Sweet Hatred-Chapter 275: my second home

ARIA

I was back at that night again.

The one I could never let myself think about, the night everything cracked and bled.

I stood in the hallway of our old house, the walls still stained with the echoes of screams and the metallic scent of fear. The floor beneath my feet was cold, but my hands burned as I pushed open the door to the living room. He was at it again... my father, hunched over my mother, fists raining down without mercy. Her cries were thin. Olivia was curled up in the corner, sobbing. And I... I wasn’t frozen this time.

I was moving.

I was already on him, fists flying, teeth gritted, every ounce of 13-year-old fury and helplessness flooding out of me. The vase in my hand was shaking as I held it high above my head, straddling him as he thrashed underneath me.

"STOP!" I screamed. But it wasn’t just to him.

It was to the world. To the pain. To the way he made me feel like my voice never mattered. That my body was just a container for fear.

My mother was begging now, "Aria, please... don’t."

I could barely hear her. Olivia was crying louder. My arm shook. My knees hurt from the way I dug them into his ribs.

I don’t know why I didn’t do it. Why I didn’t shatter the vase into his skull. Maybe because deep down I still wanted him to be a father. I wanted someone to tell me I was doing the right thing. That I wasn’t a monster too.

And then everything twisted.

The walls shifted. The room darkened. I was no longer hovering over him... I was watching from the side.

Watching him get beat to a pulp by someone else. A man I didn’t recognize at first. Until I did. The same bastard who later pointed a gun at him.

I was screaming again, running forward, please stop, stop! But I couldn’t move. I was frozen in time as gunshots rang out... louder than thunder. My father dropped beside me. Blood spilled. Warm. Thick.

But something was different this time.

I was the one holding the gun.

My hands were trembling, coated in red. I was trying to cradle him, trying to press my hand to his chest, to keep him from slipping away. My mouth was moving, someone help me, please... please help me, but no one came.

He looked at me, eyes glassy, and whispered again, "I’m sorry I couldn’t be the father you wanted."

"No, no, no," I sobbed, trying to throw the gun away, but it stuck to my hand like it was part of me now. Like I was fused to the choice I never got to make.

And then...

His voice.

Kael’s voice.

I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. I couldn’t make out the words. But it wrapped around me like a balm. Like armor. His voice moved through the shadows, through the blood, soft but steady, chasing the nightmare away.

Kael...

I began to cry for him.

Crying like he was the only thing left to save me from this twisted purgatory.

And then there was his scent. Faint. Familiar. That spicy, woodsy scent. The one that clung to his skin, his shirts, my pillow. My fingers twitched. My chest ached.

My throat moved before anything else.

"...Kael?"

No answer.

Just soft shuffling. A voice... not his.

"Aria?" it called. Gently. Hesitant.

I blinked my eyes open.

Ashlyn’s face hovered above me, filled with relief and something close to heartbreak.

"Oh my god, you’re awake."

But all I could do was stare past her, my lips parting again.

"Where is he?" I croaked.

Because I knew he had been here.

I felt him.

And I wasn’t ready to let him go. Or so I thought.

Ash didn’t answer immediately.

She hesitated, and it was enough for my pulse to begin racing. Something was off.

"Where is he?" I rasped, already shifting to get up. "I heard his voice... Kael. He was here. Is he... "

Ashlyn placed a hand on my shoulder, attempting to ease me back. "You should still be in bed," she said softly, like she was picking her words too carefully. "Aria, you’ve been through a lot. Kael shouldn’t even be on your mind right now."

That confirmed it. She was hiding something.

My throat burned. "Ash..." I narrowed my eyes at her. "What is going on? What aren’t you telling me?"

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, a sharp, sickening thud echoed from the hallway... followed by a muffled, wet grunt.

Like flesh hitting a wall.

Both our heads whipped toward the door, and I saw Ashlyn’s face pale as she whispered under her breath, "Sylas."

That was all it took. I pushed the blanket off me and stood. She reached for me, trying to stop me, but I shoved past her, my legs trembling but determined.

The second I opened the door...

I froze.

Kael had Sylas by the collar, pinched fingers digging deep into the man’s neck, bruising his skin as he slammed him against the floor, punching again and again and again, his expression blank, hollow, terrifying. His knuckles were stained red. Sylas gasped helplessly, his legs twitching off the ground. And Kael... he wasn’t even blinking. His eyes were locked, wild and vacant.

Just like the man who killed my father. The image flashed again, like a cruel reminder.

Something cracked inside me.

A scream tore from my chest before I could stop it. "KAEL!"

He stopped mid pinch.

But Sylas didn’t.

And Ashlyn’s hands immediately grabbed my arm, her voice somewhere far behind me, pleading.

But I couldn’t look away from Kael’s.

Kael’s grip loosened, finally. His fingers uncurled from Sylas’s collar like something slow and calculated... reluctant, even. I watched as he pulled back, breath heaving, his chest rising and falling like a storm had passed through him and left nothing standing.

And then he turned to me.

Our eyes met.

And for a moment, just one damned breath of time, I forgot how to stand. His face... God, his face... wasn’t just angry. It wasn’t guilt. It wasn’t remorse. It wasn’t anything I could put a name to, and maybe that was worse.

It was unreadable.

And that made it terrifying.

Like he was seeing me... and not seeing me. Like I was there but already lost.