Sweet Hatred Chapter 229: mask off

His face. Fuck.

The screens didn’t do him justice. Not even close.

Sharp lines softened by that effortlessly tousled white hair. High cheekbones, a cut jaw, lips made for jokes and promises no one kept. And those eyes, sea-glass blue, frad by lashes too long for any man to deserve.

But the worst part?

He didn’t look real.

He looked like the kind of angel you’d follow straight into hell, smiling all the way.

He leaned closer, watching unravel. "You’re staring now."

I blinked out of it. "I was just... just, "

"Wondering what I looked like when I’m not hiding?" he finished for , voice dropping low.

I scoffed, backing up a step. "I’ve seen prettier."

I had though. Kael.

"Lie again," he whispered, "and I might kiss you just to shut you up."

My heart did sothing stupid. "You wouldn’t."

He grinned. "No. But you believed I would."

The wind had shifted.

Not harsh or cold, just enough to carry the scent of the sea from beyond the cliffs, and the soft sounds of the string quartet floating from inside. Most of the guests were now scattered across the ballroom, the bar, and the gardens, leaving the balcony hushed and dim, draped in the velvet hush of exclusivity.

Sylas moved beside , closer than before.

He was practically glued to now, resting his forearms against the cold stone like it was his throne. And then he turned his head just slightly, enough for to catch him watching again.

That look.

I couldn’t place it. Sowhere between flirty and curious... but with that maddening Sylas twist that made feel like he could see too much if I wasn’t careful.

"What?" I asked, not bothering to mask the bite in my tone.

He shrugged and looked forward again, resting his head to the side against the stone edge. "Just wondering who you are."

"I’m Aria," I deadpanned.

He let out a breath of amusent. "I know that. But... who are you, really? Outside all this glitter, the masks, the high-stakes drama. The woman under all that steel. The one I t that night."

I blinked.

It wasn’t a hard question. But for so reason, my throat tightened.

I thought of mom. God, I missed her so much.

I thought of Olivia. How I hadn’t heard her voice in days. How she’d looked at like I was a stranger when she ca to get Kaleb’s things. I thought of my cold apartnt. The way silence now felt like a punishnt. And Kael... the way he kissed like I was the only thing anchoring him to this world, and how I couldn’t stop aching for that.

And how all this... exclusivity, where I didn’t belong, was just another distraction. Like always. Soon I’d be back to reality.

"I don’t know," I admitted softly, surprising even myself. "I think I used to. But lately..."

My voice trailed off, and I felt the silence wrap around my ribs. Sylas was still watching , his expression no longer playful. Just quiet.

"I didn’t an to make you sad," he said.

I shook my head quickly, brushing it off. "It’s nothing. You’re just asking the wrong questions."

He didn’t believe that. I could tell. But he let it slide.

So I turned the tables.

"Alright then. Who’s my savior when he’s not crashing galas and annoying won on balconies?"

His lips twitched, like he hadn’t expected to flip the spotlight back.

"I’m not sure people want to know," he said. "It ruins the mystique."

I gave him a look. "Please."

He chuckled again, a lower, more thoughtful sound this ti.

"I’m the trophy of a golden family I guess." He started. "Y’know... The one they like to parade in press releases or line up in front of caras. The next in line to lead the Stanley corporation... but I wasn’t supposed to be the heir... my sister worked so hard to be seen... so I stopped pretending to care about becoming a sanitized version of my father." He glanced at , eyes catching the faint light. "And I ran. And now I mostly co back when I’m bored or needed."

I studied him.

There was a weight in his tone that wasn’t there before. A softness hiding behind that wolfish smirk. For a mont, I forgot how irritating he could be.

"Is that why you helped that night?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Because you were bored?"

He looked at fully then. No grin. No sarcasm.

"No," he said simply. "I helped you because you looked like you were about to fall apart. And not just into the water."

That made sothing throb in my chest. Did I really look that pathetic?

I didn’t have a reply. Not one that wouldn’t sound like a lie or a confession. So I looked away first, pretending to be fascinated by the way the candlelight flickered across my glass.

"I liked your mask better," I mumbled. "At least you were easier to ignore."

He leaned in lightly. I felt his presence more than I saw it.

"Then you’re doing a shitty job, sweetheart," he said in a low voice. "Because you haven’t looked away from in minutes."

I turned to glare, but he was already smiling.

We were still sipping from our glasses, laughter between us now easier, unguarded. Sylas had just cracked so ridiculous joke afterwards about rich people and their obsession with "preserving bloodlines" that made snort.

That’s when we saw them.

Two figures in the garden path below. Moving suspiciously. A woman in deep sapphire velvet and a man in a silver mask. I wouldn’t have paid them any mind, except the woman’s face caught a slant of moonlight. And I knew her.

"Wait..." I leaned in, narrowing my eyes. "That’s Mrs. Rivera."

Sylas tilted his head lazily. "Should I know who that is?"

"She’s married. Her husband’s in the Federal House. They have five kids."

Sylas sipped his drink. "Sounds like she needed a break."

We both chuckled, watching discreetly from our hidden vantage point. The couple paused near a stone sculpture, their bodies angled close like they were just... talking.

But then he leaned in.

And she let him.

And suddenly it wasn’t talking. It was full-on kissing.

"Holy shit," I muttered, eyes wide.