Sweet Hatred
Chapter 64: (Memories) "Maybe it’s time to end this."

Chapter 64: (Memories) "Maybe it’s time to end this."

"And again if it wasn’t Mia, it would’ve been you and I can’t let that happen."

Aria’s breath hitched. "You say that like it justifies it."

"I say that because it’s the truth. You think Mia would’ve taken your place? She wouldn’t have hesitated to trade your life for hers, Aria. That’s who she was. She was someone who couldn’t handle not getting her way. She grew delusional and dangerous."

She backed away, wounded.

"Don’t speak like you knew her."

"I did. And don’t pretend she died for you out of love."

I didn’t mean to sound cruel. But the words came out anyway, like a weapon I didn’t know I’d drawn.

Her face twisted—hurt, disbelief, betrayal, rage all mixed together. "You’re disgusting," she whispered.

That hit harder than I expected.

She turned to the door, snatching her bag off the couch, zipping it up with trembling hands.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?" I asked, trying to stay calm but feeling the panic start to creep in.

"Anywhere away from you."

"You’re not thinking clearly."

"No. You’re the one who doesn’t think, Kael." She spun to face me again. "You play with people like they’re pieces on a board. You don’t feel anything unless it fits your logic. You think being cold makes you powerful, but all it makes you is alone and pathetic."

Her words stabbed deeper with every breath. The silence after that was deafening.

She stared at me, chest heaving. My throat was tight, my hands fists at my sides. I wanted to speak. To say something—anything—to make her stay.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t .

Because maybe she was right.

Aria turned, opened the door, and this time, she didn’t look back.

My fingers twitched as they reached into my pocket, retrieving my phone. I dialed Niko.

He picked up on the second ring. "Sir?"

"Aria just walked out of the building. Follow her. Make sure she’s safe."

"Yes sir."

I ended the call and let the phone slip from my grasp, landing on the couch beside me as I sank into it. The sound of her voice kept playing in my head, loud and raw. Each syllable scraped through my skull like a blade, every word leaving a deeper gash.

I’d been trained to brace myself for chaos, to make calculated decisions under pressure. I’d been built for war, not emotion. But nothing had prepared me for her— the way her anger gutted me—the way her pain twisted something inside me I didn’t even know still existed.

I poured myself a drink. Clean. No ice. No hesitation. The burn of alcohol burned my throat, but it didn’t reach the ache gnawing at my chest.

One glass turned into two. Then three. The silence was deafening, pressing against my skull like a vice. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t stop thinking. My hands trembled as I poured the seventh.

I wasn’t supposed to feel this way. I didn’t do messy. I didn’t let people get under my skin. But there she was—Aria—lodged in every goddamn crevice of me.

I stood up suddenly, knocking the glass over. My gaze flicked to the drawer in the far corner. The one I hadn’t opened in weeks. The one I swore I never would but always did anyways.

I crossed the room and pulled it open.

Tucked beneath forgotten files and a pistol I hadn’t used in months was a silver tag. Dull with time but still gleaming just enough to catch the light.

IVAN T. GRAYSON

SERIAL NO: 354092K

BLOOD TYPE: O+

CATHOLIC

My throat closed up as I picked it up. The edges felt cold, too real. My thumb brushed over the grooves, tracing each letter like it was a ritual I’d performed a thousand times.

And just like that, I was back there. Back where it all began. Back to the first time I saw him.

The sun was a merciless bastard in Kandahar. The air was thick with dust and tension. I’d just arrived at the outpost—fresh-faced, barely two weeks into deployment. I was supposed to blend in. Supposed to be another soldier in uniform. But the moment I stepped onto the base, heads turned.

Whispers followed me like shadows.

"That’s Roman’s kid."

"Didn’t know the golden spoon types did tours."

"Bet he won’t last a week."

Some smirked. Others sneered. I ignored them all.

I didn’t come here to make friends. I came to prove something. To get as far away from my father’s world as possible. The cold halls of politics, the backroom deals, the fake smiles—it all made me sick. And after what he did to my mother... I would’ve rather died in the desert than live under his roof again.

I kept my head down. Stayed sharp. Spoke only when necessary. Let them call me proud. Let them think I was some entitled prick who didn’t belong. I didn’t care.

But he did.

Ivan.

He didn’t whisper behind my back. He didn’t kiss my ass. No, he wasn’t like that. He sat next to me at chow like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"So... are you really the devil’s kid, or is that just base gossip?"

I didn’t answer. Just stared at my tray, hoping he’d give up and leave.

He chuckled. "You don’t talk much, huh? That’s alright. I can do enough talking for both of us. I’m Ivan." He stretched out a hand and all I did was stare. "You can call me IV as in four haha."

"Well that sounds lame." I muttered ignoring his gesture.

I didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning. Of something real. Of something that would change me forever. For better and for worse.

Back in the present, I gripped the dog tag tighter. My knuckles whitened.

Ivan. Aria.

Why the fuck did the only people who ever got close to me have to haunt me too?

I didn’t like it at all. I simply wanted to feel alive again. Like the way Ivan did. And Aria was the closest. But now—

"Maybe it’s time to end this."