Sweet Hatred
Chapter 257: A call

Chapter 257: A call

ARIA

I wasn’t pushing papers today, thankfully.

No, I was coordinating a goddamn logistics crisis.

One of the overseas branches had accidentally rerouted a shipment of luxury tech prototypes meant for a private presentation to the wrong port in Brazil. Now, I was managing angry calls, rescheduling flights, and subtly threatening a warehouse manager in Portuguese over the phone, all while pretending I wasn’t dying inside.

Because I was. Just a little.

My brain was playing a dangerous game of mental pinball.

Sylas.

I didn’t even know where to begin with that mess.

He had acted like a child caught stealing cookies in the middle of the night. All flushed cheeks and awkward eyes, scrambling for the door like my apartment had grown fangs.

Did he hate the space? Was it too cramped? Too... me?

But then again, who the hell cared?

He was the one who asked to come over.

He was the one who flirted like a hormonal teenage boy.

He was the one who... stayed.

Still.

I hated to admit it, but I was grateful he’d been there. Just... there.

Grounding me in the middle of a spiral I didn’t see coming.

Not that I’d ever say that out loud. Ew.

I clicked out of one of the logistics reports and leaned back in my chair with a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling like it held answers. It didn’t.

Instead, all it offered me was another mental shift—

My father.

The way he looked yesterday...

He looked like a ghost wearing skin. Thin. Paler than I remembered. Hair grayer. Eyes—my eyes—dull.

The fire that used to blaze in them like a storm? Gone.

He wasn’t just old. He was... unraveling.

And yet he had the audacity to preach about family.

Talk about reconciliation.

Like the past never happened. Like we’d all just forgotten how many nights my mother cried, how many bruises we wore under long sleeves, how many times I had to...

No.

Fuck that.

Maybe he was trying to get rid of Olivia now. Hand her over like a burden. Dress it up as guilt and fatherly devotion. Manipulative bastard.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and finally gave in to the buzzing urge in my chest.

I grabbed my phone, stood from my chair, and stepped out into the hallway for a second. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere the office noise couldn’t reach me.

I found a little alcove near the tall windows, leaned against the cool glass, and pulled up the contact I wasn’t sure would ever answer.

Olivia.

The phone rang.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Please pick up.

My heart thudded louder than the ringtone.

The call didn’t go through.

Well, it did. But only to voicemail.

Again.

My thumb hovered over the screen like I could will her to pick up. Just one word. One breath. One damn syllable.

But nothing.

Still... it rang this time didn’t it? That had to mean something. Maybe she unblocked me. Maybe our father got to her too. Maybe...

Ugh. I was spiraling again.

I forced myself back into the office, biting the inside of my cheek. I wasn’t going to cry. I didn’t even know how anymore. Not when it mattered.

Back at my desk, I sat down with more force than necessary and muttered, "Focus."

Think of Sarah.

Her birthday was coming up. I should probably get her something other than an apology and wine this year. Something sentimental. Or sparkly. Or both.

I was scrolling through overpriced bracelets on some bougie boutique website when,

The door creaked open and then a voice.

"Miss me already?"

I didn’t even have to look up.

"I thought I’d earned a three-week break from your face," I said flatly, still clicking through photos. "Was hoping I’d manifest peace."

He laughed. That stupid cocky little laugh that made my stomach twist.

"I’m hurt," Sylas said, entering the office fully and walking to my direction. "You know you need my face to survive."

I slowly raised my head and squinted at him like he was a badly written plot twist.

He looked...

Professional.

What the hell?

Hair pushed back neatly, black button-down tucked into gray pants, silver watch flashing just right under the lights. And a stupid leather folder in his hand like he had actual business.

"Wait," I said, blinking. "Are you... dressed like a real adult?"

He smirked, coming around to my desk and dropping the folder in front of me.

"Well, someone’s gotta pretend to be put-together in this relationship."

I scoffed. "Relationship?"

"The dysfunctional one we started the moment you let me in your apartment."

He leaned over slightly. "And your heart."

I shoved him gently by the shoulder. "You’re so annoying."

He grinned wider. "You like it."

"Debatable." I opened the folder, eyes scanning the content. "What’s this?"

"Official financials and press fallout from the Gala," he said, surprisingly serious now. "Ashlyn’s too lazy to deliver it herself. She figured you’d appreciate it more if I showed up dressed like someone who doesn’t flirt with danger every Tuesday."

I raised a brow, flipping through the docs. "Wow. The aftermath’s messier than I thought."

"Tell me about it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Dad’s been calling. Ash is busy. And I’ve got her eyes up my ass, I swear."

I tried not to laugh, but a tiny smirk broke through.

"You still didn’t answer my question, though," I said, glancing up. "What are you really doing here?"

He looked at me for a second. Then:

"...Thought I’d check if you were okay."

And just like that, the air in the room thickened.

I blinked at him. "You’re joking, right?"

Sylas tilted his head, that usual smirk tugging at his mouth, but his eyes—those eyes—held something steadier. Something that didn’t flinch.

"I can be serious sometimes," he said, softer this time. "Especially when I’m worried."

That flicker in my chest? Not allowed.

I scoffed, reaching for the file in front of me to hide how his words curled into me. "You sure that wasn’t just an excuse to show off your stupidly good hair day?"

And that’s when he leaned on my desk with a grin.

"Why do I get the feeling you’re downplaying how good I look today?"

I didn’t look up. I couldn’t. "Because your ego is so inflated, it’s creating its own gravitational pull."

He chuckled. "Still not denying it."

"Still not confirming it, either," I muttered.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move, closer this time—so close I could feel the heat radiating off him like a damn furnace.

"You know," he murmured, voice lower now, like a secret slipping through his lips, "If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you keep calling me a playboy just to distract yourself from the fact that I’m slowly sweeping you off your feet."

I finally looked at him. Right into those soft, stupid eyes and the dumb smirk on his annoyingly symmetrical face.

"Don’t flatter yourself, Romeo," I said, lips twitching. "You’re like a puppy who learned how to flirt from romance memes and bad Netflix shows."

"Yet here you are, letting the puppy hang out in your office after spending the night in your apartment."

"That was charity," I said. "You looked homeless."

He gave an exaggerated gasp and clutched his chest. "Cruel, cruel woman."

I rolled my eyes just as my phone buzzed on the desk.

I glanced down.

Olivia.

Everything stopped.

My heart skipped.

I immediately raised a hand to silence Sylas, who noticed the shift in my face and backed away without a word.

My fingers trembled slightly as I picked up the call and brought it to my ear.

"...Olivia?"