Sweet Hatred Chapter 356: Inevitable

Kael’s POV

The hospital stank of antiseptic and polished tile. Too clean. Too sterile. The kind of place that erased weakness by pretending it didn’t exist.

I had already cornered one of the attending doctors the mont I stepped in, my voice sharper than I intended, my questions cutting.

His words replayed like a ticking clock in my head.

"Your father collapsed from complications of benign prostatic hyperplasia." A pause, a nervous glance. "It’s a common condition in aged n, Mr. Roman. Non-cancerous, but it can trigger urinary retention, infection, and dizziness if untreated. We’re managing it. He’ll be fine if he follows treatnt and makes lifestyle adjustnts."

Fine.

Of course.

Nothing ever kills the devil that easy.

And yet, as I stalked down the hall, the weight in my chest didn’t lift. My throat felt tight, like I was walking into a trap I’d set myself.

I hated him. God, I hated him. Every fiber of my being was built on the misery he carved into . He turned into his weapon, his shield, his fucking pawn. If justice was real, I should have walked out of this place without looking back.

So why did my hands feel sweaty?

Why did my steps slow the closer I got to his ward?

I told myself it was instinct. Old habits. The body rembering what it was to live in his shadow, waiting for the next strike.

But the truth was ssier.

I was afraid.

I pushed the door open anyway.

And there he was.

Not in bed. Not hooked up to machines like so fragile old man.

Ewan Roman sat on the couch in the small lounge area of the suite, legs crossed, a crystal glass of wine dangling from his hand as if this were his penthouse and not a hospital room. Papers lay scattered across the coffee table before him... contracts, reports, God knows what... and two n in suits hovered nearby, murmuring updates about so deal or another.

Work. Always work.

He looked up when the door clicked shut behind . Those sa cold eyes, sharp as razors, found mine. And for a mont, the dread in my gut twisted into sothing darker.

Because he didn’t look like a man who had collapsed almost a day ago. He looked like a king entertaining his court.

And I hated that even now, part of wanted to bow.

He didn’t look up imdiately. He didn’t need to. That voice of his, sharp and rasped by years of cigarettes and power, filled the space.

"You seem more alive than the last ti we spoke son" The pen scratched one final signature before he glanced up, those pale green eyes cutting through like always. "I’ll take a wild guess it has sothing to do with your little executive assistant, hm?" He mused.

I ignored the jab, as I always had. "You seem to be doing well, considering."

That earned a chuckle, dry and edged with mockery. He set the pen down, lifted the glass, swirled the red like it was blood in his hand. "Well, well. My son Kael sparing a mont to observe my condition. What’s next? You’ll tell you worry for ?" His smirk deepened as he leaned back, like every word was a needle ant to dig into . "No, you’ve never wasted breath worrying about your old man."

I ignored his words again, my eyes trailing deliberately over the contracts on the table. "The board must be thrilled about your condition. Gives them more ti to run wild before you whip them back in line."

That earned a laugh, dry and amused. "Run wild? No, no. They’re too frightened of the Roman na. But you—" his eyes glead, "you’ve been busy cutting throats. I hear you slashed half a dozen of our high-earning senior staff in one week. Investors crying over their losses. Shareholders panicking. They’re calling you crueler than I ever was."

I tilted my head slightly. "They were liabilities. Dead weight has no place in a business."

"Crueler," Ewan repeated, his voice almost proud, almost derisive. "Yes. That’s what they’re saying." He set his glass down with a soft clink. "And Spain. Don’t think I don’t know about your little rendezvous. That girl Aria. She must be really satisfying you in all the ways necessary. That’s why you sunk your teeth in her and never looked back since." His lips curved, the sound of her na in his mouth making my jaw tighten. "does she know she’s a hostage rather than a lover?"

My voice lowered. "Keeping your spies busy, as usual."

"Drop the noble act," Ewan said lazily, leaning forward now, elbows on his knees. "I know you’ve got your n watching too. And Andrew."

At the ntion of Andrew, my calm cracked just enough to show. "Does it bother you at all that your bastard son is out there rallying major players to his side? That he’s crawling to anyone with power... including our dear uncle, Lucian, who still owns a piece of this empire? The sa uncle you buried so deep in fear he’s barely dared to breathe all these years."

Ewan laughed, loud and bitter. "Ah, Lucian. The little rat. Pathetic. And Andrew... He’s not a threat... He’s simply too naive for that. Let him play his little gas."

The word grated at , and my mask thinned. "Why don’t you just hand it all over to Andrew? You know I want nothing to do with it."

Ewan’s smile turned sharp. "This talk again? You think I’ll let you outrun it? I told you before, Kael. The Roman na will catch you no matter how far you run."

My fists curled at my sides, but my voice stayed smooth. "Is that why you’re suddenly so curious about Aria? About whether she knows what she’s getting herself into if she chooses ?"

Ewan’s eyes flickered with sothing unreadable. "That little honey badger of yours. Is she ready to carry the weight of being a Roman?"

My lips curved into a cold, sarcastic smile. "That’s her choice. But funny—you almost sound like you’re ready to accept her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were approving."

Ewan scoffed but said nothing, taking another sip of wine.

I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping into sothing darker. "Or is it just that now that you’re nearing death’s door, you’ve realized there are things you can’t control?"

For the first ti, silence pressed heavy between us.

On the surface, my face was still calm, arrogant even. But inside, sothing twisted violently in ... disgust, hatred, and beneath it, an ache I despised. Because seeing my father weakened, more wrinkles lining his face, glass trembling slightly in his hand... it stirred sothing I didn’t want to na. Sothing that felt dangerously close to dread. Of the inevitable.