Sweet Hatred
Chapter 127: memories vii (Threat)

Chapter 127: memories vii (Threat)

Whispers followed me like ghosts.

Footsteps. Eyes. Questions no one dared ask out loud.

My knuckles were still blood-wet. My breathing unsteady. And Ivan... He wouldn’t look at me. Not once.

I didn’t call his name. I didn’t beg him to.

What would I even say? I’m sorry you saw what I really am?

I’m sorry I almost became my father right in front of you?

Someone grabbed my arm. A superior. I didn’t even register what he said.

Only one name echoed in my skull when he mentioned who was waiting in the office.

Ewan Roman.

By the time they opened the door and shoved me inside, the air was already suffocating.

My father sat in a chair like he owned the whole damn building, one leg crossed, arms spread on either side like this was his throne.

He didn’t even glance up at first.

Only when the door shut did he finally look at me.

His eyes flicked to my bloodstained hand.

And he smiled.That fucking smile. Like I was doing exactly what he’d raised me for.

"Well," he said casually, "you never fail to prove me right."

I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice dropping. "Tick-tock, Kael. Make your decision soon. Time’s running out."

Then his eyes glittered. "Next time... might not be an accident."

My heart stuttered in my chest. He was threatening Ivan again. Directly.

I took a step forward, fists clenching. "Why?" I croaked. My throat was raw. "Why the fuck won’t you leave me alone? Just... pretend I’m dead. Pretend I never existed."

He laughed.

Actually laughed. Like I’d told him a joke.

"Leave you?" he said, rising to his feet slowly. "Leave my perfect specimen of a son to waste away in some filthy barracks, chasing around some... pitiful plaything?"

The venom In his voice wrapped around every word like barbed wire.

My nails bit into my palm.

But he was already moving, circling me like a vulture.

"You shouldn’t have let yourself fall, Kael," he murmured at my back, like he was slipping a knife between my ribs. "That made you soft. Vulnerable."

A pause.

"And Romans aren’t built for that kind of weakness."

I wanted to rip him apart.

But I was frozen.

He passed me on the way to the door, stopping just behind me.

"Oh. And it’s your mother’s death anniversary soon, isn’t it?"

His voice dipped into something colder. "You should go visit her grave. Tell her what a disappointment you’ve become."

Then he was gone.

And I stood there. Alone. Frozen in place, blood crusting on my knuckles, my chest splintered wide open.

All I could see was Ivan’s eyes. The way he looked at me like I was a stranger. A monster.

And maybe I was. Maybe I always had been.

The room was too quiet.

Too still.

I sat there, elbows on my knees, head buried in my hands, my fingers dragging across my scalp like I could claw out the rage and shame and helplessness that curled inside my chest like smoke.

I kept hearing his voice.

"Romans aren’t built for that kind of softness."

I could feel the truth in it—and I hated it.

Hated that he was right.

That one look from Ivan—terrified and distant—had broken something in me.

And I didn’t know how to fix it.

How the fuck was I supposed to protect him...

When all I’d ever been trained to do was destroy?

The door creaked.

I didn’t move at first. My entire body tensed.

But then—

Soft footsteps.

Familiar. Measured.

Ivan.

I didn’t look up. I didn’t know if I could.

He didn’t say a word as he approached, just sat beside me—close, but not touching.

The silence between us was heavy, thick with what had just happened.

I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

I opened my mouth to say something. Maybe "I’m sorry," maybe "I’m broken," maybe "Run before I ruin you too."

But before a word could fall from my lips, his voice slipped in—gentle, quiet.

"I know," he said.

I blinked, turning my face just slightly toward him.

"I know you’re struggling," he continued. "And I know it kills you that you can’t control what’s happening around us."

He gave a small, sad smile. "Sometimes... it kills me too. That I can’t help lift that weight off your shoulders."

I closed my eyes. That smile—it didn’t belong in this dark place with me.

But he reached out, his hand curling around my jaw, thumb brushing along the rough stubble of my cheek.

"Don’t carry it all alone, Kael."

His thumb moved to my cheekbone, a feather-light stroke. "I’m not so fragile that I can’t look after myself."

He huffed a soft laugh. "It’s funny, isn’t it? A long time ago... I used to wish someone would help me end my own life."

He looked down, then back at me. "Now here I am, trying to make sure I live."

I stared at him.

"I’m not scared of your father," he said. "I’m not even scared of dying."

His eyes sparkled with something painfully real. "Somehow I always make it out. Lucky bastard, right?"

That’s when I realized I was crying.

Quiet, unannounced tears streaking down my face, soaking the edge of my collar.

My chest was tight, my ribs aching.

Ivan wiped them away with the pad of his thumb, so gentle it broke me.

I couldn’t speak.

I leaned forward and buried my face into the warm, familiar curve of his neck, breathing him in like salvation.

His arms wrapped around me without hesitation.

My hands gripped his back, trembling.

And then I pulled back, just enough to look at him—eyes swollen, heart hammering.

I kissed him.

Not softly. Not carefully.

I kissed him like I was begging him not to disappear. Like I was drowning and he was the only breath I’d ever need.

Our mouths moved hungrily, wet, open, real, and I groaned into him, my hands cradling his face like I’d break if I let go.

He kissed me back just as desperately, tongue stroking mine, and the world blurred around us.

Only him. Only this. Only now. And maybe for a moment... that was enough.

A week later,

I couldn’t sleep.

The ceiling above me blurred, pale and distant, and all I could think about was how quiet it was.

Too quiet.

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