Sweet Hatred
Chapter 32: A simple dog tag.

Chapter 32: A simple dog tag.

I pocketed my phone, letting out a slow breath. "Tell Mia to clear my schedule for the day," I said, my voice smooth but firm. "I don’t feel like working."

I walked round the car to the driver’s seat with my hands stretched towards Niko. "Keys."

Niko nodded once. "Where to sir?"

I pulled open the driver’s side door, sliding into the seat. "My apartment."

And without another word, I started the car, the low growl of the engine the only sound as I pulled out of the garage and into the cold, gray morning.

The keycard barely made a sound as I slid it through the lock. A second later, the door clicked open, and I stepped inside.

The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet.

The city’s skyline stretched beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, a canvas of steel and neon against the morning haze. I shrugged off my jacket, draping it over the arm of the leather couch as I made my way to the bar.

I reached for the crystal decanter without thinking. The Dalmore 62. The kind of drink that shouldn’t be wasted on impulse, yet here I was, pouring two fingers into a glass like it was nothing.

I didn’t bother with ice.

The first sip burned—smooth, rich, but with an edge that cut through the lingering frustration curling in my chest. I let it settle on my tongue before swallowing, rolling my shoulders back as I leaned against the counter.

My father’s wife’s birthday party.

Las Vegas.

And my father demanding my presence.

I exhaled through my nose, a slow smirk tugging at my lips. Interesting.

He never summoned me for these things unless there was something to gain. I had no doubt Andrew would be playing the golden boy, smiling, shaking hands, spinning the perfect image of the Roman family’s future.

The Dalmore went down smooth, but the burn that followed wasn’t enough.

I tipped my head back, letting the liquor sit on my tongue before swallowing, my gaze fixed on the city sprawling beneath me. It was still early—too early for the streets to be alive, but even now, the world moved. Indifferent. Unbothered.

I envied it.

Another sip.

The silence in the penthouse stretched, thick and suffocating. But it wasn’t real silence, was it? It never was.

Not with the ghosts still whispering in the corners of my mind.

My fingers tightened around the glass, the weight of the alcohol heavy on my tongue.

Hatred. I’d been hollow for so long that I barely remembered what it was like to be anything else. The only thing I felt now was the burn of hatred—the only thing that ever made me feel alive.

It was the only thing that tethered me to existence now. The only thing that made my heart remember how to beat.

I exhaled sharply and turned away from the window, setting my glass down with a quiet clink on the marble counter. My hands reached for the drawer beneath the bar before I could stop myself, muscle memory guiding me through motions I had long since abandoned.

The cool metal was familiar against my fingertips, rough in some places where time had worn it down.

I pulled the chain from the drawer, letting it dangle between my fingers.

A simple dog tag.

Ivan.

The name was still etched into the surface, untouched by time, by blood, by grief. It held more weight than anything else I owned My chest rose and fell slowly, but there was no pressure to it. No feeling.

I ran my thumb over the letters, slow, deliberate.

Nothing.

The emptiness had been there for so long, carved into me the moment I lost the only thing that had ever mattered. And now?

Now, I wasn’t sure if there was anything left of me outside of the hatred that kept me standing.

My fingers curled around the tag, my grip tightening.

I had once known warmth. Once known what it felt like to have something worth protecting. Someone I realized too late that I had hurt too much. And I never even got to tell him how sorry I was.

Now all I had was this. A name. A distant memory. And a hollow existence that refused to let me rest. I closed my eyes, exhaling through my nose.

The image of him standing before me, trembling slightly in anger as he spoke harshly. Who knew that would be the last time I’d ever get to see him. The anger—the hatred was the last thing we shared and the only thing I could cling to.

And then, without a word, I shoved the tag back into the drawer, reached for the bottle, and poured myself another drink.

Because feeling nothing was better than remembering.

The taste of the Dalmore slid down my throat, warm but empty, doing nothing to fill the hollow space stretching wider inside me.

I let out a slow breath, leaning forward, forearms braced against my knees. The corner of my eyes caught the stream of sunlight that slowly bled into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I reached into my pocket. The smooth metal of my cigar case met my fingers, and I pulled it out, flipping it open with an ease born from habit. A single Cohiba remained. I took it between my lips, the familiar weight settling in as I struck the lighter and brought the flame to the tip. The paper caught instantly, the rich scent of tobacco mixing with the lingering notes of whiskey in the air.

The first Inhale was slow. Deep.

I exhaled, watching the thick tendrils of smoke dissipate into the air, only to be replaced by something else.

A face.

Wild, furious eyes. A sharp sting across my cheek.

Aria.

The memory came uninvited—the night she stormed up to me, unafraid, and struck me across the face without hesitation. Her voice had been like a blade, sharp and venomous, laced with a fury I hadn’t seen in almost forever.

Not since—him at least.

The resemblance was uncanny.

The way her anger burned, unfiltered and raw, was the closest thing I had seen to his since the day I lost him. The fire, the defiance, the utter lack of hesitation when she came for me as if she had nothing to lose.

It had been Infuriating. Fascinating.

For a moment, I had almost wanted to push her further. To see just how deep that fire ran. To see if she could be dangerous the way he had been.

But I knew better.

Ivan was gone. And Aria? She was just another person who hated me.

I took another long drag, letting the smoke sit in my lungs before releasing it in a slow exhale.

It didn’t matter.

Hatred was nothing new to me. It was the only thing that had ever stayed. The only thing that never left.

I flicked the ash into a tray, tilting my head slightly as I stared at the city beyond the glass.

Aria had that look in her eyes. The same one Ivan used to have.

And maybe... just maybe... that was why I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I took another sip of my drink.

And then another.

Because thinking about her too much was dangerous.

And I’d already lost too much.

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