Sweet Hatred Chapter 99: The Blueprint

ARIA

"So, did Kaleb like the Lego set?"

I nodded, picking at the fries on my plate even though I wasn’t the least bit hungry. "He loved it. He made build it with him three tis."

Sarah let out a soft laugh, brushing her curls out of her face. "God, I still feel terrible for missing it. Everything was so last-minute. If I had known that client would drag the eting past ten—"

"It’s fine babe," I said quickly, offering her a small smile I didn’t feel. "Really. Kaleb will forgive you if you got him sothing."

"Aria..."

"I swear." I stabbed a fry, watching it break apart under the pressure of my fork. "Kaleb had fun. That’s what matters."

She gave a long look, like she didn’t quite believe . "You’re sure you’re okay? You’ve been... off."

I blinked. "Off?"

"Yeah." She tilted her head. "I don’t know. Quieter. Twitchier. You jumped like three tis already, and the waiter definitely thought you were gonna hit him when he dropped the ketchup bottle."

"God," I groaned, dropping my fork and rubbing my hands over my face. "I didn’t an to freak out. I’m just— I just fucking tired man"

That wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t slept well but then my exhaustion tripled and I couldn’t be at ease. Not after this morning.

Not after he showed up. The image hit so fast it knocked the air out of my lungs.

The knock on my office door. The way my pulse had jumped—just a little, just enough to make stupidly think it might be Kael, even though he never knocked. He just barged in like he owned the place.

Which—technically—he did. But it hadn’t been Kael. It hadn’t even been Rose. It had been him. Kael’s father.

The goddamn Chairman himself.

My brain short-circuited for a second, just blinking at him like an idiot.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

People like him didn’t do surprise visits. They sent emails filtered through six layers of executive assistants like . They sent mos and eting requests stamped with big red letters.

They didn’t just show up in your doorway like it was the most normal thing in the world. I scrambled to my feet so fast my chair screeched against the floor.

"Mr.— Chairman," I stamred, heat climbing up my neck. "I— I didn’t know you were—"

He smiled.

A small, almost amused thing that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"Aria Thorne, isn’t it?"

I nodded so fast I probably looked like one of those bobblehead toys people stuck on their dashboards.

"Yes, sir."

God, my voice sounded strangled. I wanted to punch myself. He stepped inside, the door clicking softly shut behind him, and suddenly the office felt way too small, the air too thick.

I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to look composed, even though inside I was one heartbeat away from a full-blown anxiety attack.

"I hope I’m not interrupting anything important," he said, glancing around the explosion of papers and open folders across my desk.

"No, no, of course not," I rushed out.

Liar. Big, fat liar.

He walked closer, hands casually tucked into his tailored slacks, and it was all I could do not to back away like so kind of skittish animal.

"You’ve been working under Kael Roman, correct?"

I nodded again, stomach flipping.

"Yes, sir."

He humd, a thoughtful sound, like he was filing away in so ntal cabinet.

"I’ve heard good things about you," he said, pausing right in front of my desk. "Very good things."

My cheeks flad.

"I just— I try to do my job," I mumbled, hating how breathless I sounded.

He chuckled low in his throat.

The kind of laugh that made feel like I was standing in the center of a spotlight with nowhere to hide.

"You’re modest," he said. "I like that."

I gripped the edge of the desk to keep from fidgeting. Why was he here? Why was he talking to ? And why did I suddenly feel like the floor was about to fall out from under ?

His had presence swallowed the room and I couldn’t move, not when his eyes landed on —green, piercing, glass-cut sharp. Like Kael’s... only worse.

Kael’s stare burned but his father’s bled.

Those eyes didn’t just look at you—they dug in, peeled back flesh and pride and secrets until there was nothing left but bone. I felt like I was being dissected, right there, under the full force of that quiet, impossible gaze.

Despite his age, his features were striking, handso in a way that almost didn’t feel human. Too precise. Too polished. That smile on his lips didn’t match the coldness in his eyes. It was the kind of smile that said: I could kill you and make it look like a courtesy.

Sothing about him—sothing deep, primal—was wrong.

The air shifted. The temperature dropped. Every inch of my skin prickled with invisible needles. My body scread danger even though he hadn’t touched . Hadn’t raised his voice. Hadn’t done a damn thing but look.

And then he spoke.

"You don’t need to be so tense, Ms. Thorne. Be at ease. I’m just an old frail man."

His voice was low, smooth, quiet. Like smoke. Like poison.

I forced a breath through my nose, praying it sounded steadier than I felt. My pulse was sprinting wild in my neck, and sweat had already begun its slow, traitorous crawl down my spine. But I smiled anyway—tight, polite, performative.

"Of course," I said.

He stepped further in, eyes still on , and for a second—just a second—I swore he was about to reach for . Do sothing. Say sothing else that would snap the thin thread of reality I was hanging on to.

But instead, he glanced at the chair in front of my desk, then looked back at with that slow, knowing smirk.

One that looked just like Kael’s.

I hesitated for half a second, then lowered myself into my seat, fingers curling tight around the edge of my skirt like anchors. My knees brushed beneath the desk, jittery and tense.

He sat across from , slow and deliberate, crossing one leg over the other like we were just two colleagues having a chat. That smirk still played on his lips—sharp and unreadable.

And suddenly, I saw it. Not just the resemblance. The blueprint.

Kael was him, down to the crooked smile, the arched brow, the glint of danger buried beneath charm. But there was sothing else, too. A rare kind of power—quiet, vicious, precise. They didn’t just look alike. They moved alike. They calculated alike. Like chessmasters who didn’t just plan ten moves ahead—they’d already buried the board.

And in that mont, I realized sothing strange. They had the sa silence too. The kind that made you feel like sothing was about to happen, but you’d never hear it coming.

He glanced at my desk, at the ss of folders and open files scattered across it like a cri scene.

"What were you working on before I interrupted?"

I swallowed. "The Asia-Pacific expansion strategy. Kael asked to finalize the projections and file them with the executive summary by the end of the week."

He chuckled—a low, deep sound that vibrated too long in the air. "That’s a high-stakes project. My son must trust you quite a bit to leave sothing so critical in your hands."

"It’s just my job," I replied evenly. "I try to do it well."

But inside, I was screaming: Why are you here? What do you want from ?

I waited for him to cut to the point, to lay out whatever corporate ss he was dragging into—but he didn’t. Instead, he leaned back in the chair like he had all the ti in the world, watching like I was a riddle he already knew the answer to.

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until he spoke again.

"You have very... unique eyes."

My heart tripped. "Excuse ?"

"Amber," he said, like he was tasting the word. "Not a common color. They burn." He tilted his head, gaze zeroing in like a sniper. "They remind of fire."

My spine stiffened. Kael had said sothing similar once. At the club, I could never forget. ’I like how much they burn ’, he murmured that night, lips almost touching, hands pinned above my head.

Was this... a Roman thing? So sick family eye fetish?

I forced a polite smile. "I’ve heard that before."

He humd, satisfied. But then—the air changed.

Sothing in the room cracked, the temperature dipping low even though the AC hadn’t changed. The soft hum of the building around us faded, and all I could hear was the thunderous pound of my heartbeat in my ears.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was like sothing peeled back beneath the surface, sothing rotten and sharp.

"And what," he asked slowly, voice dark and smooth as oil, "is your relationship with my son?"