Epilogue Three
POE
“He promised me forever and I said yes.” — P
Y ears had passed, but the love Azariel and I shared had only deepened. The magic of our life only grew stronger. More beautiful. Sweeter.
Now, our little King was five years old, full of life, curiosity, and just the right amount of mischief and grumpiness to keep us on our toes. The greatest joy of my life was being his mom and I was in awe of everything he did.
My son could be a little grumpy at times especially when he didn’t get his way but he had a sweet heart just like his father.
I couldn’t have asked for a better child.
Today was Valentine’s Day, and the entire household had slipped into its usual rhythm. Today, we were all dressed in black. All of us. Azariel, King, the cats, and me—always a little unconventional, a little odd in our own way.
I smiled as I adjusted King’s silver chain, a gift from Azariel on his birthday. I couldn’t believe how much he resembled his father, with those gray eyes sparkling with the same fiery intensity Azariel had always worn. At times, would even draw his father’s tattoos on his own skin, trying to look more like him.
It was adorable.
We were ready to send King off to school—armed with blue roses and heart shaped chocolate cookies to hand out to his classmates, an innocent tradition that I had insisted on for my son. We were a house of assholes, yes, but ones with manners at least.
I watched Azariel inspect the chocolate cookies, his eyes narrowing slightly. Something was off. He lifted the lid of the cookie box, and I saw his lips curl into a slow, amused smile.
Uh-oh.
I knew that smile. That’s the smile he always reserved for his son’s occurrences. Azariel was a stern father and of the both of us he’s the one who laid down the law but I also knew that he couldn’t hide the way King’s tyrannical and grouchy behavior made him proud. He’s raising his son to be strong and independent but also to know that there’s nothing he could ever do that would make us stop loving him.
Nothing .
“King,” my husband said, his voice low but laced with humor, “did you eat the cookies?”
That’s when I noticed the cookie evidence.
My little devil looked entirely too pleased with himself. He had cookie crumbs smeared on his chin and clothing, his hands sticky with remnants of chocolate and dough.
My baby’s grin widened, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybeee.”
I tried to hold back a snort.
Azariel, on the other hand, crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Maybe? You definitely ate them. How many did you eat, King?”
King looked up at his father, eyes sparkling with mischief, clearly unbothered by the situation. “Umm… two?”
I stifled a laugh as I knelt down to wipe his face, not missing the way Azariel’s lips twitched. “Two? Try more like ten, you little cookie thief,” I teased, wiping away the crumbs. King gently pushed my hands away not wanting help.
Azariel chuckled. “Well, he might be a thief. But at least he’s not a tiny liar,” he said with a wink. “I’ll give you credit for honesty, son.”
Oh, God.
I couldn’t help but laugh. We’ve read so many parenting books, and I’m pretty sure none of them covered the part where you reward your kid for confessing to his crimes. Guess I missed that chapter.
King just grinned, wiping his hand on his shirt and looking up at Azariel with that same devilish charm. “I was hungry,” he said dramatically. “And kitty ate my eggs and veggies.” He sneaked a glance back at my still-asshole cat, Prince, and gave him the middle finger. Prince, of course, ignored him— just like he’s done a million times with my son’s antics.”
“That’s not nice, King.” I scolded my baby gently.
“Prince is not nice.” He pouted.
Well… what could I say to that? He’s not wrong. We’re a home of asshole. Charming.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Life with Azariel and King had a way of making every moment feel like magic. There was never a dull moment in our household. But then, King’s small voice broke through our laughter.
“I don’t want to go to school today, daddy,” he said, his brows furrowing as he crossed his arms, looking up at Azariel with that same seriousness that only a five-year-old could manage. “I hate Valentine’s Day.”
He did and with a passion. I had no clue why. I think my son is allergic to all things romantic and friendly.
Azariel’s smile faded slightly, and his eyes softened as he looked down at King. “Then you don’t have to go,” he said, his voice filled with love. “We can take mommy to Venomous instead. Just the three of us. Yeah?”
King’s face lit up at the suggestion, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. “Rides and candy? With no stupid school?”
“Yes,” Azariel said, bending down to ruffle his son’s black hair. “We’ll have a day just for us. We’ll go on the rides, have fun, and eat lots of candy.”
“Okay! I want to go there with no school!” he added with a mischievous grin.
King’s gorgeous little face suddenly lit up with a burst of excitement, as if he had just remembered something important. He turned quickly, his little feet thumping across the floor as he dashed off toward the other room.
“Where are you going, baby?” I called after him, but he was already gone, moving at a determined speed after something.
Azariel and I exchanged a curious glance, both wondering what was going on in our son’s head. A few moments later, King reappeared in the doorway, his little hands clutching something tightly. He ran back to us, his face filled with triumph and held out the base of plucked roses. Some were perfect, still fresh with morning dew, while others were a little bruised from his hasty picking.
“I got you roses, Mommy!” he said proudly, his eyes sparkling with joy. “I remembered! I picked them from the garden like you always do!” He shoved them towards me. “I hate Valentine’s Day but not you. You, I love.”
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
How could I have ever thought that love like in fairytales didn’t exist for me? How could I have been so blind? Because love, the kind I always craved, was staring back at me and existed in my husband and in my child.
My sweet boy…
I gasped softly, my heart was swelling with love at the sight of the flowers in his hands. The delicate petals, freshly picked by his tiny hands, made everything feel more special. It was such a sweet and innocent gesture, so pure, and it made my heart skip a beat. He may be a tiny tyrant, but he sure loves his mommy.
“Oh, baby,” I whispered, kneeling to take the roses from him, my fingers brushing against his tiny ones, “these are beautiful. Thank you so much. You make me so happy.”
Azariel chuckled softly, his voice filled with affection as he watched us. “That was really sweet, son.”
I looked up at him, a soft smile spreading across my face. “So very sweet,” I said, my voice full of warmth. “I’ll keep these forever and ever.”
King beamed, pleased with himself, and then with a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, “And now I’m ready to go. No school, just like daddy said!”
I hugged him close, feeling the little bundle of joy in my arms. “You are all my dreams made true, King,” I whispered into his hair. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more, mommy.”
Impossible .
Azariel shook his head in mock disbelief. “We definitely did good,” he murmured, eyes softening as he watched our son.
I smiled as King stepped back and ran away screaming that he was going to change his shirt so we could go have the best day ever.
All the while Azariel looked at him go with love and pride shining in his eyes. Azariel loved his son more than he loved me and that made me fall more in love with him. Their bond was a beautiful thing to witness. When I was pregnant with King, Azariel spent countless nights worrying about every single possible thing that could happen to his baby. He read every parenting book ever published trying to be the best possible parent for his kid.
I was in awe of him.
At one point he doubted himself but I didn’t. I knew how big Azariel’s heart was and I knew it’d only grow bigger and stronger with his son’s birth.
I was right.
He’s the best father and friend to King. My baby is blessed to have someone who was willing to make the world bleed if only it made his son happy. He still was a heartless billionaire by day and a bloodthirsty serial killer by night. He has taken countless lives and delivered justice himself when the police system failed kids who lived in hell like he once did. But to us… he was Daddy. He was my husband. The man who, despite his darkness, always found a way to come home, to love us, and to make us feel safe. To us, he was everything.
My not so heartless prince.
My dark dream in the flesh.
Always protective. Always ready to give us the world.
And he did.
My sweet venom.