Sweet Hatred
Chapter 77: Shame

Chapter 77: Shame

KAEL’S POV

I woke up with the kind of stillness that only came after chaos. The fever was gone. The ache in my bones had dulled into something bearable. I was warm... too warm.

It took a second to place the feeling.

Aria.

Her body curled near mine, her breathing soft, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that tugged at something deep inside me. Her hair was a mess. One hand loosely fisted in the blanket. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I remembered everything before that. Every breathy sound. Every look. Every time she told me to stay still, to stop grinding like some animal, to let her take care of me.

Fuck.

My hand dragged down my face, trying to scrape off the memory—but it clung. The kind of night you didn’t just forget. I rolled carefully out of bed, doing my best not to wake her. My eyes caught the trail of discarded clothes on the floor, the pill packets by the table, and the half-drunk water bottle beside them.

She’d made sure I took the medication. She probably had to coax me like a damn child. I couldn’t even remember fighting her on it.

I ran a hand through my hair and left the room, quietly pulling the door shut behind me.

The sitting room was dim, the curtains drawn. And there on the couch was Niko, sprawled out with a blanket tucked up to his chin.

What the hell?

I blinked. It had to be Aria. Only her would’ve thought to do that for him. My mouth pulled into a crooked smirk despite myself. I must’ve made such a goddamn scene for Niko to crash here. Great. Just great.

I went back to the bedroom and leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

I should’ve been mortified. Or annoyed. Or something. But all I could feel was that strange warmth still lodged in my chest—like a flickering candle that hadn’t quite burned out.

The version of me she saw last night... it wasn’t the one I ever let out. Not since Ivan. Ivan had seen all my edges—sharp, soft, broken—and never once flinched. But he was gone, and I had locked that part of myself away like a secret I’d never admit existed.

Until her.

Aria had seen it. And what scared me wasn’t that she saw it—it was that I let her.

She shouldn’t have been in that bed or at the office or in the car. She shouldn’t have touched me like that. Shouldn’t have looked at me like I was something worth softening for. I should’ve pushed her away the moment I felt myself slip.

But I didn’t.

I let it happen.

And now the morning after tasted like something sweet and dangerous. She was still here. Still real. Still warm in that bed I hadn’t shared with anyone else.

Part of me wanted to freeze time. Just... pause here. So I could memorize what it felt like to be wanted without having to earn it. To be held without needing to hold back. But I knew better.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

She was only close because the world had forced us to be. Circumstances, adrenaline, timing—none of this meant anything deeper.

That’s what I told myself.

But deep down, I wasn’t sure I believed it.

The bathroom was still foggy from the hot shower. I dragged a towel across my hair, jaw tightening as my gaze settled on the mirror. I’d rinsed off the fever, the drugs had kicked in, and physically I felt better. But the reflection staring back at me? That was a different kind of mess.

I remembered it all. Again.

The way I’d clung to her. The way my voice had sounded—hoarse, needy, desperate.

I haven’t touched you in days.

Fucking hell. I wanted to punch the mirror. Since when did I beg?

I’d trained in blizzards with blood in my boots. Slept in trenches while bombs sang overhead. I’d crawled through mud, slept with one eye open in enemy territory, patched my own wounds with trembling fingers and kept moving. I’d taken beatings that cracked bones and orders that broke spirits.

I’d spent days on nothing but adrenaline and dry rations in places where the ground still whispered with ghosts. I’d seen men scream until their voices gave out. Buried others with my bare hands.

And yet here I was—clutching the memory of her fingers in my hair like some sleep-deprived rookie with a crush.

Even Niko would be confused. No—concerned. He’d seen me walk through fire and come out colder. He wouldn’t recognize this version of me. Hell, I didn’t recognize this version of me. Needy. Soft. Clinging to the heat of someone who should’ve walked away by now.

I looked away and spat the toothpaste into the sink, rinsing with cold water. Still couldn’t rinse the memory of how soft her touch had been. How much I wanted to melt into it.

I wrapped the towel around my waist and stepped out, only to halt mid-step.

Aria was up.

Hair messy, eyes bleary, standing by the edge of the bed in nothing but my shirt and a pair of panties, looking half-awake and fully irritated as she squinted around the room like she was searching for something.

Me.

"Where the fuck were you?" she snapped, voice raspy and pissed. "I woke up and thought you died in the damn bathroom."

I barely had time to respond before she was stomping toward me, muttering under her breath about how I was "literally the worst patient ever" and how she was "two seconds from leaving me to choke on my own stubborn pride last night."

I closed the small space left between us before she could blink. "There’s no need."

"What—"

I lifted her clean off the floor.

"Kael—"

"Shh. Back to bed, little dragon."

She squirmed, awake now and growling. "You can’t just pick me up like some—"

But I wasn’t listening. I dropped her onto the mattress and came down right after, pinning her beneath me, propped on my forearms, towel barely hanging on around my hips.

Aria let out a frustrated groan as she hit the mattress. "You are unbelievable. I should’ve just let you burn up yesterday, you know that? Gasping like you were dying one second, then dragging me back down the next. You scared the hell out of me."

I cocked a brow. "Aww. You were worried?"

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