Sweet Hatred Chapter 184: Confusion pt 2

Pretending I was not seconds away from grabbing him by that perfect collar and making out with him in front of the entire fucking company just to mark him like he marked .

God.

I pressed my fingers to my temples, breathing slow, trying to center myself. I couldn’t fall apart right now.

Not here. Not now.

So I inhaled. Exhaled. And forced everything, everything, into that sa tiny box I always shoved my feelings in.

Work.

Focus on work.

Focus on anything but Kael Roman and the wreckage I just made of whatever this thing is between us.

Even if all I wanted... was to go back and unsay every word.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur I couldn’t catch up with.

Emails. Numbers. Reports. I stared at my screen like it might translate itself, but my brain refused to retain anything for longer than three seconds.

Kael’s words kept echoing in my head. "Right." That low chuckle. That practiced smile. That look in his eyes I couldn’t na, hurt? Resignation? Or maybe I was imagining it all. Maybe I wanted to believe he cared so I could justify the ugly ache in my chest.

God, I was pathetic.

At so point, when I couldn’t take the silence of my own thoughts anymore, I opened a browser tab and typed without thinking:

Stanley Corporation.

A flood of articles popped up, interviews, glossy magazine covers, news of billion-dollar expansions and jaw-dropping rgers. There he was, Alistair Stanley, the man himself. The king of e-comrce. Founder, philanthropist, ruthless businessman. Praised as a visionary.

I clicked on his Wikipedia page. Scrolled to "Personal Life."

Children: Twin heirs – Ash Stanley & Sylas Stanley.

I paused.

Ash’s na ca with her own bullet points. Of course. It wasn’t enough to be rich and beautiful. She had to be charitable too.

Oversaw sustainable housing developnt in multiple Eastern African countries, partnered with dical outreach programs, advocate for ntal health awareness.

Of course she did.

My eyes flicked to the next na.

Sylas Stanley.

There was a picture beside his profile.

He looked almost identical to Ash, but where she was glamor and sunlight, he was dusk and silver fire. A prettier face than anyone had a right to have. That jawline. The long lashes. The kind of guy Olivia would’ve had a ntal breakdown over, frad in her lock screen within minutes.

Apparently, the internet agreed.

Model. CEO-in-training. Charr. Heir.

The articles called him the face of the new Stanley era, the prince of e-comrce with a flair for fashion and dia presence.

Rumors swirled about his reputation, of course, multiple dating scandals, elite parties, high society drama. But he was clean where it mattered. No dirt stuck.

I stared at his face a second too long.

Why did I feel like I was about to et him? Because I probably was. Why did my stomach twist at the thought?

A knock pulled back to reality, just as the door opened and—

"Hi, angel," Sarah’s voice floated in before I could close the tab. "Is that Wikipedia I spy on your screen?"

I slamd the laptop shut.

"God. Do you never knock?"

She laughed, making her way to the seat across from mine, plopping her tote bag down.

"Knocking is for people I’m scared of. You’re too distracted to even threaten properly today."

I tried to summon my usual smirk. Failed. "Am I that obvious?"

Sarah tilted her head. "Hmm. Only the way a volcano’s obvious before it erupts."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair, lips pursed tight.

Sarah’s gaze swept over once, twice, then she smirked like she had cornered.

"I heard about the visitor this morning," she said lightly. "Word travels fast."

I didn’t reply. Just focused on the window behind her. Too bright. Too open.

She leaned forward like she was about to confess a scandal. "So... is this mood because of her?"

I cut her a sharp look.

Sarah only grinned. "Is it because you’re jealous?"

I didn’t flinch, didn’t crack, barely. But the heat rising behind my ribs gave away.

"I don’t want to talk about it," I said smoothly, my voice the picture of calm. Corporate-perfect. Untouchable.

She arched a brow, biting back a smile. "Which is exactly what soone jealous would say."

"Jesus, Sarah."

"What? I’m just saying what you’re pretending not to."

I clasped my hands together on the desk, keeping my tone cool. "What use is jealousy when it doesn’t change anything?"

Her smile faded just a little, enough for silence to settle. But the words still lingered in the air like ash.

What use is jealousy when it doesn’t change anything?

Not a damn thing.

Sarah didn’t push after that. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and smiled at , too soft, too sympathetic, like I was breakable porcelain and she’d just seen a hairline crack.

I knew that look. I hated that look.

"I’m just saying," she said lightly, "if you ever wanna talk about it, you know I’m not completely useless at the emotional stuff."

I rolled my eyes. "Please. Don’t flatter yourself."

She laughed, but her gaze lingered on . That quiet, annoying kind of care that made feel seen when I didn’t want to be.

"I’m fine," I said, probably too quickly. "Seriously, don’t worry yourself. I wasn’t bothered at all."

The lie tasted bitter, like cheap wine left out too long. And the worst part was, I wasn’t even saying it to her. I was saying it to myself. Over and over like a goddamn chant I hoped would beco true if I said it enough tis.

Not bothered at all.

Sure.

So why did I feel like I was about to combust in my own skin?

I’d never been this... bothered before. Not over a man. I’d fallen in love, sure, been stupidly infatuated, felt the rush of adrenaline when soone touched just right, made laugh at just the right mont. But I’d never let it sink into my bones like this.

No one had ever made worry like this. Not even Eric.