Sweet Hatred
Chapter 188: Confrontation

Chapter 188: Confrontation

The car rolled through the wrought iron gates of the Roman estate thirty minutes later. As always, the place looked like wealth had thrown up all over it, pristine hedges trimmed within millimeters of perfection, marble pillars that served no purpose other than screaming excess, and security that could start a private war if my father so chose.

I got out without waiting for Niko and made my way through the east garden entrance. I knew exactly where he’d be, afternoon hours were always reserved for indulgence. His own version of a king’s court.

The outdoor lounge was bathed in gold and shadow, sunlight filtering through the tall linen-draped cabanas. Expensive teak furniture sprawled across a stone terrace lined with heat lamps, and maids moved like silent ghosts, setting down crystal flutes of a rare, limited-edition Louis XIII Black Pearl cognac. Worth over $40,000 a bottle.

And they were laughing.

My father. And another man I recognized instantly.

Mr. Stanley.

Of course.

My feet didn’t slow, but my pulse spiked with something cold. Exhaustion, maybe. Or disgust.

They hadn’t even noticed me yet, too busy exchanging some joke about land deals and foreign currencies like they were still kings and the rest of the world should be grateful to kiss their rings.

I was already tired.

Not a single word had been exchanged yet, and I was already done.

Then my father looked up.

His expression shifted immediately, all mock warmth and performative affection. "Kael," he said, standing and spreading his arms like he hadn’t just tried to sell me off like some fucking heirloom. "Come, join us. You’re just in time. Our families will be joined soon—you should get to know your future father-in-law."

Mr. Stanley chuckled. "It’s good to see you again, Kael. You’re looking more... lively than the last time we met."

I ignored the subtle dig.

I didn’t smile. Didn’t sit. Didn’t fucking blink.

"I’m not here for frivolities," I said flatly. "I need to speak with you. In private."

The smile on my father’s face didn’t falter, but the edges sharpened. Just slightly.

Mr. Stanley took a casual sip of his cognac, watching me over the rim like a man who already knew he’d won something.

"We’ll talk inside," my father said finally, voice still pleasant, but the shift in his tone was unmistakable.

I turned and walked ahead, not waiting to be led.

Because I already knew, if I didn’t cut this shit off now, they’d bury me alive in it.

And worse... they’d take her down with me.

I followed him through the arching glass doors of the estate into the side atrium, where the light cut gold through the trees, filtering against the pale cream stone like something out of a polished painting. The servants disappeared the moment we entered, ghost-like. Trained that way. Even the air felt thinner here, like the power in the walls swallowed sound.

He kept talking. About profits. Upcoming foreign assets. A new political friend. Everything he knew I didn’t care about.

And I didn’t come here to play.

I stopped walking.

"I’m not marrying Ash," I said flatly.

He paused mid-stride, then turned. The expression on his face didn’t change immediately, but I saw it. The twitch. The subtle shift in his mouth. His smile... withered into something sharper.

A smirk. Or the bare edge of a blade.

I continued. "Whatever arrangement you’ve made, whatever deal you think you’re locking in—give it to Andrew. Let him play house. I’m not interested."

I didn’t give him room to speak. I didn’t want to hear whatever lie he had lined up in that coiled mind of his.

"That’s all I came to say." I turned to leave.

"I thought you might come," he said. "I’m guessing you don’t like the future bride I chose for you."

The words floated after me like perfume laced with arsenic. My steps halted.

I turned.

He was still watching me with that same unreadable expression. I’d grown up with it. Learned not to trust it. That calm tone he used when he was deciding whether to slit someone’s throat metaphorically or politically.

"This is the last time," I told him with a deep sigh. "The last time I step foot in this place. The last time I entertain your games."

There was a pause.

And then he asked, "Is it because of her?"

That set me off.

My jaw locked. "Don’t you dare."

His eyes glinted. "The girl from the... The D’amico’s party. Your... personal assistant. What was it again? Aria? I met her once. She seems capable."

I stalked forward, just enough to kill the distance between us. "Keep her name out of your mouth."

He laughed softly. "I haven’t even touched her. Yet you sound like I have."

My hand curled into a fist. I wanted to break something. His face, preferably. He clicked his tongue turning away from him.

"You are doing this to yourself again. You think you’re in love," he went on, pouring himself a glass of the liquor he always kept hidden in the side cabinet. Not whiskey. Something older. A vintage Chartreuse V.E.P.—the kind you didn’t drink, you displayed. "But you know as well as I do, Kael, love is nothing more than leverage wrapped in flesh. I thought you learned from your rebellious days with Ivan."

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. My body felt wired.

He looked up from the glass and met my eyes. "She’s made you stupid. You think you’re protecting her, but in the end... all you’re doing is giving me her name."

My breath flared in my nose.

Then I smiled.

But it was the coldest thing I’d worn in years. "You think I’ve gotten soft, don’t you?"

He didn’t respond.

I stepped closer. Close enough to see my own reflection in his irises.

"Try touching her," I said softly. "And I’ll remind you exactly which Roman you should be afraid of."

His collar crumpled in my fist the moment the words left his mouth.

"I could have her and her tiny little family eliminated with one call."

I dragged him closer, my knuckles whitening. My voice cut lower than it ever had. "Say that again, and I’ll have every one of your allies drowned in gold. Buried in it. I’ll take your name and break it over my knee."

The glass in his hand shattered between us, amber liquor seeping down like blood from the crystal’s veins. He didn’t flinch. Neither did I.

But then for a second, just a second, he blinked. Then he chuckled like I’d told him a joke. "That’s the son I know."

I didn’t loosen my grip.

"But don’t forget," he continued, brushing glass shards off his sleeve like lint. "You’re only untouchable because I made you that way. You stand above the world on the bones I laid out for you. Don’t mistake your shadow for a throne."

I said nothing. The rage that had twisted inside me for years had gone still. Empty. Like a sea gone silent before a storm that kills everything in its path.

He went on, too smug to sense the shift. "No matter how many men you have... mine only answer to me. You can’t hide her, Kael. Don’t even think about it. I am everywhere. I don’t need to find her."

His smile darkened. "She will come to me if I desire it. Like even the tiniest speck of dust floating into God’s breath."

My pulse didn’t spike. My fury didn’t boil.

It sank.

And then... I laughed.

It started as a small sound in my throat. Then it rose, hollow, jagged, unrestrained. A sound that didn’t belong to the Kael Roman the world knew, but something older, something made in fire and sharpened under this very roof.

He stared. Unmoving. That perfect mask he wore slipping, not by much, but enough.

I let the laughter taper out, slow and venomous, before I leaned in and whispered,

"You think this is about love? About her?"

I smiled like the wolf smiles when it smells blood in the snow.

"No, Father. This is about me now. You took everything else. My youth. My spine. My fucking soul. But you should’ve killed me when I still begged for your approval. Because now—now I don’t care what I become."

The smirk drained from his face so slowly I almost didn’t catch it.

But I did.

"You’re scared," I said softly, like a lover. "You found out Andrew isn’t your blood, and now you won’t stop clinging to me like a bloody parasite. You see yourself dying in a mirror with no one left to carry your name but a son who was never yours... and another who no longer gives a fuck."

He didn’t speak. But I saw it, the minute recoil, like his spine bristled under his skin.

I tilted my head. "So tell me... what are you up to this time? Selling me off like cattle to hold onto relevance? You think a wedding will keep your kingdom from rotting beneath your feet?"

Silence. Then...

"You will marry Ash," he said. "Whether you like it or not."

I didn’t respond.

Because in that moment, I understood something.

He wasn’t trying to control me...