Sweet Hatred Chapter 201: Meeting

I sent my live location to Sarah with a quick in case I die and walked into the goddamn venue.

It was disgustingly fancy. A five-star suite that probably cost more per hour than I made in a month. Everything slled like rich people perfu and lavender oil diffusers. There were candles. God help , candles.

A soft-spoken hostess asked for my na. I gave it. She led through tall glass doors to a sleek conference room already half-filled with well-dressed executives. About four of them. n and won in suits that looked custom-tailored, laughter polished, smiles well-rehearsed.

I kept my head high. Took the seat at the far end.

And imdiately texted Sarah:

_I hate everyone here. Especially myself._

Then I put my phone away, smoothed my skirt, and tried not to chew on the inside of my cheek.

Ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

And then the doors opened again.

Ash walked in like she owned the fucking planet.

She wore different clothes from earlier to a silky pale blue suit set, probably vintage Chanel or so other trust fund bullshit... with an itty bitty designer bag slung on her wrist like it weighed nothing. Her shoes clicked softly across the floor as she smiled at everyone with perfectly glossed lips and casual elegance.

She didn’t even look at right away.

Of course not.

She took her sweet ti.

And I just sat there, back straight, face unreadable, wishing for once I had a glass of wine and not just this rotting sense of dread in my chest.

Let the gas begin.

Ash didn’t waste ti.

She didn’t even sit.

Just strode to the front of the room, took center stage with her eyes already scanning the table like she was sizing each one of them up for the grave.

Her voice was smooth when she spoke. Confident. Like poison laced with ice.

"Before we begin," she said, "I’d like to introduce soone."

My stomach coiled instinctively.

"This," Ash continued, placing a perfectly manicured hand on the back of my chair, "is Aria Thorne. She’s new to so of you, but not to . She’s my fiancé’s executive assistant and we t a few days ago."

I straightened, feeling every set of eyes shift toward like knives.

"She’s not just here as a guest. I invited her to be part of the planning committee. She’ll have full access, full clearance. Why?" Ash smiled too brightly, too sharp. "Because I like how her mind works. Calculated with a hint of dangerous. She’s got that edge."

What.

The.

Fuck?

How did she even arrive at that?

I blinked at her, schooling my face into sothing neutral. Professional. Not what the hell are you talking about?

I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust any of this.

But the tone in her voice wasn’t sarcastic. She wasn’t mocking . And everyone else at the table nodded, accepting it like it was gospel.

So this wasn’t a trap.

Not yet, anyway.

Ash turned away and finally slid into her seat, legs crossed, tablet in hand, all business now. "Let’s begin."

She tapped sothing. A presentation lit up across the far wall, no title. Just a flickering black screen with a faint golden ring pulsing at the center.

"Nox Aeterna," she began, "Latin for eternal night. That’s the na of this year’s gala."

No one interrupted. Hell, I didn’t even breathe.

"It’ll be a masquerade. But not just that. It’s a highly restricted gala hosted under the guise of charity—an exclusive evening for the world’s most influential power players."

The black screen shifted to deep crimson.

"Behind its glamour lies sothing else. A covert unveiling. A piece of technology developed under a private collaboration between my father and Ewan Roman."

Kael’s father.

Of course.

I tensed slightly, but no one looked at .

Ash continued, voice calm, low, oddly soothing. Like a woman giving last rites.

"The gala will act as a convergence point for influence. The rich. The dangerous. The untouchable. They’ll co masked, under the illusion of anonymity. But we’ll know exactly who each one is."

The screen split Into four: black, crimson, sapphire, and gold.

"These are the roles. Guests will be assigned colors based on their value and their purpose. Every detail—scent, music, even lighting—will be crafted to disarm and seduce. And no one will leave unchanged."

Ash tapped her nails once on the table, a signal that the presentation hadn’t even reach anywhere. "At Nox Aeterna, nothing is worn by accident—not even a mask."

I lifted my eyes from the tablet in front of as she continued.

"Each guest’s mask is color-coded. It silently declares their role, their influence, and their access. The hierarchy isn’t just symbolic—it controls movent, perception, and power. Most of them won’t even realize how controlled they are until it’s too late."

She stood, the air in the room seeming to tighten around her presence as she paced to the far end of the screen. "Black masks," she began, her voice cool, "represent the unknown. These guests are untested, controversial, or deliberately obscured. Newly invited or intentionally kept at a distance. Dangerous. Expendable. Heavily monitored. We use them as pawns, distractions, or just entertainnt."

There was no apology in her tone. No cruelty either. Just cold purpose.

"Sapphire masks," she said, shifting slightly to face the group, "are trusted allies. Benefactors. The polished elite who’ve already bought in. Investors, high-ranking sponsors, corporate faces. They’re given curated experiences, exclusive lounges, and access based on their value. But they’re still... pawns. Beautifully dressed ones."

Her gaze flicked to for a half second before moving on.

"Crimson masks," she went on, voice dipping low, "represent power laced with risk. Politicians. Cri lords. People who’ve bled or made others bleed. They’re allowed into the deepest corners of the night because we need their chaos as much as their coin. But make no mistake, crimson stains."

The silence that followed was taut, charged. No one even coughed.

"And gold," she said, eyes gleaming now, "gold is for the untouchable. The architects. The ones who don’t follow the rules because they are the rules. When a gold mask walks into a room, everyone else lowers their gaze—or they disappear."