Sweet Hatred
Chapter 201: Meeting

Chapter 201: Meeting

I sent my live location to Sarah with a quick in case I die and walked into the goddamn venue.

It was disgustingly fancy. A five-star suite that probably cost more per hour than I made in a month. Everything smelled like rich people perfume and lavender oil diffusers. There were candles. God help me, candles.

A soft-spoken hostess asked for my name. I gave it. She led me through tall glass doors to a sleek conference room already half-filled with well-dressed executives. About four of them. Men and women in suits that looked custom-tailored, laughter polished, smiles well-rehearsed.

I kept my head high. Took the seat at the far end.

And immediately texted Sarah:

_I hate everyone here. Especially myself._

Then I put my phone away, smoothed my skirt, and tried not to chew on the inside of my cheek.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

And then the doors opened again.

Ash walked in like she owned the fucking planet.

She wore different clothes from earlier to a silky pale blue suit set, probably vintage Chanel or some other trust fund bullshit... with an itty bitty designer bag slung on her wrist like it weighed nothing. Her shoes clicked softly across the floor as she smiled at everyone with perfectly glossed lips and casual elegance.

She didn’t even look at me right away.

Of course not.

She took her sweet time.

And I just sat there, back straight, face unreadable, wishing for once I had a glass of wine and not just this rotting sense of dread in my chest.

Let the games begin.

Ash didn’t waste time.

She didn’t even sit.

Just strode to the front of the room, took center stage with her eyes already scanning the table like she was sizing each one of them up for the grave.

Her voice was smooth when she spoke. Confident. Like poison laced with ice.

"Before we begin," she said, "I’d like to introduce someone."

My stomach coiled instinctively.

"This," Ash continued, placing a perfectly manicured hand on the back of my chair, "is Aria Thorne. She’s new to some of you, but not to me. She’s my fiancé’s executive assistant and we met a few days ago."

I straightened, feeling every set of eyes shift toward me like knives.

"She’s not just here as a guest. I invited her to be part of the planning committee. She’ll have full access, full clearance. Why?" Ash smiled too brightly, too sharp. "Because I like how her mind works. Calculated with a hint of dangerous. She’s got that edge."

What.

The.

Fuck?

How did she even arrive at that?

I blinked at her, schooling my face into something neutral. Professional. Not what the hell are you talking about?

I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust any of this.

But the tone in her voice wasn’t sarcastic. She wasn’t mocking me. And everyone else at the table nodded, accepting it like it was gospel.

So this wasn’t a trap.

Not yet, anyway.

Ash turned away and finally slid into her seat, legs crossed, tablet in hand, all business now. "Let’s begin."

She tapped something. A presentation lit up across the far wall, no title. Just a flickering black screen with a faint golden ring pulsing at the center.

"Nox Aeterna," she began, "Latin for eternal night. That’s the name of this year’s gala."

No one interrupted. Hell, I didn’t even breathe.

"It’ll be a masquerade. But not just that. It’s a highly restricted gala hosted under the guise of charity—an exclusive evening for the world’s most influential power players."

The black screen shifted to deep crimson.

"Behind its glamour lies something else. A covert unveiling. A piece of technology developed under a private collaboration between my father and Ewan Roman."

Kael’s father.

Of course.

I tensed slightly, but no one looked at me.

Ash continued, voice calm, low, oddly soothing. Like a woman giving last rites.

"The gala will act as a convergence point for influence. The rich. The dangerous. The untouchable. They’ll come masked, under the illusion of anonymity. But we’ll know exactly who each one is."

The screen split Into four: black, crimson, sapphire, and gold.

"These are the roles. Guests will be assigned colors based on their value and their purpose. Every detail—scent, music, even lighting—will be crafted to disarm and seduce. And no one will leave unchanged."

Ash tapped her nails once on the table, a signal that the presentation hadn’t even reach anywhere. "At Nox Aeterna, nothing is worn by accident—not even a mask."

I lifted my eyes from the tablet in front of me as she continued.

"Each guest’s mask is color-coded. It silently declares their role, their influence, and their access. The hierarchy isn’t just symbolic—it controls movement, perception, and power. Most of them won’t even realize how controlled they are until it’s too late."

She stood, the air in the room seeming to tighten around her presence as she paced to the far end of the screen. "Black masks," she began, her voice cool, "represent the unknown. These guests are untested, controversial, or deliberately obscured. Newly invited or intentionally kept at a distance. Dangerous. Expendable. Heavily monitored. We use them as pawns, distractions, or just entertainment."

There was no apology in her tone. No cruelty either. Just cold purpose.

"Sapphire masks," she said, shifting slightly to face the group, "are trusted allies. Benefactors. The polished elite who’ve already bought in. Investors, high-ranking sponsors, corporate faces. They’re given curated experiences, exclusive lounges, and access based on their value. But they’re still... pawns. Beautifully dressed ones."

Her gaze flicked to me for a half second before moving on.

"Crimson masks," she went on, voice dipping low, "represent power laced with risk. Politicians. Crime lords. People who’ve bled or made others bleed. They’re allowed into the deepest corners of the night because we need their chaos as much as their coin. But make no mistake, crimson stains."

The silence that followed was taut, charged. No one even coughed.

"And gold," she said, eyes gleaming now, "gold is for the untouchable. The architects. The ones who don’t follow the rules because they are the rules. When a gold mask walks into a room, everyone else lowers their gaze—or they disappear."

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