Sweet Hatred
Chapter 159: Time of Death

Chapter 159: Time of Death

KAEL

She left with those words clinging to the air like fog. "Don’t die before me."

She didn’t say she missed me. But her silence screamed it.

And God, I wanted to go after her. I wanted to grab her, hold her, tell her I’d been coming every night like a fucking ghost just to see her from afar because I didn’t know if she wanted me close anymore.

But I didn’t move. I stood there under the weak, flickering light of the hallway, watching the place where she disappeared.

Her words haunted me.

I thought she didn’t need me. Not anymore.

She had Sarah. Olivia. Kaleb. The warmth of family wrapped around her like a shield, and I was the outsider. The man who made her cry too many times.

But the tremble in her voice, the way her eyes flickered with something unsaid, it told a different story.

So I stayed.

I didn’t leave.

I stood at the end of the corridor, leaning against the wall like a coward caught between wanting to run to her and feeling like I didn’t deserve to. I watched as Sarah left, bowing awkwardly as she walked past and Aria was left alone in that room again.

And then I heard it.

A sound that cracked something deep inside me. Her voice. Choked. Panicked.

Then footsteps. Rushing.

Doctors. Nurses. A nurse’s voice echoing into the hallway like a bell tolling—

"Code blue—room 312."

Aria’s mother’s room.

No.

No.

I was already moving before I even realized it. I stopped in the shadows by the door, and I saw it all.

Aria, frozen as the doctor leaned over her mother. The beeping had stopped. That flat line stretched like a curse across the heart monitor.

"...time of death—2:47 a.m."

Aria didn’t cry at first. She didn’t scream.

She just stood there, whispering her mom’s name in disbelief, like saying it enough times would undo what just happened.

And then it hit her.

Her knees buckled and she crumpled beside the bed, sobs finally escaping her throat, but they were broken, like she couldn’t even breathe properly.

The nurses rushed toward her, trying to calm her down, but she kept saying, "No, no, she’s just sleeping—please—please—"

I couldn’t watch from the sidelines anymore.

"Leave her."

My voice was low, rough. The kind that came from somewhere buried. The nurses looked up, startled, but stepped away.

I crossed the room in two strides and knelt behind her, wrapping my arms around her shaking body. She didn’t turn, but she leaned back the moment my arms closed around her, like some part of her was just waiting for me to come.

My coat fell around her like a blanket, swallowing her up.

"Breathe, Aria," I whispered, pressing my mouth to her temple, stroking her hair slowly. "Just breathe. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby."

She let out a cracked sob but obeyed, trying to match her breathing to mine as I guided her through it, whispering her name like a prayer.

She turned at last, eyes glassy, face pale and wet with tears. And when I looked into her, I saw it. Grief. So raw and loud it made my chest hurt.

She clung to me. And I held her tighter.

And then... she went still. Like something inside her had slipped away with her mother.

"Aria?" I whispered.

No response. Just silence.

Panic clawed at me again. I slid one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted her gently.

"Get me a private room," I barked to the nearest nurse, my voice shaking with restrained urgency.

She nodded quickly, and I followed her down the hall, cradling Aria against me. She was light. Too light. And so quiet.

Like a ghost herself.

I sat down on the bed once they opened the private room and laid her in my lap, brushing strands of hair from her damp face. Her lashes fluttered but didn’t open.

I stayed like that. Holding her. Wishing like hell I could carry this pain for her. But I couldn’t. All I could do was stay. And I wasn’t leaving again.

***

She didn’t stir in my arms. Not even when I sat down on the edge of the bed with her still cradled to my chest.

The nurse adjusted the IV drip and gave me a look like she wanted to say something, maybe tell me to put her down properly, or that I couldn’t stay, but one glare from me and she left.

Once we were alone, I glanced down at Aria’s face. So still. So quiet. I leaned forward and kissed her temple.

"I’m not going anywhere," I murmured.

The bed was small, but I didn’t care. I shifted carefully, laying back with her on top of me, her head tucked under my chin, my arms locked around her like she’d disappear if I let go.

I felt the slight hitch in her breath when I pulled the blanket over us. Still not fully asleep. But she didn’t speak.

I didn’t either. I just stroked her back, again and again, like a heartbeat. My fingers threaded through her hair, my chin resting on the crown of her head.

She clutched my shirt in her sleep. I felt the heat of her breath against my skin. I’d never let her be alone again.

Not as long as I was breathing.

I didn’t know how much time passed. Minutes. Hours. I held her a little closer as the nurse came over, carefully slipping the needle out of her arm and pressing a gauze pad to the spot, like it was the softest thing in the world, then peeled the tape away and took everything with her, leaving nothing but a tiny bandage and the warmth of her still against me.

I drifted in and out, but every time I blinked back to life, I was holding her. And she was still there.

At some point, I felt her stir. Just a little. Her fingers twitched against my chest like she was waking from something heavy, like a nightmare she couldn’t escape.

And then I heard it, so soft, it nearly broke me.

"...Kael?"

I blinked hard and looked down at her. "I’m here."

She didn’t move, but her fingers curled into the fabric of my shirt. Her voice was a rasp, barely audible. "You stayed?"

"I never left." My voice cracked. "I couldn’t."

She let out a breath that wasn’t quite a sob but wasn’t peace either. More like everything in between. "I thought I was dreaming..."

I pulled her impossibly closer, like I could melt her into me if I tried hard enough. "You’re not. I’m right here. I’ll always be here, Aria."

Her lips trembled against my collarbone, and her body finally gave in, curling into mine in a way that shattered me. A raw, aching noise from somewhere deep inside her chest.

I woke up with her still in my arms though I barely slept myself.

The light leaking through the window was dull, grey, the kind of morning that felt like mourning itself.

Aria hadn’t moved all night. She barely even breathed in her sleep, like her body didn’t know how to function without pain. I kept her wrapped up in me, arms tight around her waist, her face buried in my chest. Every so often, her lashes would flutter, and her fingers would twitch, like she was still somewhere between sleep and that moment in the ward when her world cracked in half.

Then she stirred.

A small shift.

A tired breath.

And then she tried to sit up.

"Easy," I said, my voice rough as I reached to steady her. But she swayed too fast, and I caught her just before she tipped over the edge of the bed.

"Aria—"

"I have to go," she murmured, breathless and shaking. "I can hear her crying. Olivia. She’s crying by herself."

Her voice was a raw scrape, and I wanted to tell her you can’t pour from an empty cup, but I knew better than to argue, not yet. Not when her heart was breaking wide open.

So I walked with her, slow and quiet down the hallway.

And there she was.

Olivia.

Crumpled in a chair, Michael beside her. Her face buried in her hands, her shoulders trembling. She looked so small, too small for grief that heavy.

When she looked up and saw Aria, she didn’t hesitate.

"Is it true?" she choked out, her voice brittle.

Aria just nodded. "I’m sorry," she whispered.

And Olivia ran.

Straight into her sister’s arms.

She collapsed into Aria like it was the only place she was safe, sobbing into her shoulder, clinging to her like the world might fall apart if she let go.

I watched them. Just... watched.

And my chest ached in ways I didn’t know it could.

A doctor approached quietly. "Miss Thorne," he said gently. "Perhaps it’s best if you go home to rest, just for a few hours. You’ve been here almost a week. We’ll begin preparations soon—"

"I’m not leaving," Aria cut in, her voice sharp even through the tremor. "I’ll handle everything. I need to."

I stepped closer. "You should rest. Just for a bit. You look like you’re about to—"

"Stop," she said, backing away from me slightly. "Don’t look at me like that. Don’t talk to me like I matter that much to you. You don’t have to keep helping me, Kael. We both know what this is... what we are."

My jaw tightened. I didn’t even know how to respond. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That she wasn’t just something, not anymore. But my throat was a graveyard of words I couldn’t dig up.

She looked away first.

"I need to be with Olivia," she said. "She’s terrible at handling this kind of thing."

"I’m not a baby anymore, Aria." Olivia’s voice came from behind her, soft but steady. "You’ve been here the whole week. You haven’t gone home once. You fainted yesterday and you still won’t stop."

"I’m fine—"

"You’re not." Olivia stepped forward, gripping my hand, eyes pleading. "Please take her home. She won’t listen to me, but maybe she’ll listen to you."

I looked at Aria. "You heard her," I said gently. "You don’t need to shoulder everything alone. Let me help. I’m not going anywhere. Whether you like it or not."

She tried to walk past me. Stubborn as hell.

So I caught her.

I didn’t even give her a chance to fight.

I lifted her into my arms.

And she didn’t resist.

She just went still, quiet and limp against my chest, like she’d finally run out of ways to argue with the world.

"I hate you sometimes," she whispered into my shirt, voice hoarse.

"I know," I murmured, kissing the top of her head. "But I’m still not letting go."

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