Sweet Hatred-Chapter 210: Dinner or Execution

The doors of the Bentley didn’t open right away.

But the black SUV that pulled in behind it?

That one did.

A group of men stepped out. Suits so crisp you could cut your fingers on them. Their movements were quiet, sharp. Military or mafia, honestly, these days I couldn’t tell the difference.

They approached without urgency, but with that kind of silent threat that made your stomach clench without knowing why.

I straightened. Didn’t let myself flinch.

Of course someone had sent their minions. And of course, they’d come after hours.

One of them, older, maybe the leader, stepped forward. "Miss Thorne. Mr. Ewan Roman would like a word."

I blinked.

Ewan.

Of fucking course.

Kael’s father. The Chairman. The Devil in a tailored suit.

I let out a long breath, more annoyed than afraid. "What, does he want to give me a check this time?"

The man didn’t answer. They never do.

I crossed my arms. "Look—he doesn’t have to bother. If this is about Kael, I can assure you I’ve done a great job ruining that relationship all on my own. Tell him he can relax."

Still no response.

God. Rich people and their loyalty-tested goons.

I could walk away. But we both knew how that would end. I wasn’t stupid. These weren’t the kind of men you said no to. Not if you wanted to keep your bones unbroken.

So I sighed. "Fine. Let’s get this over with."

They opened the back passenger door like it was some kind of honor, and I climbed in like a prisoner being chauffeured to her execution.

The drive was silent, tinted windows swallowing the city lights. No music. No chatter. Just the occasional flicker of gold neon as we veered deeper into an older, more private district I didn’t usually have access to.

Finally, the car pulled to a smooth stop in front of what looked like a Japanese-style structure, sloped roofs, bamboo fencing, low lantern lights glowing soft against a black-sand stone path. The kind of place where the rich did "quiet power" in the most expensive way possible.

One of the men opened the door for me, and I stepped out.

My heels clicked against the stone. My breath fogged slightly in the night air.

Another man led me inside the dimly lit restaurant, completely empty, by the looks of it, and down a hall lined with silk-paneled doors and bonsai trees.

He stopped in front of a sliding door.

"Please wait inside. He’ll be with you shortly."

I stepped in and sat where I was told, in front of a low table with nothing on it except a single, steaming cup of green tea.

No windows. Just silence. The kind that pressed into your skin and made your blood move louder than your thoughts.

I stared at the cup and told myself not to scream.

Not because I was scared. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel-com

But because I was tired.

So fucking tired of always being the one left behind or summoned or punished. Tired of walking into rooms where powerful men already decided what version of me they wanted to destroy.

I took a breath.

Sat straighter.

And waited for the next blow.

The door slid open without a sound.

Of course it didn’t creak. Nothing that belonged to Ewan Roman ever dared to be imperfect.

He walked in like he wasn’t five minutes late, like time paused just to let him make an entrance. Still dressed in a rich charcoal suit, no tie, crisp white shirt opened slightly at the neck like the air here belonged to him too.

That same smile touched his lips. The one Kael wore when he wanted something.

"Miss Thorne," he greeted smoothly, his voice dipped in aged scotch and authority. "Good evening."

I returned the smile with my most neutral, polite expression, the one I used when I wasn’t sure if I was about to be handed dessert or a blade.

"Chairman Roman."

He settled across from me like this was a friendly catch-up. Not an ambush. Not intimidation. Not... whatever the hell this was.

I waited.

Let him decide how the execution would go.

But instead, he reached across the low table and slid something toward me.

A menu.

"I took the liberty of reserving the chef’s private room," he said casually, as if we were old friends. "I know this place well. You should try something."

I blinked, staring down at the pristine leather-bound menu between us.

"...Pardon?"

He chuckled lightly, folding his hands together on the table. "Come now. I may be an old man, but I’d like to think I still know how to treat a guest."

Right.

A guest.

In a room with no windows and a single exit guarded by two men in black.

I swallowed that comment before it reached my mouth, fingers slipping over the edge of the menu.

Japanese dishes.

No surprise. This place reeked of quiet, ancient elegance, like every piece of furniture had been hand-carved and prayed over before being brought in.

I let my eyes move down the list. Unagi don. Soba with duck broth. Bluefin sashimi with gold flake. Grilled river eel with yuzu glaze.

All exquisite.

All expensive.

All suspicious as hell.

I kept stealing glances at the Chairman, waiting for the real reason I was here to claw its way to the surface.

He didn’t rush.

Instead, he broke the silence again. "Their ankake yakisoba is the best in the country. Crisped to perfection, just enough ginger in the sauce."

I blinked.

"You’ve... been here before?"

Ewan tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing behind that predator’s smile. "More times than I can count. This used to be my neutral zone when things got too messy in Europe. It’s... quiet here."

I nodded slowly. "I’ll have that, then. The noodles."

His smile widened, pleased.

Without even raising his voice, he said, "Yuto."

And like a phantom materializing from the walls, a man in a sleek black kimono slid the door open and stepped inside, bowing once.

"The young lady will have the ankake yakisoba," Ewan said. "I’ll have my usual—o-toro sashimi, sea urchin, and grilled matsutake skewers."

Yuto bowed again and disappeared just as soundlessly as he came.

And then we were alone.

Just me, the Chairman of the Roman Empire, and the looming possibility that I was either being flattered or poisoned tonight.

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