Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
FUCKING CUPID WITH A BLEEDING HEART
Poe
“I’m not saying I hate love, but I wouldn’t trust it to feed my cat.” – P
T he next day was a blur of newfound determination after my conversation with Mom. I shifted my attitude, deciding to stop letting all my frustration be directed at Azariel. Instead, I used his criticism as fuel to make my story even better. I threw myself into my work to keep my mind from wandering into dangerous territory—namely, everything Mom had said about love and how, every time I think of love, I think of my boss.
It also helped that, after hanging up with her, I did what she suggested and actually showered. I’m not proud of the remnants of food I managed to rinse out of my hair while I washed. Gross. I really need to stop letting myself get into that state. I love writing but I can’t be my entire personality. I can’t lose myself in it, so much so that I lose track of time and then wake up looking like the dead.
Once I was clean, I heated a frozen meal: a crusted chicken Parmesan with mac and cheese, paired with a little pink wine. I lit a vanilla cake candle, fed Prince, and then settled into bed for a marathon of slasher films, which, unsurprisingly, always put me in the best mood.
Now, it’s a brand-new day, and I’m feeling more inspired with a clearer head. I’m ready to dive into the plot for my book and make it even better than before. I’m sticking with the same storyline because I still love it, but it definitely needs a few tweaks to crank up the angst and add a little more romance to really make it pop and magical.
I sat hunched over my laptop, my eyes focused on the draft in front of me. I skipped my usual morning routine—no makeup, no wine—but I did follow my skincare routine and fixed my hair just to feel somewhat human. I slipped into black satin pajamas that made me feel both overly comfortable and elegant. My hair? A long cascade of blue silk, falling down my back in a half-ponytail with two loose strands framing my face—kind of a cute early-2000s vibe.
I look cute now. Definitely not like the walking dead I’ve resembled the past couple of days.
I finish off the scrambled eggs with cheese I cooked, washing it down with a glass of orange juice.
Prince sat across from me on the armrest of the other sofa, his cold, unblinking white eyes fixed on me. Shit. Sometimes I wondered if my cat was a hellhound in another life, because it’s just not normal for a living thing to stare at you with so much disdain like he did. I could practically feel him judging me from across the room, his harsh gaze laser-focused on the orange juice in my hand. Slowly, I sat the glass down on the table, and his gaze didn’t waver.
I bet he’s surprised I didn’t have a glass of wine in my hand. The little rat thinks I have a drinking problem.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, narrowing my eyes at him. “It’s too early in the morning for your sass.” And it was. I had woken up with a fresh attitude today, and I wasn’t going to let him ruin it.
Just as I was picking up the phone to play some Paul Anka , there was a knock at the door. I froze wondering who it could be. I had no friends in the city, and my family lived in other states. Definitely not expecting company. I sat my phone down next to the glass of orange juice and dragged myself to the peephole. My heart stopped for a split second.
Azariel.
Of course.
The big weirdo knew where I lived. How? I didn’t even want to know. I refuse to think that Vernon—my Aunt Kadra’s right-hand man—was the one who gave him the address, but let’s be real, that’s probably how he got it.
But why was he here? Why the hell was he showing up unannounced like some dark, obnoxious storm cloud? I blinked, rubbed my eyes, just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. But nope, he was still there, standing in front of my door like he had some kind of claim on it. The beautiful Devil himself.
The eggs I just ate immediately staged a revolt in my stomach as a wave of anxiety rolled through me. Yes, anxiety. Not butterflies or bats at all. Why was he here? Why at this hour? After the last meeting, he didn’t contact me. So, why is he here? I had no energy for asshole comments or an unfeeling attitude.
For a moment, the inner child in me strongly considered pretending I wasn’t home—just crawling back to my laptop and acting like no one was knocking at my door. But of course, I couldn’t do that. My parents didn’t raise a coward. And besides, it’s probably not the best look to tell your boss to kindly fuck off, not when you’re trying out this shiny new version of yourself that actually handles things like an adult.
Regretfully.
And it’s really hard. Because through the peephole, I can see his impassive, condescending, annoyingly perfect face. And I just know he’s standing there thinking of all the creative ways to insult me for taking more than five seconds to open the damn door. I took a deep breath and silently hoped he was in a halfway decent mood or at the very least, not in the mood to completely ruin mine.
Then, without overthinking, I swung the door open.
The moment we were face to face, everything seemed to stop—like the air around me suddenly got too heavy, too thick to breathe. I couldn’t find my next breath. His eyes, those annoyingly beautiful storm-gray eyes, swept over every part of me slowly. Carefully. And for a second, it felt like he was trying to memorize me and like every detail mattered. But that couldn’t be real… right?
His harsh gaze lingered just long enough to make my skin prickle. I felt exposed. Like he was seeing right through me. Could he? Could he see every flaw, every crack, every part of me I tried to keep hidden? God, I hated that even now he still had that effect on me. That somehow, without saying a single word, he could make me feel naked… seen… like I mattered and didn’t matter all at once.
The silence between us stretched, making me more anxious so I cut through it. “What do you want?” I asked, trying to sound confident. But my voice wavered, just enough to betray me.
Perfect. One sentence in, and I’d already handed him a weakness on a silver platter.
Azariel didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped closer, just enough that I could feel his presence in the space between us. My breath caught. I swear I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
No, heart. Don’t you dare join the Azariel fan club.
“Do you know what love is?” His voice was smooth, controlled, but his gaze shifted and seemed more intense as if he was eager to know the answer himself.
I had to admit that the question knocked the breath out of me. I tried to open my mouth, ready to meet him with some well-timed sarcasm, but nothing. My usual armor had slipped, and he could see it. One question, and it was like he’d short-circuited my brain with just one question. Damn it.
“Do you?” he repeated, his tone dripping with that quiet, dangerous calm he always had that drove me mad.
Sometimes, I caught myself daydreaming about the side of him he kept buried under all that ice. The fire. The wild, untamed version—if it even existed. What he’d look like when he finally loses control. I bet it’s breathtaking and terrifyingly beautiful.
Yeah. I’m not proud of it. Not proud of it at all.
I shifted, my mind scrambling for some witty comeback because I felt vulnerable and I hate that. I hated it when I felt weak around him. “What kind of question is that?” I snapped, trying and failing miserably to cover up how much he was rattling me. Azariel didn’t flinch at the harshness of my tone. He never did. His gaze only sharpened. “Do you know what love is, Poe?”
For a second, I wanted to say yes. I wanted to tell him that I’ve known love for a long time. I wanted to say that I’ve tasted it in stolen glances, in the quiet of night, in ‘almosts’, in the sweet dreams of what could’ve been.
But I didn’t dare say that.
Instead, I lied. I wasn’t an idiot. Something in the pit of my stomach told me that saying yes would be like tearing open an old wound that never really healed in the first place. A wound I’ve spent years pretending didn’t still bleed every time I thought about him. And admitting that? Admitting I still carry that pain and that I still felt unwanted and unwelcome when I look at him— that would be worse than just staying quiet.
So, I looked him in the eye, steady my voice, and said, “No. I don’t.” A lie. But it’s a lie that will keep my heart from unraveling at his stupid feet.
Azariel narrowed his eyes, not bothering to hide the flicker of disbelief that crossed his face. It’s subtle, but I managed to see it. It’s clear in the tightening of his jaw and in the way his tattooed fingers flex at his sides like he’s restraining something. I knew he didn’t believe me. And worse, it seemed like he didn’t like my answer. But he said nothing. Just looked at me like he was trying to see through the lie I was wearing like armor against him.
“Grab your cat,” he said, his voice flat, like it was a perfectly normal request. “And your computer. Let’s go.”
I blinked, completely caught off guard. Again. “What? No. I’m not?—”
He didn’t let me finish. “You’re coming with me,” he said, his voice like steel. “We’re going somewhere.”
Um, no.
I crossed my arms instinctively, still trying hard to hide how much he was throwing me off. “You can’t just order me to go with you. Where? What’s going on?”
“We’re going to chase romance,” he replied, as if that answered everything. As if that one cryptic sentence should make sense.
To chase romance? What?
I stood there, caught between slamming the door in his face or walking into whatever insane idea he had. The rational part of me screamed to close the door, tell him to get lost, and go on with my day as if this moment never happened. But there was also the other part of me—the hopeless, foolish part—that was always drawn to him. I wanted to hate that part. But I couldn’t and I couldn’t stop it.
“For the book?” I asked, trying to justify the absolute loss of common sense it would take to willingly go anywhere with him.
He didn’t even nod. Just flickered an invisible piece of lint off his designer black sleeveless shirt like this is all beneath him. See? Infuriating. I’m out here trying to be reasonable and he’s giving runway-level indifference.
I sighed and turned to grab my bag, but he stopped me with one short sentence.
“You don’t need that.”
My bag? With my ID, wallet, pepper spray, emergency snacks? He’s insane if he thinks I’m leaving behind anything that might help the FBI identify my body.
I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean I don’t need anything?”
“It’s not that hard to comprehend. You don’t need anything. Let’s go.”
And against my better judgment—a part of me was… excited. My mind was screaming, don’t do it , shut the door in his face . But there’s always been something about him, this traitorous magnetic pull, that made it impossible to walk away.
With a sigh that’s probably more dramatic than necessary, I scooped up Prince— who gave me a look that screamed go off to die alone and leave me out of this — along with my phone and my laptop. “Fine. Let’s go. But if this is some twisted game of yours?—”
He cut me off. “It’s not. Now, move.”
“Say please ,” I countered, arms crossed.
“No.”
“Then I won’t.”
There’s a flicker in his expression—his right eye might actually be twitching. For a moment, we just stare each other down. Then, through clenched teeth, he growled, “Fucking move , please.”
I smiled wickedly, feeling like I’ve won something—though I had no idea what.
“So sweet, the heartless prince,” I murmured.
He grunted, offering nothing more.
For a fleeting moment, victory tastes sweet on my tongue. But it didn’t last.
Because the truth was, the only real winner here… was him.
The very next second, I left my safe haven behind and stepped into the unknown—with him.
Something in my gut warned me there’s no going back.
And for some strange, twisted, possibly masochistic reason…
I looked forward to it.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked, running my fingers through Prince’s soft fur like he’s some kind of emotional support demon. Which, honestly, he kind of was. I needed his dark, unbothered energy right now to survive whatever hell Azariel had planned.
“You’ll see.”
“That’s not a real answer,” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes at him.
“That’s the only one you’ll get.”
Of course. Why did I think he’ll give more?
“You know you’re hard to swallow.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Are you losing your insulting touch?”
“Never,” I said with full offense.
“Good.”
Good?
My eyebrows tried to climb into my hairline. I stared at the back of his head, like maybe if I focused hard enough, I’ll develop telekinetic powers and launch one of my boots at his face. I didn’t, unfortunately. I swear, this man was like an unsolvable puzzle. But not one of those fun ones with satisfying clicks and a finished pretty picture at the end. No. He was one of those puzzles with a thousand identical gray pieces, missing instructions, and probably cursed.
We didn’t say much else as Azariel led me through the empty, silent streets, I followed like a shadow chasing a darker one. His strides were long and fast, and I could barely keep up.
Not that I’m sure I wanted to. I mean, survival instinct says, “ slow down and rethink your life choices ,” but here I was, speed-walking with my cat in arms behind a man who looked like he could kill someone with just his cheekbones.
I still didn’t know why I’d said yes. Why I’d grabbed my cat, stuffed my laptop in a bag, and walked out the door with him.
We walked for what felt like forever. My boots echoed against the pavement while I tried to push down the growing weight in my chest. The further we went, the more I realized I had no idea where we were going. And worse—I was trusting a man I despise on good days.
Eventually, we stopped in front of a tall, black gate with no signs, no numbers—nothing.
Azariel didn’t even hesitate. He pulled out a sleek black card and swiped it through a hidden slot. The gate creaked open without a sound. Now the feeling of maybe this wasn’t a good idea sinks in as I watch the gate open wide inviting us to enter whatever waits for us inside.
“Where are we?” I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt. My voice cracked somewhere between panic and curiosity.
He didn’t answer right away. Just kept walking.
“I know you heard me!” I said, exasperated now.
“Patience,” he said over his shoulder, his voice soft and smooth like he was enjoying this far more than he should. A total contrast to how he was acting before. He seemed almost… eager.
I decided against further questioning and instead, quietly shared my location with my cousins. Not my parents—they ask questions. My cousins would just text me a clown emoji, mock me and keep it pushing
We followed a narrow path lined with trees that looked like they came straight out of a horror movie. All tall and twisted, their branches curled like fingers waiting to grab you if you get too close. It felt like we had stepped into a different world, one where it was just us
Then, we rounded a corner and everything stopped.
A jet.
But not just any jet. This one looked like it had been carved from the night itself—sleek, massive, and completely matte black, like something from a James Bond movie. It gave off a quiet kind of power, the kind that didn’t need to brag because it already owned the room. It looked expensive. Dangerous. Like it didn’t just fly through the clouds—it hunted. It gave off an Azariel vibe. Same elegant yet murderous energy as his ridiculously hot blue car.
I stopped breathing. For a second, I thought I was dreaming all of this. My aunt has a similar one. It’s kind of cute that both mother and son have matching jets.
“Is this…” I started, eyes wide, words caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. I knew Azariel was rich— like filthy rich enough that his kids’ grandkids wouldn’t have to ever worry about money but this confirms it. Wow . Pride swelled in my chest because from a kid who had nothing but his anger now he’s a man who might as well own the world. I knew deep down in my heart that he would do great things.
Azariel turned to me, his eyes calm, unreadable. “Yes,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “My jet. Come on.”
“We’re getting on it?” I asked, finally finding my voice.
He nodded, a slight smile tugging at his lips but maybe I’m imagining things because there’s no way he’s smiling. “Yes, Poe. How else will we get to our destination?”
“You mean we’re going out of the country?”
“Not quite.” He didn’t say anything else and then kept walking toward the jet, and I had no choice but to follow, even as I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was walking into the depths of some life-changing adventure.
By the time we were at the footsteps of the jet, I had come to one slightly terrifying conclusion: there was no going back. Whatever Azariel had in store for me, I was about to experience it firsthand, and there was no rational explanation for why I wasn’t turning around and running in the other direction.
“Come on,” Azariel said again, his voice smooth and commanding, and he stepped up into the jet without another word. I followed reluctantly, taking one last look at the city in the distance before stepping inside the luxurious, jet-black interior that matched the outside of the jet.
The inside was as dark and sleek as the exterior. There was just one difference. The seats were plush, deep leather, in a rich, blue shade. The walls were coated in what looked like high-end wood, polished to a mirror-like sheen. It was beautiful, but also very… blue. Huh. Just like his car. I for sure though Azariel’s favorite color was black with how much he wears it or maybe red for the color that reminds him of the blood he sucks out of people because yeah maybe my cousins are right he totally gives off hot vampire vibes and well American Psycho too. I never imagined it could be blue.
I absently touched my hair while I gave that more thought.
Azariel moved to one of the blue chairs and settled down like a king on his throne with his phone already in hand. I hovered by the door for a second, Prince nestled securely in my arms, before finally taking a seat next to him, my mind still trying to wrap itself around all of this. I spot in the corner the flying staff, two beautiful young women and one old guy with a belly and a long white beard. They give us curious glares before going about their business.
“What is this about, Azariel?” I asked, finally giving in to the burning curiosity that had been eating at me since we left my apartment. “Why are you doing this really? Why am I here?”
Azariel’s gaze was unwavering as he looked over at me. He wets his red lips and my eyes instantly follow the movement. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he replied, his voice low, almost... sultry.
Damn him.
The tension between us felt charged—like there was something more to it than just this crazy, unexpected flight. It was as if something was waiting for me wherever he was taking me. And as the jet began to lift off, I glanced out the window, watching the lighted city below us shrink away into the distance. I had no idea where we were going, or why I had got on this jet, but I knew one thing for sure: whatever it was, it was going to change everything between us.
And with every second that passed, I felt like not fighting it.
For the first time since I swore to never let Azariel back in my heart.
Shit.