Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
HEARTLESS BLUE
Poe
“You know what’s better than love? Egg rolls. And I’m spending today with the egg rolls.” – P
B y the time I stumbled into Blackthorn headquarters, the place was wide awake, buzzing with the kind of energy only a workplace that’s long since given up on pretending to be happy can muster. It always felt sterile here, but today? It was like someone cranked the thermostat down to “absolute zero.” Maybe it was the holiday, or maybe just the sheer chill of Azariel’s soul bleeding into every corner of this place. Who could say?
I walked through the lobby, where the quiet hum of activity echoed like a thousand office drones desperately trying to pretend they don’t want to crawl into bed and never leave. Carlos, one of the security guards, flashed me that too-friendly smile of his, the kind that screams “I’m too nice for this world.”
“Morning, Miss James. Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Oh, gross. I mustered up a smile that was 75% fake and 25% out of sheer obligation because, honestly, it’s not his fault that I have an allergy to this entire holiday. I opened my container of doom and fished out a heart-shaped cookie that looked like it had been made by a masochistic baker, then handed it to him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Carlos. Enjoy.”
He looked thrilled. He was going to love these cookies. Really. Probably.
With a grateful nod, he urges me inside the elevator. I took the elevator up to Azariel’s floor, where the first person I saw was Mane, the receptionist. I dropped the container of sugary, heart-shaped misery on her desk and flashed her what I hoped was a charming, non-gag-inducing smile.
“Happy Love Day,” I said, trying not to puke. “For the staff.” I pointed to the container like it was some kind of weapon.
Mane blinked at me like I’d just dropped a live grenade on her desk. She kept typing with one hand, clearly struggling to decide if I was an absolute lunatic or just genuinely hated my life. “Ummm… Thank you? You too? What’s in the other one?”
“Oh, that one’s for the boss,” I said, letting a wicked little smirk curl up the edges of my lips. “He’s getting the special today.”
Mane stared at me like I was the embodiment of chaos. “You’re insane. Or you have a death wish. You know that?”
Maybe both. Who’s counting?
I shrugged, clutching the dark container like it was some kind of challenge. Insane? Sure. But watching Azariel’s reaction to the cookies I baked just for him? That was going to be pure entertainment. He’d earned every sarcastic, bitter word I’d piped onto those cookies. Honestly, I couldn’t wait to see how he’d react. I have this twisted love for watching his control loosen and his ice-cold facade slip when I annoy him.
As I made my way down the hall, I couldn’t help but notice the cheerful faces of the staff, each one grinning like they’d just attended a corporate retreat on happiness. They all looked so… happy. So content. Almost like they enjoyed being here, working for a man who’d turn your soul into an ice cube just for fun. Maybe I had it all wrong. Maybe Azariel wasn’t the miserable excuse for a human being I thought he was. Maybe it was just me. Maybe he was only awful to me, and everyone else was just too brainwashed to notice how much he sucked.
Yeah, no. I’d seen enough of him to know exactly who he was. Once I stood in front of his office door, I took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the inevitable round of insult sparring. Because, let’s face it, Azariel lives for pushing my buttons, and I live for watching his icy resolve crack like a frozen lake in spring.
I knocked once before entering his office. His voice, smooth and cold, called out from behind the door.
“Come in.”
I pushed open the door like I owned the place and there he was—Azariel, sitting at his desk with his back to me, looking like a human-sized sculpture made entirely of ice and pure, unfiltered disdain. Not even a twitch. Classic Azariel. Too good to acknowledge anyone unless they were as emotionally cold and soulless as he was.
“Mr. Solonik,” I said, sweetening my voice like I was handing him a basket of puppies and not some sarcastic and as hell cookies. “Happy Valentine’ Day.”
Oh God, that felt like I’d just swallowed a nail.
Only then did he turn around—slowly, probably calculating how much effort it would take to politely reject whatever nonsense I was about to throw at him. His bored eyes flicked from the cookie container to my face, and I could practically see the gears turning as he tried to figure out how petty this was going to get. Spoiler alert: very.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” His voice was as dry as the Sahara, but still sharp enough to cut through steel. Or, you know, my will to live.
“Not my style,” I quipped, setting the black-frosted container down in front of him with a flourish. “These are for you. A little token of my appreciation for turning down my plot the other day.”
His lips twitched—just a fraction, like he couldn’t decide whether to acknowledge the effort or just roll his eyes so hard he’d give himself a concussion. “I see. You’ve gone through all this effort to bake cookies just to make a point. How charming.”
I betted my lashes, pretending to be flattered by his fake admiration. “I thought you’d appreciate them. I made sure they’re extra special, just for you.” His cold eyes drifted down to the cookies, and the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly, like he was fighting back a full-blown smile. Or maybe he was just holding in a vomit. Hard to tell with this one. I’ve never seen what a smile from Azariel looks like so it’s probably the latter.
The first cookie he saw was labeled “Bite Me.” He stared at it for a beat longer than necessary before raising an eyebrow. “Cute,” he murmured, his voice still dry as a desert.
“And they taste as good as they look. Try one?”
Azariel’s eyes flicked to me, and for a moment, just a flicker, there was something— human ?—behind them. Maybe I’d managed to shake the ice king after all. Or maybe he just had to fart. Who knew?
“Did you add poison to them?” He raised a dark brow and he looked as evil as he looked handsome. Damn him for being so attractive. Ugh, men as cold as him shouldn’t look so good.
Focus, Poe. Don’t let his beauty distract you.
“Do you believe me to be so predictable?”
“Yes.”
What an ass.
I opened my mouth to sass him but he cut me off.
“You know,” he said, his voice still flat but laced with an almost reluctant amusement, “if you think this is going to make me feel bad, you’re mistaken.”
I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I think it’s going to make you think twice before turning down this new plot idea. Or at least give you something to chew on while you reflect on how much of a jackass you’ve been.”
Azariel stared at the cookies for a moment longer, his gaze cold and calculating. Then, without a hint of warmth, he looked back at me, his expression as unreadable as ever. “We’ll see.”
I smirked, feeling like I’d just won something but I don’t know what yet. “Who’s a good boy?”
“Definitely not me.” His voice was low, almost a murmur, catching me off guard. The words hung in the air, charged with something I couldn’t quite place. He leaned back in his chair, the movement deliberate and effortless, as if he knew exactly what effect it had on me. Then, with a casual flick of his hand, he gestured for me to start pitching the plot again.
I’m ashamed to admit it but dread coils in my gut. Pettiness and childish games aside, he was giving me a shot— maybe the shot— to become a traditional author and go wide with my stories. Something no one had done before him. And that need to prove to him that I could do this was all-consuming. It was why I hadn’t been able to sleep the past two weeks. It was also why I’d baked him those hateful cookies. They were a distraction—a distraction from what really bothered me.
When he didn’t say anything, I cleared my throat, trying to shake off the tension building in my chest. “Alright,” I said, my voice betraying more than a hint of hesitation. Just get through this, just pitch the damn thing. “So, I’ve been thinking…” I reached into my bag and pulled out my notes, suddenly feeling the weight of his gaze as I fumbled with the papers. A trilogy. Three separate couples. Each book explores a different, completely dysfunctional relationship—one more broken than the next. I think it’ll give us something fresh. The kind of thing that sticks with readers.”
His eyes flicked to the notes, then back to me, his expression unreadable again. But something in the air had shifted. Something almost palpable, a crackling tension that made it hard to breathe. He wasn’t just listening now—he was watching me, as if he could see straight through me, straight through my carefully built walls.
I forced myself to keep going, but I couldn’t help the flicker of uncertainty in my voice. “In the first book there’s this tortured Korean American MC, right? Completely shattered by a tragedy from his past—his whole life is basically one big emotional wreck. Then, there’s his high school sweetheart—also messed up, in her own way. She's both his salvation and his ruin. They’re like magnets, but every time they get close, they just destroy each other.”
I paused, feeling my chest tightened as I continued. “They’re both so broken, but in such a fucked-up way. They hurt each other, make the wrong choices, and their mistakes tear them apart. It's deep, it’s twisted—it’s angst-fueled chaos, and at the heart of it all, they’ll find a dark, messy happily ever after. You know, one of those twisted love stories where the readers won’t see the twists coming. The kind of relationship that fucks them up and leaves them wanting more.”
My words hung in the air, my pulse quickening. I glanced up to see if Azariel’s icy exterior was cracking at all. But… nope. Nothing. His face was a mask of indifference. He didn’t say a word.
The silence gnawed at me, crawling under my skin. Was this it? Was this where he said yes?
“Azariel?” I prompted, almost nervously. “What do you think?”
Still nothing.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on me with that unnervingly calm stare of his that drove insane. “No,” he said flatly, his voice as cold as ever. “Try again.”
My stomach dropped. The annoyance rose in my chest like bile, sour and bitter. No? After all that? After I’d poured my heart and soul into this?
I crossed my arms tightly over my chest, fighting the urge to snap. “What’s wrong with it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even but failing miserably. “It’s got everything. The tension, the emotional depth, the twists—hell, the whole thing is a ticking time bomb.”
Azariel’s lips curved into something like a cruel smile, and he stood up from his desk, pushing his chair back with deliberate slowness. My heartbeat quickened, a cold wave of nervous energy hitting me. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck standing on end as he walked toward me with that eerie, calculated grace of his.
Shit.
He was getting too close.
His towering presence loomed over me, making my skin feel hot, despite the chill in the room. I hated how my body reacted to him—how my heart was pounding in my chest, like a war drum echoing in my ears.
Azariel leaned down, his dark eyes locking with mine. I could feel the heat of his breath brushing against my skin. My body stiffened, but I couldn’t move—couldn’t breathe .
Then, without a single word, he reached out, his fingers brushing a stray blue strand of hair that had fallen from my messy bun. His touch was light, almost careless, but it sent a bolt of electricity through me. He tucked it behind my ear, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.
“Do you know what romance is, Poe?” he asked, his voice low, dark, and steady, as if he were savoring the moment. “Because this... isn’t it.”
His words hit me like a slap, and I swallowed hard. “What?” I managed to squeak out, feeling utterly exposed under his gaze.
“The romance,” he continued, his voice tightening just a little. “You pitched me a dark romance without actually selling me the romance part. All I heard was misery, angst, and broken people. Where’s the love? The connection? The reason readers should root for these people to be together?” He stepped back, his cold gaze never leaving me. “You didn’t give me the heart of the story. You gave me all the pain, all the tragedy... but nothing to make me care.”
I felt my stomach twist. He was right, in a way. But damn it, it felt like he’d just exposed me, left me standing there, vulnerable and raw. I wanted to argue, to tell him that the darkness was the romance, that the pain was the attraction, but the words got caught in my throat. How could I explain that to someone like him, who seemed to view everything through the lens of cold, detached calculation?
Azariel took a step back, his eyes still dark with that unsettling intensity. “Go back and try again. And this time, give me the romance. The real one. If you can.” I stood there for a moment, trying to steady my breath, but my heart was still hammering in my chest, and I hated it. I hated how his proximity made me feel.
“You’re unbelievable!” I spat out, my voice shaking but as defiant as a cornered raccoon. “You know it’s good. You’re just being difficult.”
His lips quirked upward into something that wasn’t quite a smile but might as well have been, like the smug little demon that he is who just won a gold medal in patronizing. “Are you done with the tantrum?”
Tantrum? Tantrum?
“How dare y?—”
“Convince me that your characters can’t breathe without the other— that kind of love, and then we’ll talk,” he interrupted, his voice cool as a cucumber in one of those weird ice baths that my cousin Artemis enjoys so much. “But until then… go.”
I was staring at the back of his head, my mouth open in disbelief. He did not just dismiss me like a toddler who had been told to go to her room. Oh, he did. I could feel my blood pressure skyrocketing.
Before I could open my mouth to launch into a carefully curated list of every insult ever conceived by mankind, I caught myself. No. No, this is exactly what he wants . To get under my skin and make me squirm. And as much as I hated to admit it, I wasn’t going to let him see just how deep he’d dug the knife in.
Instead, I took a deep, very frustrated breath, which was probably a mistake because it made me want to both scream and throw the container of cookies at him. But no. No. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction to see me lose it. Oh, no.
So, I turned on my heel, but just before I walked out, he had the audacity to say, “Happy Valentine’s Day, and thanks for the cookies. I’m sure my cat will love them.”
His cat? His cat!?
Don’t do it, Poe. Violence is not the answer, not right now, at least.
With my blood boiling, I considered hurling some snappy retort back at him, but I decided to be mature about it. Mature and not exactly sane. I straightened my back, took another deep breath, and channeled every ounce of restraint I had left— which wasn’t much, let’s be honest . I swear, this man is going to send me straight to a mental facility. I can feel the padded walls closing in already.
But, you know what? If he sends me there, I’m taking him with me. Hell , I’ll make sure he’s coming with me. The man does look good in white.
Azariel might be a world-class asshole, but I wasn’t going to let him win this time. This was far from over. Oh no, this was far from over.