Sweet Hatred Chapter 3: Bastard!

His broad, muscled fra towering over her, his suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up. Mia's whimper sliced the air.

"S-sir, please—"

"Quiet." His voice was calm yet gravel and gunfire.

His hips snapped forward in rciless, punishing thrusts, his grip bruising the curve of her waist. A deep, guttural exhale left him, his head tipping back for just a second before—

Shit!

Kael's sharp, ruthless green eyes locked onto mine, and suddenly, I forgot how to breathe. They pinned where I stood like a moth speared to a board. His pupils dilated with a feral hunger that made my pulse stutter. The air thickened, heavy with musk and the tang of sweat.

He didn't falter. Didn't stop. Didn't even blink.

He just kept moving, slamming into Mia as if my presence didn't matter. Or worse—as if he wanted to watch.

A slow, dark smirk curled at the corner of his lips. "It seems you forgot to lock the door, Miss Hans," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusent.

He fisted Mia's hair and yanked her head back, forcing a broken gasp from her lips. Mia's hazel eyes went wide, locking onto in horror. Like she had only just realized I was there.

"Oh my God—Aria, wait—this isn't—" Her voice hitched as Kael slamd into her harder, cutting her off. Her body jolted from the force.

I clenched my fists. My nails bit into my palms, grounding . He was doing this on purpose.

Testing . Daring to react.

The sound of skin slapping filled the air, faster, harder, Mia's moans turning desperate, broken. She tried to push him away. Weakly.

Kael didn't even budge. He swatted her hands aside like an inconvenience, gripping her hips roughly and owning her completely.

My stomach twisted. I should leave. But I didn't.

I just stood there, suffocating in the weight of his gaze. Dark. Cold. Unwavering. My mind completely blank.

And then—he finished.

A sharp grunt, a final thrust, and Mia collapsed against the desk, shaking. Kael pulled out of her with a slow, wet snarl, wiping himself off with a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket, completely unbothered.

Mia scrambled to fix her skirt, knees trembling, her face beet red as she rushed past , practically running out of the office.

The door clicked shut. Silence. I was alone with him.

Kael leaned back against his desk, adjusting his cufflinks with calm, precise movents. Like he had just finished reviewing a damn business report instead of screwing his secretary into oblivion.

His dark green gaze flicked up, pinning in place.

"Well," he drawled, voice smooth as velvet. "Are you going to keep standing there, Or did you enjoy the show a little too much?"

A chill ran down my spine. I clenched my jaw, fists tightening. "You bastard." His smirk widened, like he enjoyed the insult.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice dropping into sothing more dangerous. "You're already standing on thin ice, Miss Thorne. I'd hate to see you drown."

Ah, so he really knew .

Kael's lips curled, slow and venomous, as if savoring the fire in my glare. "Why are you here, Miss Thorne?" The question slithered out, colder than a blade pressed to flesh.

He leaned back in his chair, not with nonchalance, but with the lazy dominion of a king surveying a peasant's revolt. "Barging into my office. No knock. No decorum." A pause, sharp as a scalpel. ""Tell , is this stupidity or just desperation?"

Blood pooled under my tongue where I'd bitten through my lip. He's untouchable, the taste scread. And he knows it.

"You fired ." My voice stayed steady, but my knuckles whitened—a fissure in the ice.

His gaze dragged over , slow and derisive, like I was a stain on his polished floor. "And?"

And? AND? The word hung, deliberate. And. As if my life—my rage, my desperation—were a speck of dust to flick away.

"Is that all you have to say?" I spat.

He steeled his fingers, eyes glinting with mockery. "What else would you like? A eulogy? A parade?" He smirked. "You're replaceable, Miss Thorne. Not a tragedy. A footnote."

"This is a mistake," I hissed. His lips curled at the edges—a smirk, but not the good kind.

"No, Miss Thorne," he said, voice cool as steel. "The mistake was sending a completely inaccurate financial report to my investors yesterday morning."

My stomach dropped. What?

A laugh escaped him—dark, resonant, the sound of a vault sealing shut. He leaned forward, the leather of his chair creaking like a coffin lid. "You're the one who failed. Buried yourself in hubris. Thought your diocrity could outshine my standards."

"Bullshit," I snarled. "I would never—"

Kael stood abruptly, his presence swallowing the space between us, making feel small. "You didn't double-check the final figures before submitting them," he continued.

"A forty-million-dollar discrepancy almost cost a deal that has been in the works for months." I opened my mouth—to deny it, to explain, to defend myself—but the words wouldn't co.

How could this be? I never forwarded anything to our clients without triple checking at least to make sure and the report wasn't an exception. None of his accusations made sense.

"You're lucky I caught it in ti." His voice dipped lower, colder as he stopped in front of . "Did you truly think I wouldn't sll your incompetence?"

His breath grazed my ear, a mockery of intimacy. "You're not a victim. You're a liability Miss Throne." His voice devoid of any emotion slithered into my ears. "And I discard liabilities."