Sweet Hatred
Chapter 74: I should hate you

Chapter 74: I should hate you

"You shouldn’t do this," I whispered.

He smiled, tired and sad. "You’re always mad at me. I can live with that. But I’ve come to hate when you’re really angry... when you won’t even look at me."

"I almost died, Kael."

"I know," he said. "And it’s my fault. I’m sorry."

The words weren’t smooth or calculated. They cracked as they left his mouth, like they’d been buried too long. Something real flickered in his eyes, and it twisted something inside me.

"I should hate you," I said.

"Do you?" his voice remained soft but that faint glow of deviousness flashed in his eyes.

I didn’t answer.

He reached up again, fingers tracing my cheek like I was a bruise he wanted to kiss better. "I’m sorry for all of it... not just the danger. I’m sorry for not being someone you could trust."

My heart clenched.

"I didn’t ask for you to be someone else," I murmured. "I just... I don’t even know what this is between us."

"Neither do I," he whispered. "But I know I feel like I can breathe again when you’re near."

He leaned forward, slow enough for me to stop him—but I didn’t.

His lips met mine again. Just once. Brief. Almost hesitant. It didn’t last longer than a heartbeat, but it felt like the room stopped spinning.

I pulled back first. My head was screaming at me, but my heart hadn’t caught up.

"You’re drunk," I whispered. "Too drunk to be saying things like this."

He looked at me with something raw and unreadable. "Maybe. But it doesn’t make it any less true."

I stood quickly, needing space, needing to think—but he reached for my wrist, didn’t pull—just held.

"Stay."

I didn’t answer. But I didn’t walk away either.

Defeated, I sank back into his laps. My hands traced the skin along the back of his neck. He was warm. Hot, really. Burning up beneath me like his skin was fighting its own body.

Still, he didn’t let go.

I stayed on his lap longer than I should have, my hands resting on his shoulders like they belonged there.

It was too quiet.

Too... intimate.

Like the air forgot how to move around us.

Kael’s forehead fell gently against my shoulder, and for a moment, I just held him there. My fingers brushing against the back of his neck, feeling the fever in him rise by the second.

"You’re burning," I murmured. "You need to lie down."

He didn’t answer. Just this slow exhale like he was letting go of everything but me.

I reached for his phone on the desk, hesitated only a second before unlocking it with his thumb, and scrolled to Niko’s contact.

I hit call.

"Sir," came Niko’s voice after one ring. Sharp. Alert. I briefly wondered if he ever got any break.

"It’s Aria," I whispered. "Kael’s... he’s not okay."

Silence.

Then: "Is he still in the building?"

"Yes. His office. You know where."

"Be there in three."

The call ended, and I looked back down at Kael. He was still holding onto me, eyes shut this time like if he let go, he’d vanish.

When Niko burst in, he froze at the sight of us. Kael curled around me like something sacred. Me... not even trying to move. I’d almost apologized for the sight. When did I get so soft again?

"Sir," Niko said, stepping closer, concern masked in his usual rough edge. "We should get you out of here."

Kael stirred. Barely.

I tried to stand, but Kael’s arms refused to loosen. His hand fisted in the fabric at my waist like he didn’t trust the world without me in it.

"Help me," I told Niko, voice quieter now. "He needs to rest. He’s burning up."

Niko nodded, moving fast.

Between the two of us, we got Kael upright. His body was heavy with exhaustion, muscles slack, skin clammy. He leaned into me more than I expected—and even as he stumbled, his hand stayed on mine.

Like I was still grounding him.

The ride was quiet.

Building lights flickered against the windows, and Kael’s head rested hot and heavy against my lap. His body was turned slightly, his long legs hardly stretched out, breath shallow but steady. One hand remained locked with mine like I was his prisoner, the other loosely curled near his chest.

He looked... peaceful.

It didn’t make sense. How someone like him could look so soft when unconscious. This was the same man who barked orders without flinching, who controlled every boardroom like a lion pacing his territory. And now?

Now he looked like a boy who hadn’t slept in days.

My fingers found his dark hair before I could think better of it—brushing slowly through it, untangling soft strands from the mess of sweat and stress. His hair was damp, but still smooth. Surprisingly silky.

And I hated how much I liked touching him like this.

Was he always this boyish when drunk? Or was this just a side of him no one got to see?

A side he didn’t trust the world with?

It wasn’t weakness... no. Even like this, he radiated something fierce and raw—like a drunk tiger, too exhausted to fight, but still dangerous beneath the surface.

He shifted, breath catching briefly. And then... a murmur. Faint. Slurred.

"Ivan...please"

I stilled.

The name wasn’t familiar. And it wasn’t for me.

I looked down at him, brows furrowed.

Who the hell was Ivan?

His brow tensed like he was dreaming—maybe reliving something. His jaw clenched, his body twitched once, then fell still again.

Niko caught my gaze in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. Like he heard it too. Like maybe he knew what it meant.

But he didn’t say a word.

And neither did I.

I just kept stroking Kael’s hair, gently, like I could soothe away whatever memory clung to that name.

We finally got to his apartment and the elevator ride felt longer than it should have.

Kael was half-conscious, his weight was still heavy against me even as Niko supported most of it. I still held onto his hand without realizing. Maybe I just didn’t want to let go.

The penthouse doors slid open with a soft chime, and a low beep echoed as Niko keyed in the code.

Then I saw it.

Glass glinted across the countertops. Bottles—so many bottles, some toppled, some open, some still sealed and waiting like loyal soldiers. Not the usual cheap kind people numbed themselves with. No, Kael drowned himself in rare, expensive poison. One label caught my eye.

Louis XIII.

Of course he drank like a king.

The air was faintly sweet, aged oak and rich smoke lingering beneath everything else. I stepped inside and suddenly realized...

He’d been drinking like this for days.

My stomach twisted.

Niko helped him toward the bedroom. I followed, watching the careful way Kael’s body was laid onto the bed. He looked almost.... fragile.

I turned to Niko. "You knew."

His silence said everything.

"I’ll stay," I added before he could offer. "You go. Find a doctor or something. I’m sure these rich people usually have one they can call at any time."

He hesitated, then gave me a slight nod and left.

I locked the door behind him.

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