Chapter 14
Chapter
Fourteen
LOVE’S BETRAYAL
Poe
“You can keep the flowers, I’ll take the wine. ” – P
“ P rince…” I stared at my computer screen, glaring at the first draft of my new manuscript. I spent all day working on it, but after a while the thing started to mock and torture me. “I really think this is the one. I feel it.”
I mean, it’s completely different from the plot I pitched to my publisher from hell. It’s darker. Like pitch-black with morally gray characters. And instead of some painfully predictable romance spanning three books, I decided to throw in a trilogy with three separate couples. Because, really, what was I thinking? No one likes cliffhangers. I sure don’t. I swear I’m not bitter, but waiting years for a conclusion is a special brand of hell. This way I can give the readers three different stories instead of one. What was I thinking, pitching him the idea of a love triangle romance to Azariel? I should’ve known that a man that has the emotional depth of a cactus would’ve shut the idea down.
Prince, my judgmental Norwegian Forest fluff ball, glanced up at me like he could see right through me. His eyes, practically white from the amount of judgment radiating from them, had this “ Girl, we’ve been here before ” look. Okay, fine, I said the same thing about my last manuscript—the one Azariel had graciously called “garbage.” Not that he said it in those exact words. He was more subtle, his usual level of contempt was practically an art form. But that look on his face? It said it all. He hated it and had no intention of publishing it.
I’m not being a brat, I swear. I can take criticism. I even welcome it. My dad reads everything I write, hell, even my grocery list, and he loves it all. He does. He’s the best dad, seriously. But he’s also a very successful author, and his love isn’t sugar-coated. He’s tough. So yeah, thick skin? I got it. But the man who holds my dream in his hands? He’s the reason I’m channeling my inner seven-year-old again. You know, the one standing in a rose garden, holding up a Valentine’s Day card I’d made, my face redder than the heart-shaped paper he tore up in my face as I watched red paper be blown by the wind when he destroyed not only the card but my tiny little stupid heart. I felt like that naive, hopeful girl who believed in love. The girl with tears in her eyes who believed in him.
She was too trusting, and she believed he was different. He wasn’t. But then I think of the last image I have of him in his car while he asked ever so softly for me to continue singing. He looked… at peace. Hell, even his hard edges seemed to soften at that moment that felt like we were trapped in a bubble just the two of us. At that moment I got to see a glimpse of the boy who I always found in the darkness staring at the roses like they gave him some sort of comfort and peace.
That boy had made my heart do a thousand flips, and now the man had me contradicting my every thought. Prince got me out of my head when he meowed at me, licking my chin in what I knew was his half-assed attempt at comfort. My asshole cat could be sweet when he wanted to be. Honestly, he reminded me of a Sour Patch Kid—sweet one moment, sour the next, and always hard to swallow. I swear, if he had thumbs, he’d have been posting shady memes about me on the internet. No doubt in my mind.
Sure, Prince was a diva. But ninety percent of the time? He was the biggest asshole.
And, of course, once he decided he’d done enough emotional labor for the day, he strutted off like he was done with my mess and about to start his daily podcast on the fine art of pretending his human didn’t exist. So lovely, my charming Prince.
Clearly, I was a magnet for assholes.
I sighed and glanced around my apartment, cringing at the disaster zone of crumpled papers, empty wine glasses, and takeout containers. The view did not make me feel better about life. It was nothing like the Pinterest-worthy haven my parents and brother had helped me set up. But to be fair, I’d been a little busy—like intensely busy—trying to create the most twisted, gloriously fucked-up romance that would shut Azariel up. Lately, it had been my mission to come up with the best damn story—not just for the success of the book, or for my readers’ delight—but to prove to that handsome devil that giving me a shot hadn’t been a mistake.
Was it a little petty?
Yes.
Unprofessional?
Eh, maybe just a smidge.
But this was Azariel Solonik we were talking about—an emotionally constipated, cold-hearted jackass. I mean, I believed that beneath all the ice-cold judgments and detached attitude, there was just one giant, angry, and deeply unhinged baby. But hey, a baby was still a baby, right? And that giant baby had been running rampant in my mind ever since I set foot in this city—and, of course, God or the Devil had decided to throw him in my path like some kind of twisted, hellish prank. Or, you know, a lovely blessing…
Nope. When it came to Azariel, definitely the latter.
Anyway, it had been days since I last saw Azariel, and even longer since he had shot down my plot idea.
Sleep? I looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon, with chocolate crumbs from all the Snickers bars I’d been scarfing down stuck in my hair—proof that I’d completely lost control of my life over the past few days. I hadn’t showered either, something Prince made sure to remind me of every hour when he popped his little head around the corner, shooting me a look that said, ‘I’m embarrassed to be in the same room as you.’ But honestly, who needed a shower when they were alone, buried under a mountain of character arcs and drowning in dark romantic angst?
But finally, after two days of driving myself insane, I had come up with something I was pretty sure was pure romantic insanity. It was so good. I could feel it in my bones. This was the one. A tortured Korean American MC, broken by a tragic past, and his equally fucked-up high school sweetheart. She was both his salvation and his ruin… until they both messed up, and their choices ripped them apart. It was deep. It was heartfelt and twisted. A rollercoaster of angst with a dark ‘happily ever after’ that was basically guaranteed. There’d be so many twists and turns, the reader’s head would spin, and their soul would be left questioning its existence.
Yeah, this was the one that made my author heart swell with pride, so if the unfeeling asshole hated it, I might have just stabbed him in the eye with his precious knife or run him over with his sexy-as-hell blue Maserati. Feeling good about the plot draft on my screen, I took another bite of my Snicker’s bar just as a joint video call notification from Allegra, Artemis, and Verali pinged up. Their stunning faces popped up, each wearing the same unimpressed look they always had when we talked about my oh-so-thrilling life.
My cousin Allegra, the voice of sarcasm in our group, arched a thin blonde brow at the chaos that was my apartment. “Girl, you look like you’ve been possessed by the corpse of bad decisions.”
I ran a hand through my messy blue hair and let out an exasperated groan. “Don’t judge me. I’ve been going through it. I’ve had to work on this plot idea for days, and I’m barely hanging on.”
Artemis, ever the one to soften a blow with more sarcasm, snickered. “Barely hanging on? Poe, sweetheart, you didn’t just get swallowed by it—you drowned in it. The only thing missing is the three-day shower you’re long overdue for. I can practically smell you from here.” She dramatically covered her nose and pulled a face, clearly enjoying herself.
See? Assholes, every single one of them.
“Shut up,” I muttered, glaring at her. “I didn’t call you just to have you point out how messy my life is at the moment.”
“You didn’t call,” she shot back sarcastically.
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost pulled a muscle. Verali, the wild card of the cousin group with Aunt Cara’s fiery red hair, Uncle Enzo’s razor-sharp tongue, and borderline psychotic personality, leaned forward, clearly amused by our petty clap-backs. “P, is this the plot the Dark Lord himself called boring and uninspiring?” she practically purred the words, like she was savoring every drop of my suffering.
And she was the least of an asshole in the group.
“Don’t even start,” I grumbled, getting up to toss an empty ramen cup into the recycling bin. “That man is insufferable. I get it, no one’s going to love every book or idea I have. But he has this special talent for poking every damn button I have with his fat, tattooed thumb.”
I had plopped back down, attempting to wrangle the rat’s nest I called hair into a loose, messy bun. “I hope the grumpy jerk approves this one. It’s a journey about loss and love—the kind of love that fucks you up, you know? A love that’s too real, too dangerous. Not some fairytale fluff like the ones I’ve written before.”
Don’t get me wrong, I love all my books in some way, but the ones I’d actually published? They hadn’t been written with my whole soul. I wrote them to cater to a certain popular demographic, hoping they’d blow up on social media.
Allegra shrugged, looking annoyingly composed. “I think you’re just pissed that the love of your every fantasy made you feel like crap and insecure about your work. You’re still delulu about that soulless, yet beautiful vampire, aren’t you?”
Soulless? She got that right.
Vampire? He wasn’t that interesting.
Beautiful? I chose to ignore the ugly green monster that coiled in my stomach whenever any woman—family or not—called Azariel beautiful.
I raised an eyebrow. “You think wrong. It has nothing to do with him.”
Liar.
Shut up! I told my inner voice.
“I just hate how dismissive and cold he is. You should’ve seen his face when he said my idea was boring. It wasn’t boring. It was beautiful. Deep. Complicated.”
Lie. Lie. And more lies. It was kind of boring.
He was right, but I wasn’t about to let these three crows know that. They’d never let me hear the end of it.
“Yeah, yeah. So, the usual,” Artemis said, rolling her eyes. “But seriously, Poe, your new plot? Azariel would devour that. It’s right up his dark alley. The whole ‘dark and tortured hero’ vibe? Classic Azariel Solonik.”
She wasn’t wrong. Maybe he’d see himself in the broken, grumpy hero. Yeah, I highly doubted it. But hey, a girl could dream—maybe this time he’d actually say yes. For his own sake, I hoped so. Because honestly, I didn’t look cute in orange, and I knew I wouldn’t last five minutes in prison.
“Maybe. But seriously, what does he know about romance and love?” I muttered under my breath and crossed my arms over my chest.
Allegra just shrugged. “He could be a closeted romantic. We don’t know.”
A closeted romantic? Azariel? No way. He was a closeted something , alright… probably a mass murderer with a bizarre fetish for tormenting me. Honestly, that was more believable of him.
I told my cousins exactly that.
“Highly doubt it,” I grumbled. “A sadistic serial killer is more believable than a romantic.”
Allegra rolled her eyes and touched up her lipstick like she was preparing for a catwalk in one of her mother’s fashion shows.
Verali, with her signature wicked smirk, leaned forward like she was about to drop a truth bomb. “Wait, P, hold up. You’re telling me you’re writing a book about a tortured man with fucked-up baggage and a girl from his past? Sounds like you, girl. And to think you don’t believe in love… You’re the most romantic one of all of us.”
I blinked at her, then burst out laughing, my annoyance momentarily melting into amusement. “Me? Romantic? Verali, if that’s true, then we’ve all got serious issues.”
My highly dysfunctional cousins immediately exploded into laughter—Artemis snorting as she wiped her eyes, Allegra shaking her head but clearly entertained, and even Verali cracking a wide smile.
“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Allegra added with a subtle smirk. “We’re a pretty sad bunch, but hey, at least we’re all fucked-up together.”
At least there was that.
“That’s actually kind of sweet, Allegra,” I said with a smile, appreciating the way she showed her love for us in her own unique way.
“Don’t get used to it,” she said, smacking her lips together after finishing with her lipstick.
“Yeah… but seriously, Poe,” Artemis said, wiping the smile off her face, her voice taking on a more sympathetic tone. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’ve got this. Even if Azariel doesn’t think it’s ‘good enough,’ don’t let his opinions make you doubt your gift. Show him what you’re made of.”
“That,” Verali added, her voice dripping with dark humor. “Besides, you’re a Nicolasi, and we don’t take kindly to rejection or assholes.” She winked. “Now stop the pity party, take a shower, and get your shit together. Show him he’s wrong. Show him what you’re made of until you get everything you want—and don’t stop a moment sooner.”
My asshole cousins could be so sweet when they wanted to be.
“Wow, that was… too nice,” I muttered, feeling a bit suspicious but knowing their words came from a place of love. “It’s just—after so many rejection emails, to finally get this once-in-a-lifetime chance by my own merit means so much. I don’t want to mess it up. And when he said it was boring, it stung.”
I flopped back against the couch, groaning in frustration. “I just want it to be perfect. I want to write a story that touches the readers’ hearts but also proves to myself that I can do it. That I can live my dream.”
They exchanged knowing looks, then Allegra spoke up gently, despite her teasing tone. “If anyone’s gonna turn a dark romance into a bestselling masterpiece, it’s you. So, stop second-guessing yourself. The book doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs to be yours. Don’t give up on it. And if the Russian terrorist doesn’t think so, someone else will.”
My frosty heart had melted a little at that. My cousins might have been ten shades of gray, but when they wanted to be, they could be so sweet and pink. Maybe I’d been so focused on getting it perfect, on seeking approval, that I’d forgotten what really mattered.
My dream and my readers.
“You guys are all a bunch of terrifying, cynical assholes, but I love you.” The words were half teasing, but there was only sincerity behind them. My cousins didn’t just lift me up—they made me feel like I could stand on my own against anything, always. Just like our family.
Verali chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief and affection. “We know, Poe. We know.”
“Thanks, guys. Really. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear that.”
“You’re welcome,” Artemis replied, her voice laced with a casual confidence that only someone who truly didn’t give a damn could have. Out of the four of us, she was the one who least believed in love—even though her parents had loved each other since they first saw each other during their teen years. “But seriously, don’t let Azariel get in your head. You’re better than that.”
Verali leaned back in her chair, her face suddenly serious. “Art is right. Don’t let him mess with your head too much. If he doesn’t get it, screw him. You’re better than that and will get many more opportunities to succeed. And if he keeps being an asshole, just call me or Daddy, and we’ll handle him.”
Oh, I knew. Verali was her father’s child, and my Uncle Enzo was terrifying to anyone who didn’t share his blood. To me, though? He was my bear of an uncle, who had spoiled me rotten with love and gifts from the moment I was born to now, when I was fully grown. He called me every day to check up on me—which reminded me that I needed to call him back before he got on a plane with Daddy to check on me for ghosting them the past two days.
I smiled. “Yeah, you guys are right. A little messed up, but still right.”
“Of course, we are,” Artemis said, winking at the screen. “And we’re the best kind of fucked-up, after all.”
“That we are,” I whispered, smiling.
Then, a thought crossed my mind, and I sat up, suddenly curious. “Wait, how do you guys know I’m working for Azariel?” I was fairly sure I hadn’t told them anything about him—just my parents. And I swore them to secrecy. No way they’d spill, though, right?
I loved my mom dearly, but she couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. Well, she could if it was something no one should ever know about her kids—but if it was something she was proud of, then she’d tell her best friend, Aunt Andrea, and the news would travel fast.
Allegra smirked, leaning back in her chair like she’d been waiting to rat someone out. “Daddy,” she said, winking.
Uncle Lucan? So… if he knows, then he heard it from Aunt Andrea, which means Mom definitely blabbed.
“Uncle Lucan blabbed fast, but by the time he got to Dad, Uncle Valentino had already told him. Dad’s not too thrilled about Azariel sniffing around you.” That came from Verali. I blinked, thrown off for a moment.
Allegra shrugged, her expression too innocent to be taken seriously. “You’ll have to excuse, Dad. You know at his age, he can’t keep a secret for shit. Besides, he loves to torture Uncle Enzo and Uncle Val. He was practically giddy when he told us you were working on a dark romance for none other than the most wanted man on your father’s list.
Dad doesn’t hate Azariel, he hates anyone who isn’t family. Okay fine, he might have an aversion for the Russians.
I rolled my eyes, suppressing a smile. “I find it too funny that Uncle Lucan loves to gossip.”
“Oh, he does,” Allegra replied, mock sweetness in her tone.
Verali, who had been staring at the screen with amusement, suddenly grinned wickedly. “Just as much as Aunt Andrea and Dad.” I laughed out loud, leaning back on the couch. “God, we’re the worst. This family should start its own gossip magazine.” Allegra raised her hands in mock surrender. “Don’t insult the messengers. Mom and Dad are the ones dropping your juicy bits everywhere they go. It’s their old age.”
They weren’t old. My cousins were exaggerating, like they exaggerate about everything.
“True,” Artemis chimed in. “But in all fairness, we’re the ones making fun of your fake outrage.”
“Fake outrage?”
“You heard me.”
“You really are assholes.”
“You love me.”
“Sadly.”
She blew me a kiss.
“Okay, but if it hadn’t been for our parents, we wouldn’t have found out that Kadra said to Aunt Fallon her golden boy, Azariel, was practically panting at the idea of signing you to his publishing house. His own mother ratted him out.”
Panting? I highly doubted it. I was sure Mom had exaggerated whatever Aunt Kadra told her. I knew Kadra Solonik, and she wasn’t one to rat her son—or any member of her family—out. She’d die before doing that. I groaned and buried my face in my hands, laughing despite myself. “That’s... mortifying.” I could just imagine our parents talking about my personal life.
“True, but not as mortifying as when Dad made that ‘Why did the sculpture break up with the painting’ joke at his art gallery opening last night,” Allegra quipped, her eyes twinkling.
I saw that on social media. It went viral. Mostly because the joke was a little embarrassing, and also because Uncle Lucan—even at his big age—had a large following and was considered one of America’s sexiest men. Something my father and uncles loved to mock him about.
“God, that was embarrassing for everyone,” Artemis added, cringing at the memory.
It wasn’t that bad. I had found it… cute.
“I still cringe thinking about it,” Verali shivered as if reliving that night.
“I thought I might die of secondhand embarrassment,” Allegra muttered, wiping away a fake tear. “He’s lucky I didn’t walk out on the spot.”
Verali laughed. “Daddy did walk out, and that was even funnier. The look of disgust on his face? Priceless. It was top-tier embarrassing, though.”
I grinned. “You know it’s bad when even Aunt Andrea couldn’t hide her secondhand embarrassment.”
“Let’s not relive that trauma. I think I’ve blocked it from my memory,” Artemis said as she sat back.
We laughed some more, sharing stories of our family’s most embarrassing moments, when I realized night had fallen, and I needed a good night’s sleep after the last few days of none.
“Alright, alright,” I said, getting up to end the call. “That’s enough emotional support for one day. You guys are the worst, but I love you.”
“Yeah, yeah. You keep telling us,” Verali said, rolling her eyes. “Go write your book, you tortured genius. We’ll be here, making fun of you from the sidelines.”
“I’ll send you all the royalties when I’m famous,” I called over my shoulder, laughing as I grabbed my laptop.
“Better not forget us little people!” Artemis said, winking.
Little people… as if. Artemis and Allegra had been heiresses to their parents’ fashion and art empires, while also being independently successful. Allegra had taken after Uncle Lucan and was a very successful painter, while Artemis was a famous ice-skating sensation. Then there was Verali—aside from being a national terror and a renowned tattoo artist, she was also the heir to a mafia empire.
Little, my ass.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you guys get free copies of my first edition with Blackthorn Publishing,” I grinned back at the screen. I had joked because I knew none of them enjoyed reading. The weirdos.
“You’re a gem,” Allegra said sarcastically as she closed the video chat. “Don’t let dark daddy drive you crazy.”
Dark daddy? Please…
“Too late for that,” I muttered, shaking my head as I hit the end button.
The screen went dark, and I smiled to myself, feeling much better than I had before their call. Maybe they were the worst, but they were my worst. And that was enough. That would always be enough for me.