Sweet Hatred-Chapter 166: Back to Work

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Weeks passed like they always did when you weren’t really awake in your own skin. Days blended. Nights blurred. Grief settled not like a storm, but like smog, thick and dull and hard to see through.

And then somehow... it was a month and half later. I didn’t even know how I’d survive not doing anything that long except just existing.

I was standing in front of my mirror again, preparing for my first day of work since the roller coaster of events in my life, twisting my hair into something that said, "Look at me, I’m fine."

A lie, but whatever.

It felt strange dressing up again, putting on real clothes instead of whatever I could find clean on the floor. My skirt felt tighter. My blouse still smelled faintly like fabric softener. My mascara brush felt foreign in my hand.

I didn’t look like a woman who had just buried her mother.

But I didn’t look like me either. I wasn’t even sure I remembered what I was supposed to look like.

Whatever. It didn’t matter. Nothing did. Mom was resting now. That was all that mattered.

That was what I kept telling myself anyway.

My own emotions? Not important.

I tugged the zipper up on my skirt, adjusting it when my gaze drifted toward the corner of the vanity. My stomach twisted.

The crumpled paper Kael had given me was still there.

Still untouched.

Still whispering at me like a ghost. Sometimes I’d pick it up and wondered if I could just burn it and pretend I never saw it but somehow I couldn’t. And even though Kael offered to go with me, I still didn’t know what to do with this stranger whose name I still carried.

Kael dropped by a few more times and our interactions never exceeded the friendly check up. But I hadn’t seen him in two weeks.

And according to Sarah who had been diligently showing up at XE every day while I was on leave, he had left the country. Off to secure some massive, international-scale corporate acquisition involving several multimillion-dollar biotech firms and at least one shady Middle Eastern oil prince.

Or something equally ridiculous.

And supposedly, he wouldn’t be back for another month.

I didn’t believe that. Not really.

Kael Roman wouldn’t miss my big return to work. Not with how he operated. Not with how he had looked at me the last time we met. Not with how his fingers had lingered like he didn’t want to let go.

I bit down on my bottom lip, hard enough to remind myself not to think about him.

It didn’t matter.

I glanced at the paper again, still crumpled and slightly stained with old makeup dust.

I had told Olivia about it.

She hadn’t said much, just sat there quietly, absorbing it. But I had seen the way her eyes drifted to the note in my hand. I had seen the way her mouth twitched like she wanted to ask me something.

She probably wanted to go.

But she didn’t say it. She knew I’d never agree.

And honestly, was I the only one who remembered what kind of man he had been?

The screaming. The silence. The walking out. The pain Mom had tried to hide.

People didn’t just... change. Not like that.

Or did they?

I didn’t answer myself.

I just picked up my bag and headed to the door.

Time to go back to work. Back to the building that smelled like polished glass and cold ambition. Back to the tower where nothing made sense but everything looked like it did.

First day back in weeks. And I wasn’t ready. But I was going anyway.

When I stepped out of my apartment, Sarah was already waiting downstairs like clockwork, leaning against the taxi with two takeaway coffees in hand.

God, I could’ve hugged her.

She handed me one without a word and slid into the backseat, patting the space beside her. I climbed in, clutching the cup like it could keep me from unraveling.

"Your first day back," she said, offering a small smile. "Nervous?"

"Terrified."

We both laughed a little, though mine came out thinner, weaker. The city rushed past the windows, all steel and chaos and early morning dread.

For a while we sat in comfortable silence, sipping and watching the blur of life go on like nothing had changed. But then she peeked over at me, her voice lighter than her question warranted.

"So... do you think he ever thinks about you the same way?"

I didn’t look at her right away.

She didn’t need to say his name. I knew exactly who she meant. And I knew exactly where that question came from.

....

It happened maybe two weeks ago, sometime during the thick of it. I hadn’t showered in two days. My face was raw from unshed tears and forced sleep. The house still smelled faintly like her perfume.

Sarah had come over like she always did, quiet and kind, bringing food I didn’t eat and warmth I didn’t know how to receive.

That day, she’d looked at me across the kitchen table, fingers tapping gently against her cup, and asked out of nowhere, "So when are you going to tell me you’re dating the boss?"

I’d blinked, confused. "What?"

"I saw him, Aria," she’d said, her voice soft. "At the hospital. When your mom was there. The way he held you... the way he looked at you. I just didn’t want to push."

I’d felt something inside me go still. I had been keeping the biggest secret of my life from my best friend who didn’t hide anything from me. The guilt crawled up to my throat.

So I told her.

Everything.

Well, maybe not everything in detail. But enough. Enough about the contract. The twisted arrangement. The fact that we weren’t together in the way she thought. That it was messy and blurred and confusing. That I didn’t even know what it was half the time.

That if anyone was in love, it was just me. Alone in it.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just reached across the table and held my hand.

That quiet kind of understanding that made it worse somehow.

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