Sweet Hatred Chapter 143: I never play fair

Without another thought, I grabbed poor Noah by his silk tie and yanked him forward. "Let’s dance, future head of sothing very important," I purred with venom-laced sweetness.

He blinked. Stumbled. Flushed red.

But I dragged him anyway—right into the center of the dance floor, all eyes watching as I placed my hands just right, tilted my chin, and gave Kael the most poisonous smile I could conjure.

Your move, Roman.

Noah was flustered. That much was obvious.

His hands hovered awkwardly over my waist, unsure if he should touch like a man or worship like a goddess. The poor soul chose both, so one hand stayed stiff at my side, the other trembled ever so slightly on my lower back.

I guided us gently, letting the rhythm do the work while he just... tried his best.

And ? Oh, I was the picture of elegance and chaos wrapped in satin and sin.

The wine had worked its way into my bloodstream, warming my skin and turning the lights a little softer, the room a little dreamier. My smile stretched slow, eyes half-lidded, lazy, predatory. Every now and then I let my gaze flick up to him through thick lashes—deadly looks designed to steal hearts and souls. And poor Noah, bless his eager heart, was falling.

Hard.

"Am I doing okay?" he asked, his voice a little breathless.

I tilted my head, ran a finger along his collar with the kind of idle care that scread trouble. "You’re trying very hard."

He bead like I’d just handed him an award. And I let him have that little fantasy, because honestly? Watching him fumble and trip over his own desire was more entertaining than the dance itself.

I didn’t look at Kael anymore.

I didn’t need to.

Because not looking at him was a punishnt all its own. Let him stew in it. Let him watch touch another man, dance with him, smile at him. Let him burn.

Unbothered and elegant, I leaned in a little closer to Noah, not quite touching, just near enough that his breath hitched. His hands gripped tighter—too tight, maybe—but I didn’t mind. Not yet. Let the boy pretend. Let the beast watch.

Until—

"Ahem."

The throat-clearing wasn’t loud, but it was enough to cut through the room like a blade.

And the energy shifted.

Noah froze. His smile vanished so fast I could almost hear it crash. Slowly, like turning to face the executioner, he looked over my shoulder—and whatever he saw made the color drain from his face.

I already knew.

I didn’t have to turn around to feel him.

Kael.

Standing behind like a storm in a suit. Silent. Still. Deadly.

I gave Noah one last pat on the chest like good job, champ, and turned around slowly, finding Kael’s eyes already locked on mine.

Oh. He was furious.

But his face? Calm. So calm it was terrifying.

"May I cut in?" he asked politely, like he hadn’t just killed a man in his mind.

I didn’t answer right away. I looked him up and down, slow and deliberate, then raised an eyebrow.

"Didn’t think you liked dancing," I said, all sweet poison.

Kael’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. "I don’t. Until now."

Kael’s hand hovered, waiting for to say yes.

But I didn’t.

I tilted my head and gave him a smile that dared him to keep pushing. "I don’t think that’s appropriate," I said sweetly. "I an, I’m just your executive assistant, right? Wouldn’t want to blur the lines."

His jaw ticked.

"Noah here has been excellent company," I added, patting the boy’s arm again and slightly gripping it to prevent him from bolting away. "Very attentive. And sweet. And not at all prone to—annoying, possessive behavior."

The flinch behind Kael’s eyes was beautiful. Delicious. Almost worth the price I knew I’d pay.

I turned, just slightly, ready to walk off the floor and leave him simring in his suit and his jealousy.

Except—

His hand caught my wrist.

Hard.

Not enough to hurt—but enough to promise.

And then I was moving, being dragged across the ballroom floor, Kael silent and lethal at my side while guests parted instinctively like they felt the wrath radiating off him. Noah stamred behind us but Kael didn’t spare him a glance. Not one.

"Kael," I hissed. "Let go of ."

He didn’t.

Instead, he marched right up to the Don’s wife, Maria D’Amico, who was surrounded by a small circle of won sipping champagne and talking about so poor cousin’s third divorce.

"Maria," Kael said smoothly, too smoothly. "Aria had a little wardrobe issue. Would you happen to know if there’s a private room nearby she could use for a mont?"

The woman blinked. "Oh dear! Of course—just down the hall, last door on the left. Shall I send soone to—?"

"No need," Kael said, already steering that way.

I glared at him. "A wardrobe issue? Seriously?"

"You keep testing ," he murmured darkly, just for . "And you forget, firefly, I never play fair."

We reached the door. He opened it, guided in, and before I could spin on him with all the fury bottled up in my chest-

Click.

The door clicked shut behind him like a gavel.

I didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

The silence wrapped around us like velvet—soft, stifling, and full of everything we weren’t saying.

My back stayed straight. Chin high. But my fingers curled into my palm behind , the only betrayal of the fire building under my skin.

He stepped forward.

God help , I didn’t step back. Not yet.

"You started it," I said finally. Quiet. Accusing.

Kael’s lips quirked—not a smile. A weapon. "I know."

He took another step.

I did move then. Just an inch. Just enough to feel the burn of retreat.

His eyes darkened, lazy and full of that lethal calm that only made my heart pound harder. "Are you mad?"

I exhaled through my nose. "Are you?"

He tilted his head. "Do you want to be?"

I clicked my tongue. "I’m leaving."

I turned. I didn’t get far.

His palm hit the door beside my head, the other catching my waist, and suddenly I was caged. Breathless. Trapped in the heat of his body, in the gravity of his storm.

"I’m not angry because you danced with another man, Aria," he said, his voice low enough to lt bone. "I’m angry because he had the audacity to breathe near you like he could. Like he should."