Sweet Hatred Chapter 22: Unwanted Guest

ARIA

I thought I had seen wealth before. I thought nothing could shock . But this? This was obscene. The sheer extravagance, the effortless display of power—it was like stepping into a world that wasn't ant for people like . The class divide was stark, a gap so wide it made my skin itch.

I felt out of place. No, I was out of place. Literally a cockroach in a jewelry box.

And yet, he was here. That bastard's presence grounded , but not in a comforting way. More like an anchor tied to my ankle, dragging into deep waters I had no business wading into.

Kael had been watching throughout the eting, his gaze heavy, deliberate—undressing without a single touch. It undid what little confidence I had managed to build. I tried to ignore it, but knowing him, that was exactly what he wanted.

After the eting, The dress. God, the dress.

I'd changed, not realizing this was his chess move—saving from diocrity like so pet he refused to let embarrass him.

I had assud he was just being insufferable as usual. Well, he still was. Typical. Every kindness a blade turned inward.

I watched as people flocked to him like vultures circling a fresh carcass. He stood tall, effortlessly commanding attention, swirling his wine with practiced grace. A man like Kael had layers—one was the ruthless businessman, the other a forr military officer, and beneath it all? A pervert who got off on my hatred.

And yet, I knew the truth: in this room full of predators, he wasn't the worst one.

Despite being surrounded, he still found ways to tornt . His eyes never stopped seeking out, locking onto mine across the room, a silent reminder that I was his target tonight.

Irritated, I put distance between us, slipping away toward the large balcony with a champagne flute in hand. The night air was crisp, biting at my skin as I leaned against the railing, letting the city lights below swallow whole.

And then—

A voice. Deep. Sleek. Uninvited.

"A beautiful view for a beautiful woman."

The voice slithered into my ears, slick with confidence, laced with sothing that made my skin crawl. I took a slow sip of my champagne before turning, already knowing what I'd find—him.

The sleazy businessman from earlier. Marco Benedetti. Human mildew in a Tom Ford suit. The one whose eyes had lingered on too long during the eting, sizing up like I was an expensive acquisition waiting to be signed off. I didn't bother hiding the way my lips curled in disdain.

He wasn't terrible-looking, I'd give him that. Tall, well-grood, dressed in a suit that probably cost more than my entire net worth. But his smile? It dripped with entitlent, as if my re presence here ant I was available for the taking.

"Stunning, really," he continued, stepping closer. "I couldn't take my eyes off you earlier."

I swirled my glass lazily, tilting my head. "Sounds like a you problem."

He chuckled, unbothered. "Feisty. I like that."

Of course, he did. n like him always liked it until they didn't. Until the challenge turned into frustration, and frustration turned into force. I had seen his kind before.

"Tell ," he said, inching closer, fingers ghosting over the balcony railing beside mine. "What exactly do you do for Mr. Roman?"

I smiled, the kind that wasn't friendly at all. "I handle things he's too busy to deal with."

"Hmm," he mused, looking over like he was picturing exactly what kind of 'things' I handled. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip before he leaned in, lowering his voice. "A woman like you must get thoroughly appreciated under a man like him."

It was a test. To see how far he could push. To see if I would flinch. The flute creaked in my grip.

Patience. He's only a housefly. And houseflies sucked at finding the exit.

I rely arched a brow and downed the rest of my champagne, letting the silence stretch until it beca suffocating.

Minutes went by.

My patience had frayed down to its last fragile thread, stretched thin by Marco's insufferable presence and inability to read the fucking room. He was leaning in too close, his cologne thick and cloying, his breath warming the side of my face.

Every word spilling from his mouth was laced with a false charm, but his eyes gave him away—dark with hunger, filthy with entitlent.

I kept my expression neutral, my grip on my champagne glass light, but I could feel the bubbling rage beneath the surface.

This dumbass.

I had played nice. I had entertained his forced conversation with polite but curt responses, sidestepping his casual touches, his obvious attempts at getting alone. But now?

Now he was pressing his luck.

"You know, Miss Aria, a woman like you..." Marco's dragged his gaze over , slow, deliberate. I felt it like a layer of oil staining my skin. "You don't belong in so office shuffling papers for a man like Kael. A woman with your beauty, your presence—you should be worshipped."

I took a sip of my champagne, rolling the bubbles over my tongue as if I were actually considering his words. I wasn't.

"Is that so?" I murmured. My voice was smooth, betraying none of the simring disgust crawling up my throat.

He chuckled, mistaking my question for intrigue. I almost pitied him.

Almost.

"Yes, you're wasted as an assistant. There are better ways for you to climb the ranks, you know." His voice dipped lower, thick with innuendo.

And just like that, the last thread of my restraint snapped.

I tilted my head, finally turning fully to face him. The polite mask I had worn all evening lted away, leaving behind sothing colder. Sharper. I could see it in his eyes—the flicker of hesitation, the dawning realization that he had misread the room entirely.

I smiled. Not a sweet, demure thing. A blade wrapped in silk.

"That's a tempting offer Mr. Benedetti," I mused, stepping just a fraction closer. His confidence grew, shoulders squaring like he had already won.

I leaned in—just enough that my breath kissed his ear.

"But if you so much as graze my skin," I whispered, voice smooth as silk, "I will chop off every single one of your fingers and stuff them in your fucking mouth." He froze, eyes widening in sothing that resembled fear.

And then was about to speak again when a voice cut through the tension like a blade—smooth, sharp, dangerous.

"Careful."