Sweet Hatred Chapter 54: A sick game

He kept walking, and I followed—slowly, carefully, one step behind. We turned into another corridor, even more secluded. Here, the paintings were smaller, more intimate. A woman brushing her hair. A sleeping girl in a garden. A nude curled up beneath a dark blue sky.

Shoji looked at again, eyes gleaming. "Art like this... it reminds of the won I’ve known. Soft, yet elusive. Always leaving you wanting more."

I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, mostly so I wouldn’t slap him. I glanced around instead, noting how quiet it had beco. No footsteps. No chatter. Just the distant thrum of music, faint and far away.

Then, as if summoned by my thoughts, a waitress passed by silently, carrying a silver tray with flutes of champagne. Shoji plucked one and turned to .

"For you," he said, handing it over.

I took it, still smiling.

Only a sip. Just enough to keep the mask in place.

The glass was cold between my fingers. I took a light taste, letting it barely touch my lips, then lowered it again.

Shoji gave a brief, almost rehearsed smile and stepped away. "If you’ll excuse for a mont, beautiful. I just need to check in with soone."

He didn’t wait for an answer. Just turned and disappeared down another side corridor.

I scoffed under my breath the mont he was gone, tilting my head back with an exhale.

Unbelievable.

Of course Kael would pull this. Push a misogynistic bastard my way and watch squirm for his own amusent. This was just like Milan all over again—only this ti, it felt darker. Slimier. And sohow, even more insulting.

I lifted the flute, idly swirling the champagne inside. The bubbles fizzed softly, delicate and cruel.

Kael was going to suffer for this.

And I was going to enjoy every second of it.

I moved away from the wall and began to slowly walk further into the hallway, eyes flicking over the paintings in a poor attempt to stay occupied.

Then, my fingers slipped.

Just a little.

The glass tilted. The edge of my dress caught the stem, and suddenly the champagne was spilling over my hand, dripping down onto the floor in glistening droplets. I hissed under my breath and pulled a silk napkin from a nearby console, patting the ss away.

The sharp click of shoes behind made my spine go rigid.

I turned—and there he was again.

Shoji.

Smile unchanged.

Eyes darker than before.

Shoji’s eyes flicked to the floor, where the champagne had spilled, then rose slowly to et mine. That smile—still there, still slick—no longer looked harmless. It curled like smoke, dark and knowing.

"I see your hands are clumsy tonight," he said lightly, his gaze flicking down to my fingers, then the wet silk of my dress.

I didn’t answer. I wiped my palm again, then t his stare, keeping my tone level. "You were gone a while. I thought you’d ditched ."

"Never," he replied, stepping closer. "Not when I have such fine company. I was speaking with soone about you, actually."

"Oh?" I tilted my head, forcing a small laugh. "Let guess... Kael?"

He smirked, and my stomach twisted.

Bingo.

He paused, a flicker of confusion or was it suprise and then—

"Ah, so he told you," he said, voice a low hum. "We had a little chat. He ntioned how you tend to... pretend to be unapproachable. But really, you’re just waiting for soone bold enough to pull the right strings."

I laughed softly, but it was empty. Cold. "Right. That sounds exactly like sothing he’d say."

Shoji leaned in slightly, his cologne thick and heady, his voice just loud enough for to hear over the hum of silence. "He also said you like a challenge. That you only respond to n who aren’t afraid to push past your little walls."

I let the mask slip then. Just for a second.

My smile dropped, and my voice cooled to steel. "Whatever little ga you two cooked up—it’s not working."

Shoji blinked, the first crack in his expression. Then, his lips curled again—tighter this ti. Less playful. More... deliberate.

"Oh, I think it’s working just fine."

I turned to leave. I didn’t care if Kael was hiding in so dark corner waiting to laugh—this had gone far enough. But I only got two steps before Shoji’s hand wrapped around my arm.

Firm. Too firm.

I froze.

The flute was still in my hand—mostly empty now—and he looked down at it with a strange glint in his eyes. When he looked back up, his voice dropped low, almost a whisper.

"You drank it, didn’t you?"

His smile turned razor sharp. "Good girl."

My breath stalled.

"What did you just say?"

He leaned in, mouth close to my ear, the air around him heavy with sothing cruel.

"I wonder how long it’ll take to hit you."

For a mont, I couldn’t speak. My mind stumbled, trying to catch up with his words, trying to process the sick implication.

The glass.

The champagne.

The way he looked at it.

The way he looked at .

"You son of a—" I hissed, pulling my arm, but his grip tightened. The flute shattered on the floor.

His other hand reached for my waist, too slow to be casual, too fast to be safe. "You should really loosen up. You’d enjoy yourself more."

And that was when it clicked.

This wasn’t a joke.

This wasn’t Kael’s sick idea of fun.

This was real.

This was sothing far more dangerous.

And I was done pretending.

"Let go, you sick bastard!" I snapped, struggling against his iron grip.

"Stop fighting it," Shoji murmured, his other hand snaking around my waist, pulling flush against him. "You’ll soon be begging for more." I could feel his breath against my skin—hot, smug, disgusting.

My skin crawled, every nerve on fire, but I kept my head steady, forcing my breath to slow. I rembered the basics—what I had forced myself to learn during one of my paranoid self-defense-gym rat phases. Boxing. One-two jab. Aim for the nose, then the ribs.

My heart thundered as I found the opening.

And then—I struck.

My fist connected with his face. Not as hard as I wanted, but enough to throw him off balance. I pulled back, ready to swing again—

But before my knuckles could land, another hand grabbed from behind, yanking backwards with sudden force.