Sweet Hatred
Chapter 155: Heir games

Chapter 155: Heir games

KAEL

Through the narrow crack in the doorway, I saw her.

Aria. Curled into Sarah like she belonged there. Like all her jagged edges had been soothed smooth in the warmth of her best friend’s arms. Her body, tense and guarded all day, had just... melted. I could see it in the way her fingers clutched Sarah’s sleeve. In the way her eyes closed, like she was finally letting herself breathe.

And I stood there like a fucking ghost.

Watching her belong to someone else in a way I didn’t know how to reach.

Something twisted inside me, ugly, bitter, familiar. Jealousy, yes. But deeper than that. A loneliness I couldn’t name without choking on it. Sarah knew how to hold her, to comfort her. She knew how to be soft in all the right ways. I didn’t. I never had.

Not with my mother. Not with Ivan. Not with anyone.

I’d always been the distraction. The money. The promise of elsewhere. And Aria... she didn’t need elsewhere right now. She needed here. She needed someone who could sit in the silence with her and not flinch from the weight of her pain.

And I wasn’t that man.

So I did what I was good at. I walked away.

....

The Roman estate was gaudy in the way only old money could be. Stone pillars, marbled floors, imported chandeliers hanging like frostbite from the ceilings. I hated it the moment I stepped inside.

Sabrina’s laugh rang out from the drawing room, too loud, too sharp. Andrew was lounging in one of those ridiculous leather armchairs, drink in hand, talking to some Wall Street parasite I vaguely recognized. They were flaunting their wealth like it was perfume. Heavy. Overbearing.

Andrew spotted me first. His smile curled like a paper cut.

"Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence."

Sabrina’s voice followed, sugary-sweet and venom-laced. "Kael, darling. I thought we lost you to your little skyscraper in the clouds."

I didn’t bother responding to their bait. "Where’s my father?"

Andrew rose to his feet with exaggerated warmth, walking toward me like we were brothers who shared blood instead of disdain. "Come on, Kael. Don’t be like that. Stay a little. You should spend more time with the family."

I stepped in closer, close enough to smell the whiskey on his breath. "Drop the act, Andrew."

His smile twitched.

"I can see the bloodlust in your eyes," I said low, my voice cutting through the music and the fake laughter. "You’ve been waiting for him to toss me aside since the day I walked into that boardroom."

His face didn’t change, but something in his eyes flickered.

"Relax," I said coldly. "You’ll get your crown. He’s never going to hand it to me. I’m just the attack dog. The bastard child. You’re the golden boy."

Andrew chuckled, a sound that held a thousand knives. "I’m not worried about the company, Kael."

He leaned in, lowering his voice.

"I’m worried about you. You’ve been... reckless lately. Emotional. That’s not like you. Must be someone’s influence."

He didn’t say her name. He didn’t have to.

I stared at him, sharp and still. "You should worry about your own addiction before you start diagnosing mine."

His jaw clenched, just barely.

I walked past him without another word, letting him stew, letting him fantasize about power.

I wasn’t here to play heir games.

I was here to see the man who held all our leashes and decide if it was time to cut the cord.

The further I walked into the estate, the heavier it felt.

Like the walls were breathing in memories I’d spent years trying to forget, memories that clung to the air like smoke. The polished floors echoed with the ghosts of a boy who never belonged here. A boy who used to flinch at every door creak, who used to hold his breath when voices got too loud downstairs. A boy who only knew warmth through one fragile, flickering source, his mother.

And even she was taken from me too soon.

I still remembered the way her body was reeled out. Cold. Bagged. Silent. I’d stood on the landing, barely sixteen, watching everything I had left being zipped into a plastic shell like it meant nothing. Like she meant nothing.

I hadn’t slept well since.

Not until Aria.

Not until her quiet breathing beside me started filling the void my nightmares left behind.

But she wasn’t beside me now.

And the nightmares were inching closer again.

I stopped in front of my father’s study. Two guards stood like stone, arms folded, eyes empty.

I reached for the door.

One of them stepped forward. "The chairman isn’t inside at the moment, sir. He’s requested not to be disturbed."

I didn’t say a word. Just tilted my head a fraction, letting my eyes do the talking.

Try me.

The man hesitated. Then backed away with a slight nod, his hands folding behind him like I hadn’t just threatened to burn the whole estate down with a look.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was colder than I remembered. Not in temperature but in presence. The place was a shrine to control. Every paper stacked with surgical precision, not a single object out of place. Books lined the walls, all curated to scream power and legacy. There was no trace of a life lived here. Only a legacy preserved.

I walked slowly, letting my fingers trail across the mahogany desk. The scent of aged wood and cigar smoke still clung to the air. On one shelf, an old bronze bust of some Roman general sat, his hollow eyes staring out like my father’s always did. Unmoving. Unblinking. Uncaring.

Everything in this room was curated to intimidate. To impress. To remind you who held the knife to your throat. But one thing was wrong. A painting. It was off. Slightly tilted. Barely noticeable to someone unfamiliar but I knew this room. I knew him. Nothing was ever left out of place.

I stepped closer, grabbed the frame, and pulled. A click. Behind it, a vault door. Unlocked. He never left things unlocked. A slow pulse throbbed at the back of my neck as I pulled the door open.

Inside, there were a few neatly arranged envelopes. Paper, thin and harmless-looking but my gut was already screaming. I reached for the one with no label. It felt heavier than it should. I opened it. Three hospital logos stared back at me, each printed at the top of separate sheets.

One of them was the hospital where Aria’s mother was being treated. The second, one I vaguely recognized from the blood donation program XE Corp supported.

The third... private. Expensive. One used for discreet genetic testing. I unfolded the last paper. DNA test results.