Sweet Hatred
Chapter 153: Blur pt 2

Chapter 153: Blur pt 2

I left them there—Olivia sobbing, Aria trembling, the sterile hall too fucking cold. My shoes echoed as I walked toward the ICU wing where the oncologist was waiting.

Every step I took felt heavier than the last.

Because the storm in Aria’s eyes hadn’t passed.

It was just beginning.

Dr. Liem was already waiting outside the ICU doors, tablet in hand, expression unreadable.

I hated unreadable.

"Mr. Roman," she greeted me with a curt nod, leading me toward a quiet corner by the consultation room. "Thank you for coming. I assume you’ve been briefed on the emergency?"

"Only the basics," I said coldly. "I need everything. Now."

She inhaled sharply. "The situation is... bad. Frankly, worse than we expected."

I said nothing. My arms crossed, heart cold.

"She had a surgery just months ago for localized gastric cancer, but what we’ve found now—" Her lips pressed thin as she turned the tablet toward me. Scans. Black and white images filled with shadows and sharp contrast.

"She came in vomiting blood. That usually indicates internal bleeding, and when we ran the full-body PET scan, we found metastases. Liver. Lungs. Bone. Possibly brain."

Fuck.

Every muscle in my jaw clenched.

"She’s deteriorating fast. We’re placing her under palliative care. A second surgery is extremely high-risk and unlikely to prolong her life. The damage is extensive. Our priority now is comfort, not cure."

"So you’re saying..." My voice was ice. Sharp and low.

"She’s dying," Dr. Liem said softly. "It could be days. Weeks at most."

The words didn’t hit me the way they should’ve. Not like they would’ve hit Aria. She was about to lose her mother. Her anchor.

And I couldn’t stop it.

Not with money. Not with power. Not with all the fury burning inside my chest.

I nodded once, tight and slow. "Keep her comfortable. Spare no cost."

"Yes, Mr. Roman."

"And... don’t tell Aria yet." My throat tightened. "Not until I do."

She gave a solemn nod and I walked out of that room with hell bubbling in my blood.

And a single thought screaming through the storm in my head:

How the fuck do I tell the woman I love that her mother is dying?

I found them just outside the ICU hall, huddled on one of those cold plastic benches hospitals love to put in places meant to break people.

Olivia was now curled again into her Michael’s chest, her sobs still thick and guttural, like her lungs were trying to claw their way out of her throat.

Aria stood a few feet away, hugging herself, trembling like a wire on the verge of snapping.

Her eyes found me the second I stepped into view. She walked straight to me, slow, heavy, like every step was weighted in lead and stopped just short of my chest.

"Olivia can’t—" her voice cracked, "she can’t even talk. She just keeps crying."

I nodded. My hand almost reached for hers, but I let it fall back to my side.

She looked up at me. Those beautiful, ruined eyes. "Kael... what did they say?"

I hesitated.

I fucking froze.

How do you tell someone the world is ending?

Her fingers gripped my forearm. "Please. Don’t protect me. Spill it."

God. Her voice. It was... Soft. Sharp. Terrified. I exhaled hard, jaw clenching. "It’s everywhere."

She blinked. "What?"

"The cancer. It’s... spread. Liver, lungs, bones. They think the brain too. Surgery is too risky, and chemo won’t do much anymore. They’re moving her into palliative care."

She didn’t cry. Not at first. Her face just... went still. Like someone unplugged her soul and everything shut off.

"I’m sorry," I whispered.

Nothing.

I stepped closer, finally putting my hands on her shoulders. "I’m sorry, Aria."

She looked away, eyes glassy. Her lips trembled. "I—I was just with her last week... she was laughing."

"I know," I said, pulling her into me. "I know."

And when her body finally gave in and she collapsed against me, silent and shaking, I held her tighter like I could fuse her back together just by pressing my heartbeat to hers.

But nothing I did could erase the reality we were standing in.

Her mother was dying.

And all I could do... was hold her through the fall.

About thirty minutes later, I watched her disappear into the room, Olivia right behind her, both of them folding into their mother’s bedside like children still needing their mom to tell them everything would be okay.

But it wouldn’t be. Not this time. I stayed in the hallway.

Aria needed space. She needed to breathe in her mother’s scent, to kiss her papery skin, to remember what warmth still felt like before it left her completely. She needed to hold that fragile hand, even if it trembled.

And I...

I needed air.

But the hospital reeked of old ghosts and sterile regret. That bleach-and-blood scent sank into my bones too easily, dragging memories I had no control over.

My mother’s lifeless body on a metal slab, her eyes sewn shut.

The silence after Ivan’s death, the way I couldn’t move for days—sedated, monitored, stripped of everything except the pulse that refused to stop.

And now Aria was in that same space. Losing. Breaking. Spiraling.

How was she coping? How was she still standing?

I sat down on one of the lobby couches, elbows on my knees, staring at the marble floor like it might tell me what the hell to do. I’d pulled every string I had to get her mom the best care money could buy. I’d flown her here. Stayed beside her. Caught her tears on my skin and didn’t say a damn word.

But it wasn’t enough.

Wasn’t enough to keep death away. Wasn’t enough to fix this.

I clenched my jaw, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to shove the weight back down when movement caught the corner of my eye.

A tall man in a charcoal suit. Polished shoes. Familiar arrogance in every step.

My spine stiffened.

Ewan Roman.

My father.

He stood at the nurses’ station, casually speaking with one of the hospital execs. My stomach twisted.

What the fuck was he doing here?

I stood slowly, every muscle in my body coiling tight.

Because if he was here to pull strings or plant seeds in a moment this sacred and devastating, I would burn the entire ward down before letting him near her.

I didn’t waste time walking over. My feet carried me before I had the chance to reconsider.

He was standing like he owned the damn place, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other gesturing as he chuckled softly at something the hospital exec had said. Fake charm, glossy eyes, teeth too white for someone so fucking rotten.

"Should I ask what you’re up to this time?" I said, voice low, firm, cutting through the sterile air like a blade.

Ewan Roman turned, and for a second, his eyes flickered with amusement—like a lion caught mid-stretch.

"Why, can’t an old man check on his health in peace?" he asked with mock surprise. "You wound me, Kael."

"Cut the bullshit," I muttered, jaw already clenching.

His smile didn’t falter. "You see me too much as a monster, son."

"And you’re not?"

He laughed. Actually laughed.

The hospital officer looked visibly uncomfortable, muttered an excuse, and left—probably sensing the storm building.

"How’s the girl’s mother?" he asked smoothly, glancing toward the hallway like he could see through walls and into our pain. "Terrible thing, cancer. Eats you from the inside out."

My hand itched. "If you try anything—if you so much as breathe in her direction—I will bury you with a smile on my face. And I won’t need a goddamn shovel."

His brows lifted, but that cool, condescending grin stayed put. "Relax, Kael. You get agitated too easily. It’s not healthy. You should try yoga."

He reached out—tried to pat my shoulder like we were sharing father-son wisdom over lunch.

I slapped his hand away so hard it echoed.

A tense silence passed.

He exhaled slowly, then turned, steps calm and measured. But he paused at the glass doors.

"It’s starting to rain again," he said, not looking back. "You should go visit your mother’s grave. She hated being alone."

And just like that, he vanished down the corridor, his words lingering like smoke I couldn’t cough out.

I stood there, fuming, my fists tight at my sides.

Ewan never did anything without purpose.

If he was here... something was coming.

And I had to figure out what before he made his next move.