She was never meant to love an angel. He was never meant to feel at all.
When Livia James crosses paths with Azariel—a celestial being with storm-gray eyes and a past no archive dares record—her world fractures. What begins as a strange and silent pull quickly unravels into a love powerful enough to threaten heaven itself.
But love comes with consequences.
As Livia discovers the truth about her own soul and the ancient spark she unknowingly carries, she is swept into a war between free will and divine order. Beside her stands Azariel, a once-immortal guardian torn between his duty and a love that rewrites everything he believed sacred.
And in the shadows, Seriel watches—an angel of loyalty and longing, whose heart may be the most dangerous of all.
They broke the rules. Heaven will make them pay.
With lyrical prose, unforgettable characters, and a romance that defies fate itself, The Angel Who Broke the Rules is a story of love, loss, and the price of choosing your own destiny.
Some loves are written in the stars.
Theirs was written in fire.
The book is ranked 4.8 on Amazon and 4.64 on Goodreads
PROLOGUE — Before the Fall
In Heaven, there are no clocks, no ticking seconds that mark the inexorable passage of time. There are no rising suns to herald the dawn or melting dusks that signal the end of day. Time does not march forward; it hums, dances, and stretches endlessly in all directions. Here, souls do not age; they shimmer like the stars, timeless in their essence, eternally remembering their previous existence.
Azariel stood at the Edge of Thought, the last threshold before the mortal dimension, where silence was profound enough to cradle entire galaxies. His wings, luminous and ethereal, were still folded tightly against his back. He had not moved for what may have been a hundred years—or perhaps just a fleeting breath in the endless void of eternity.
Below him, Earth rotated slowly, almost tenderly, in its cosmic ballet. He watched as cities pulsed with life, flickering like fireflies in the warm embrace of night. A child was being born in Marrakech, the cries of life mingling with awe. A soldier lay dying in Kyiv, his hopes extinguishing alongside the last shards of breath. Somewhere, someone whispered a prayer, their voice barely a murmur—a lamentation for beliefs long abandoned.
Azariel had heard a billion prayers whispering into the abyss over his long existence. Most of them faded into oblivion, forgotten by the very lips that had once spoken them.
“Still watching?” came a voice behind him, warm and dry, edged with a subtle sharpness that was unmistakably familiar.
He didn’t turn; he knew that voice all too well.
