Sweet Hatred Chapter 363: Hello Kitty

Aria glanced at , guilty and rushed, her lips still kiss-bruised. "You can... um, take a shower if you want. Bathroom’s right there. I’ll find you sothing to wear."

"I don’t need—" I started, but her glare cut clean off.

The kind that said don’t argue with , Roman.

I lifted a hand in defeat. "Fine."

She nodded, already moving toward her closet. A minute later she turned, holding up... fabric. Bright, pink fabric.

A hoodie. Neon pink. With a giant Hello Kitty printed across the front. Sweatpants to match.

She looked almost shy as she held them out. "These might fit. I bought them for myself but they were too big. Still wore them a few tis because... why not? But on you they should be fine."

I took the clothes from her slowly, staring down at the ridiculous cartoon cat face smiling up at . My lips pressed into a flat line.

They wouldn’t fit. At best, the hoodie would stop mid-torso, the sweatpants wrapping awkwardly around my ankles.

But for so reason, the thought of walking out of her bathroom wrapped in sothing that slled like her, sothing she’d worn, was preferable to making a single call for fresh clothes to be delivered.

I t her eyes again, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter, like she knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Don’t look at like that," I muttered.

She leaned forward, planting one last kiss against my mouth, soft and grounding, before whispering, "Take your ti."

And just like that, she slipped out the door, leaving in a teenage room full of mories, clutching a Hello Kitty hoodie like it was so kind of lifeline.

...

Her bathroom was exactly like her room—organized chaos.

The tiles were pale blue, cracked faintly at the edges but scrubbed spotless. A shelf sagged beneath the weight of too many products: half-used lotions, face masks, mismatched shampoo bottles. A razor balanced precariously against a candle, and on the mirror, a smudge of lipstick fingerprints like she’d once tested shades and forgot to wipe them off.

Towels, soft and pastel, were stacked on the back of the toilet. A little succulent sat by the window, half-alive, clinging to life the sa way she did so nights. Beautiful. Chaotic. Her.

And her scent—God, her scent.

Sweet. Warm. Aria. It clung to everything in the room, seeping into my lungs until I wasn’t sure if I was breathing air or her.

I stripped out of my clothes, stepped into her shower, and let the hot water pound over . I reached for the soap without thinking and froze when I caught the scent... vanilla and sothing faintly floral. Her. Again. When I walked out of that bathroom, I was going to sll like her skin.

The thought hit sowhere low in , stirring both comfort and need.

I toweled off and picked up the hoodie. Bright pink. A cat. Soft as hell. I pulled it over my head, the sleeves riding up my forearms, the hem cutting awkwardly against my torso. The sweatpants fared no better... too short, hanging loose at the waist but hugging my thighs. I refused to look at myself in the mirror.

The door creaked open behind .

I turned.

Aria stood there, arms crossed, biting her lip so hard I thought she might draw blood. Her eyes flicked from my shoulders down to the hem of the hoodie, then to the sweatpants straining slightly against my legs. She let out the tiniest sound... half laugh, half choke.

"Ahem. You look... good," she said carefully, her voice shaking with the effort to keep a straight face.

"Do I?" I asked flatly.

Her lips twitched. "Dinner’s ready."

I stepped toward her, slow, deliberate. She backed up one step, then another, until her back hit the door. My hand reached out—not to touch her face, but to smack her ass.

She yelped, scarlet blooming across her cheeks.

"Kael!" she hissed.

"Don’t laugh at ," I murmured, lips brushing her ear as I passed her.

Her glare burned my back as I walked out into the hall, but the flush on her face told I’d won.

---

Dinner was a blur of scents and warmth. Olivia had made stir-fried chicken glazed in soy sauce, the savory richness filling the apartnt. A pot of steaming rice sat at the center, surrounded by smaller bowls... vegetables tossed in sesa oil, pan-fried dumplings crisp at the edges. Ho food. The kind of al you didn’t eat at penthouse tables with crystal glasses. The kind that filled you, not just your stomach, but sothing emptier inside.

I sat across from Kaleb.

He didn’t eat. Not at first. He just stared. Wide brown eyes that reminded of Michael fixed on like I was so strange beast he hadn’t decided if he liked. My fork hovered over the rice, suddenly unsure.

The scrutiny was worse than facing shareholders.

Did he hate ? Was I so unwelco giant intruding on his world? My pulse ticked faster with every second he didn’t look away.

Then, at the end of the al, when Olivia and Aria started clearing the dishes, he climbed out of his chair, padded over, and tugged at my sleeve.

"Do you wanna play?"

I blinked down at him. "Play?"

"Mario Kart," he said matter-of-factly, like that should’ve been obvious. "On the Switch."

For the first ti that night, sothing like a smile cracked at my mouth. "You think you can beat ?"

His grin was all teeth. "Bet I can."

And just like that, the boy who’d been staring at like I was a monster now looked at like a challenger.

So I followed him, leaving Aria’s voice floating behind from the kitchen as she laughed with Olivia. And for a rare mont, it felt like I wasn’t Kael Roman, heir of an empire, son of a tyrant.

I was just a man in a ridiculous hoodie, about to get his ass kicked by an eight-year-old in Mario Kart.