Taken aback, I fumbled for my words. “Um, I’m Poe James. I have a meeting?—”
Before I could finish, she cut me off with a dismissive wave of her hand, her attention already drifting back to her screen. “Yes, yes, I know who you are. They’re expecting you.” She pointed toward a sleek seating area with plush black chairs and a low coffee table stacked with magazines. “Wait over there. Someone will come for you.”
My mouth opened, then closed. I nodded stiffly, biting back the urge to say something snarky. Instead, I shuffled toward the waiting area, clutching my bag a little tighter.
“Great first impression, Poe,” I muttered under my breath, sliding into one of the chairs. “Totally not awkward at all.”
I was still trying to process the black Valentine’s decor and the frosty reception from the desk lady when a loud, excited voice practically made me jump out of my seat.
“Oh my God! You’re Poe James!”
Startled, I glanced up to find a woman standing a few feet away, her pretty face lit up with an expression that could only be described as pure, unfiltered joy. She looked like she was in her forties, with stylishly messy curls, a brightly colored scarf draped around her neck, and a kind smile that softened the overwhelming energy radiating off her.
“Uh… yeah,” I said cautiously, blinking at her like she might be a mirage.
She clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’m such a big fan of your work! Oh, I can’t believe I got to meet you in person! I so stalk your social media for news of your upcoming releases.”
Her enthusiasm was so genuine it threw me off balance. I blinked again, heat creeping up my neck. “Oh, um, thank you so much,” I managed, gripping the strap of my bag like it might anchor me to reality.
She grinned even wider, if that was possible, and it was almost infectious. “Your writing is just incredible! The way you craft characters—it’s so raw and emotional and—ugh, I’m fangirling, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help myself!”
I let out a small, nervous laugh, the corners of my lips tugging upward despite myself. “It’s okay. Really.”
Before I could say anything else, she plopped down in the seat across from me, leaning in like we were old friends about to share a secret. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll do with your next book. Everyone here is buzzing about it!”
Buzzing? About me? I glanced around, half-expecting someone to leap out with a camera yelling, Surprise, you’re on a prank show! But all I saw was the strange black Valentine’s setup and the intimidating glass walls.
“Thanks,” I said again, my voice quieter that time, still trying to figure out how to respond to someone who knew me—but who I had never met.
Whoever that woman was, her excitement felt so genuine that, for the first time since I had walked into that place, my nerves started to ease.
The woman’s grin somehow grew even brighter. “Would you mind signing something for me? My daughter and I are huge fans of your work.”
“Oh!” My face heated up instantly. “I mean, sure. Yeah, of course.”
She pulled a book from her bag—my book—and handed it to me with the kind of reverence usually reserved for priceless artifacts. I stared at the cover for a second, still not entirely used to seeing my name on it, before fumbling for a pen in my bag.
I flipped to the title page, my hand hovering awkwardly over the paper. “Uh, what should I write?”
“Anything! Just your name would be wonderful, but if you want to add something for my daughter, Emily, that’d be amazing.”
I nodded, my hand moving stiffly as I scrawled a quick, “To Emily—thank you for reading!” and then my signature. It felt weird, personal, but also kind of… nice? When I handed the book back to her, she looked at it like it was a treasure, holding it close to her chest.
“Thank you so much,” she said, her voice soft with gratitude. “This is going to make her year.”
I managed a shy smile. “I’m glad.”
Her expression shifted suddenly, like she had just remembered something important. “Oh, right! The boss is waiting for you.”
I blinked, confused. “The boss?”
She nodded, stood and gestured for me to follow. “Yep! He specifically said you’d be working with him. I thought you were going to work with a team, but I guess he must be a fan too.”
A fan? That didn’t sound right. My stomach did a little flip, half nerves, half disbelief. “I—I thought there was a team assigned to me?”
She shrugged, her kind smile still firmly in place. “That’s usually how it works, but if he says he’s working with you, then he’s working with you.”
I didn’t even have time to process what that meant before she was leading me to the elevator. We stepped in, and she pressed the button for the very last floor.
As the elevator doors closed, I felt my pulse quicken. The last floor? That had to be the top of the building. The big boss. Why would the head of the publishing house want to work with me?
The elevator started to ascend, and with each floor we passed, my nerves churned harder. Whatever was waiting for me at the top, I had a feeling it wasn’t what I expected.
The woman stopped in front of an enormous glass door, sleek and spotless, framed with polished steel. She turned to me with a warm smile that suddenly felt out of place. Leaning in slightly, she whispered, “Good luck,” and before I could ask what that was supposed to mean, she opened the door and ushered me inside, closing it behind me with a soft click.
Then I found myself alone.
I looked around the expansive office with walls of glass that stretched from floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. But I barely noticed any of it because my eyes locked onto the figure standing near the windows with his back to me.
A familiar feeling rushed through my body as I fixed my gaze on the man. He was tall, like abnormally so, with jet-black hair slicked back without a strand out of place. He stood with his hands in his pockets, his broad shoulders relaxed in a way that felt almost dismissive.
The man’s dark aura reminded me of the only person who could make my entire body buzz with electricity just by being in my proximity.
But it couldn’t be… could it?
My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic, uncontrollable rhythm that made my chest ache like many times before. What the hell is wrong with you, heart? This was absurd—I didn’t even know this man. But somehow, deep down, my body reacted like it did.
And then the man turned.
My breath caught, my heart stopped, and time seemed to stop.
No, no, no.
Azariel Solonik.
The cruel man who had haunted my dreams and nightmares since the day he had shattered my tiny, fragile heart in my favorite place in the world—his mother’s rose garden.
My heartless prince.
He was impossibly more striking now, if that was even possible, the years having sharpened his features into something cruelly beautiful. Dressed in dark gray slacks and a crisp white button-down shirt, he looked polished and untouchable—except for the tattoos. The intricate ink peeked from beneath the cuffs of his sleeves, curled up the column of his neck, and even marked the skin beneath his left eye. He had added more since the last time I had seen him. The one under his eye was new.
The ink made him look dangerous, but his expression… His expression was what truly froze me. He looked bored, disinterested, his icy gray eyes scanning me like I was nothing more than a nuisance. I should have been used to it by now, yet I wasn’t. He still managed to make me feel small with just a glare.
Damn you, heartless prince.
“You’re late,” he said, his voice low and devoid of any warmth, cutting through the silence like a blade.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak.
I was so confused.
How was this happening?
What was going on?
Why was he here?
I was unable to process my thoughts, let alone form words. The longer he looked at me with those harsh beautiful gray eyes, the more I felt like the little girl who had stood before him offering her friendship and more, and he had stomped all over her heart.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
My foolish heart beat wildly in my chest.
And just like that, I had found myself in this devil’s lair—apparently the CEO of my publishing house. The person who had my dreams in his hands.
Shit.