Sweet Hatred
Chapter 37: Benefactor

Chapter 37: Benefactor

KAEL

Los Angeles welcomed me with its usual blend of arrogance and excess. The city reeked of desperation—men clawing at power, parading their wealth like peacocks, mistaking noise for influence.

I stepped off the jet, barely sparing a glance at the crew. Niko was already waiting at the bottom of the stairs, standing at attention like a soldier awaiting orders. He was nothing if not disciplined.

"The villa?" he asked, though we both knew the answer.

I adjusted my cuffs, my pace unhurried. "You already know I have no interest in that circus."

Niko gave a single nod, falling in step beside me. "The car is ready. Blackwell is expecting you at The Sinclair."

Nathaniel Blackwell. A man who thought himself bold enough to sit at my table.

As the car pulled away from the tarmac, I settled back into my seat, exhaling slowly. My father and his wife were likely already hosting their guests, all of them drinking, laughing, exchanging empty pleasantries while calculating their next move. A room full of men pretending to be kings when they were nothing more than well-dressed opportunists.

And then there was Blackwell—the man convinced that persistence equaled power. Another reason why I had to come to Los Angeles apart from my father.

"He’s been circling for months," Niko continued. "He wants funding for a strategic merger with a European firm. He has backing, but not enough to move forward."

I gave a slow, measured nod. "And what does he think I am? A benefactor?"

Niko didn’t so much as blink. "He thinks you can be persuaded."

A faint smirk touched my lips. "Then he’s already made his first mistake."

The city blurred past the tinted windows, the skyline stretching into the distance and the thought of her slicked in. Somewhere in New York, Aria was likely still fuming, her mind occupied with her hatred for me. It suited her. Hatred gave her purpose.

She’d learn soon enough that hatred was an easy emotion to manipulate.

I glanced at my watch. "Inform Blackwell I won’t tolerate delays."

"Yes, sir."

I closed my eyes briefly, allowing the silence to settle. When I spoke again, my voice was quiet, deliberate.

"And Niko—" I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze through the rearview mirror. "Make sure he understands that this meeting is not a negotiation."

***

The Sinclair was a monument to old money—dark wood paneling, hand-cut crystal, and chandeliers that dripped with quiet arrogance. It was a place where men like Blackwell felt powerful, mistaking exclusivity for significance.

The maître d’ recognized me instantly, stepping aside without a word. Niko led the way, his pace measured, his posture alert. A few patrons glanced in our direction, some with curiosity, others with thinly veiled recognition. No one approached. They knew better.

Blackwell was already seated in the private lounge, nursing a drink he had no business enjoying. He stood as I entered, his lips stretching into the kind of smile men wore when they thought they were about to win.

"Mr. Roman," he greeted, extending a hand. "Good to finally have you here."

I didn’t take it.

Blackwell hesitated, but quickly masked it, retracting his hand and gesturing to the seat across from him. "Please, sit."

I took my time removing my coat, folding it neatly over the back of the chair before settling in. Niko remained standing behind me—silent, watchful.

Blackwell cleared his throat, reaching for his glass. "I won’t waste your time. I know you keep your circle small, but I also know a good deal when I see one."

I rested an elbow on the armrest, my fingers lightly touching my temple. "Do you?"

Blackwell chuckled, though there was a nervous edge to it. "I do. This merger—it’s airtight. The European firm is hungry, the legalities are clean, and once it’s secured, we’d be looking at a twenty percent revenue increase within the first quarter." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "All I need is a partner with the right capital and—"

"And?" I prompted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Blackwell swallowed. "And the right influence."

There it was.

I exhaled slowly, watching him. He was careful, calculating, but not careful enough. Men like him always believed that numbers, projections, and confidence could compensate for a lack of true power.

I leaned back, letting the silence stretch. Blackwell shifted, waiting, eager to fill the void.

I let him.

"Look, Kael," he tried again, "I understand if you have concerns, but I assure you, this deal is—"

"What assurances do you think I need?" I interrupted, tilting my head.

He faltered. "I—"

I smiled faintly. "You came here expecting a negotiation."

Blackwell straightened. "Well, yes. That’s how business is conducted."

I glanced at Niko, then back at him. "Not with me."

A flicker of unease crossed his face. "I don’t understand."

I reached for the glass of water in front of me, running a slow finger along the rim. "You came to me because you need my capital. My name. My reach." I lifted my gaze. "And yet, you sit here believing we are equals."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "That’s not—"

"You want funding?" I continued, voice even. "You’ll have it. You want my name attached to this deal? Fine. But understand this—there is no partnership here, Nathaniel." I took a measured sip of water before setting the glass down. "This merger, this firm, every cent that flows through it—belongs to me now."

Blackwell stiffened. "That’s not how this works."

I smiled, slow and deliberate. "It is now."

Silence.

His fingers twitched against his glass, his mind scrambling for a counter, an escape. There wasn’t one.

I stood, adjusting my cuffs. "You’ll sign the necessary paperwork. The terms will be mine. If that doesn’t interest you, then by all means—find another investor." I turned slightly, leveling him with a glance. "If you can."

His jaw tightened. He knew he couldn’t.

Niko stepped forward, placing a folder onto the table. "Review it. A courier will retrieve it by morning."

I slipped my coat back on, smoothing the fabric. "And Nathaniel," I murmured, "make no mistake—I don’t offer second chances."

Blackwell remained seated as I walked away, his hands clenched into fists, his pride warring with his survival instinct.

Pride would make a man hesitate. Survival would make him sign.

By morning, I would own him.