Sweet Hatred-Chapter 252: Older

SYLAS

Aria disappeared into her room, probably to scrub the day off her skin. I was left alone in her apartment, the quiet humming louder than expected.

I looked around.

It was small. Cozy in a way that made sense. The kind of space that didn’t pretend to be anything more than what it was. Mismatched throw pillows on the couch, books stacked sideways on shelves, half-burnt candles scattered across the table like forgotten thoughts. A hoodie tossed over the back of a chair.

It suited her.

Not pristine. Not perfect.

Real.

God, this felt unreal.

Not even weeks ago, I’d been pacing some overpriced patio at a beach house party, trying to drown boredom with champagne, thinking I’d never see her again.

The first time I saw her...

She was alone.

The tide was high, pulling everything back with it. Including her.

I’d thought I was hallucinating. Some ghost or sea-spun illusion standing out there like she wanted to disappear. She didn’t see me. Not until I was pulling her out, half-wet, completely dazed, looking like she didn’t know whether to scream or fall asleep in my arms.

And even though I managed to get a few words out of her, something settled in my chest that night.

No, crushed me.

It was like something cosmic pulled on a string I didn’t know I had tied around my ribs.

After I dropped her off, I thought I’d forget. Chalk it up to adrenaline or dumb attraction or some self-righteous savior complex.

But then she started showing up in my dreams.

That annoyed look. That little crease between her brows. Those sad, fierce eyes that looked like they’d seen too much and were daring the world to show more.

I went back to that beach. More than once. Sat on the same sand, stared at the same waves, hoping she’d come back.

She didn’t.

So I gave up.

Until I saw her again.

At the last place I ever expected.

Ash had been rambling about Kael’s mysterious mistress, how she was "fascinating" and "ruthless" and "not her usual type." I thought it was just Ash being Ash. Scheming. Playing puppet master like she always did. I wasn’t bothered to even look when she tried showing me a picture.

But when I walked into that damned island and saw her? Her?

I forgot how to fucking breathe.

It was Aria. The girl from the beach.

The one I couldn’t shake.

The one Kael Roman couldn’t let go of either.

And she was even more beautiful. More dangerous. More impossible than I remembered.

I should’ve stayed away.

I should’ve backed off.

But then she looked at me like I wasn’t another spoiled rich boy. Like I wasn’t a toy to play with or a pawn in someone’s political game. She looked at me like I annoyed her. Like I intrigued her. Like I was real.

That did it.

I wanted her. God, I wanted her. So fucking bad, it terrified me.

It was not just the way she looked. It was the way she talked. The way she bit back even when she was clearly hurting. The way she put herself back together with shaking hands and pretended like she didn’t just crack.

Kael didn’t know what to do with her half the time. I could see it.

But I?

I knew I can find the spaces he didn’t reach.

The cracks.

The soft, hidden places between her anger and her grief.

And if I was lucky, or stupid enough, I might just slip through.

Or I could see how far I could get before she broke me too.

__-__

I didn’t hear her coming out at first.

The sound of the bathroom door opening was a faint creak, soft and careless. But the second I looked up and saw her

She stepped out of the room and I stopped breathing again.

Oversized T-shirt. Loose sweatpants riding low on her hips. A blanket thrown over her shoulder. Her bun was messy, damp strands clinging to her neck, and a drop of water rolled down from behind her ear... down the slope of her collarbone... disappearing beneath her shirt.

Fuck me.

My eyes followed it.

And for a second, I forgot where I was. Forgot that I was in her apartment. Forgot that she trusted me enough to let me into this space, her space and now she was walking toward me like she didn’t just look like something I wanted to ruin slowly.

I felt the heat coil low in my stomach, spreading down to my thighs. My jaw clenched. The back of my neck burned.

She looked so damn soft and sleepy. Like something I could devour in one bite. And yet, completely out of reach.

I was still staring when her voice snapped me out of it.

"What?" she asked, eyes narrowed slightly. "Is the stain on my shirt that obvious?"

I blinked. Shit. Focus.

My mouth opened, but nothing clever came out. So I forced the smirk. My shield.

"I was just admiring the water drop’s journey," I said, voice low. "Lucky bastard."

Aria narrowed her eyes at me, like she was trying to decide whether to smack me or laugh. "You’re so weird."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing."

She dropped onto the couch beside me, pulled the blanket around both of us without thinking. Her bare arm brushed mine.

God.

My dick twitched.

She smelled like her soap. Something warm. Slightly citrusy. A little sweet. Too intimate.

She leaned back and murmured, "What show did you pick?"

I froze. "Shit."

She raised a brow. "Seriously?"

"I forgot."

She picked up the throw pillow and smacked me with it. "What the hell have you been doing the whole time then?"

"Dying slowly," I said, catching the pillow, "because someone walked out here looking like the embodiment of all my unresolved tension."

Her brows rose. "You’re so fucking unhinged."

"And you’re dangerous," I muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing." I tossed the pillow back. "Respect your elders."

She narrowed her eyes and scoffed. "You wish. I’m older than you."

"You sure about that?"

"Don’t think I don’t know your age, Sylas. I know everything."

I smirked and leaned in slightly. "So what—you’re admitting to stalking me online like a dedicated fan?"

Her eyes rolled so hard I thought they’d fall out. "I never said that. Stop questioning me. You’re a pain in the ass."

"I’m adorable," I corrected. "Big difference."

She pushed my face away again. "You look like a horny middle-schooler trying to pick up his teacher."

I laughed. "Guilty. I’ve always had a thing for older women with unresolved rage issues."

She gave me a side glare. "Shut up."

But her lips curved. Just barely.

And I felt it.

The ache. The need. The danger of it.

Because she didn’t know what she did to me. How she was slowly becoming this maddening itch under my skin. This urge that wouldn’t go away.

I wanted her.

So fucking bad.