heartbreak syndicate ❀ zauren

PROLOGUE.

Knocks invaded his deep concentration, ripping his focus away from what he was doing.

Tyrion Alister, famous author and witty professor, peered away from the desktop and towards the door. The knocking persisted, growing louder with each thud. He considered playing awol. Perhaps it was a student of his that needed help understanding a complex literary device they should have learned in high school. Or perhaps it was another professor that needed assistance with a class. Either way, Tyrion felt like answering to no one.

So, he returned his attention to the computer and typed away on the keyboard with his stubby fingers. The ruckus outside became mute. But it was short lived when his phone rang next to him.

Tyrion's eyes widened. Bloody hell.

A voice erupted from the other side of the university office that doubled as his second home.

"Tyrion, I know you're in there." The doorknob violently jiggled against the dark wooden frame. "Open the door."

When the ringing stopped, but the knocking resumed, Tyrion had no choice and jumped down from his chair. He hobbled to the door, unlocking the latch with a quick twist.

"Come in," he deadpanned, returning to his desk when the door swung open, narrowly missing a sharp graze against his head of dirty blond hair.

A handsome man with a bulky jawline and a short blond quiff strode in. He was tall, a little over six feet and was smartly clad in a navy pinstriped suit.

"Jamie," greeted Tyrion, lacking sincerity and overall happiness in his monotone expression.

Jamie chuckled at the lacklustre, then shut the door behind him. He found a couch stacked with books, undoing the button of his suit jacket before sitting.

"You haven't been accepting the invites to our banquets. Cersei is quite upset with you," Jamie spoke, voice crisp yet playful.

Tyrion rolled his eyes. "You and I both know that is nothing but fabrication. Cersei is always greatly upset with me, which is why I don't attend banquets." A devilish smirk situated itself between his dimples.

Jaime barked to a laugh, head thrown back. "Well, she wants me to give you her congratulations. Five weeks as the number one bestseller is commendable." He applauded.

Smart and clever, Tyrion saw through the transparent act. Cersei would never congratulate him over anything. It wasn't in her nature.

"I'm not some sort of fool, Jamie. Tell me why you're truly here." He swept his eyes across the office, landing on the tall man, then back the work on the computer screen.

Jamie cleared his throat, unsure how or where to begin. He was never exceptionally good at sending messages.

"The whole world knows you're the best when it comes to heartbreak, but Cersei wants to know if you can alter your style."

Tyrion stopped to think, eyebrows knotting tightly above his button nose. "What does she mean?"

"Don't write about heartbreak, or if you are, write a story with a happy ending," Jamie further elaborated.

"I'm not going to romanticize heartache for the sake of challenging myself." Tyrion was against the idea on trying something new. What if the wrong message was sent to his readers?

"Well..." Jamie paused, collecting his thoughts. "Why not write something where people overcome that and become happy again."

Afraid that was going to be suggested one day, bitterness wove heavily across Tyrion's face.