Sweet Hatred-Chapter 227: Jealousy

And then Sylas kissed my fingers. My spine stiffened at the feel of his mouth on my skin.

"What the hell are you doing?" I hissed.

"Making someone angry." He smirked, tilting his golden mask just slightly so I could catch the wicked glint in his eyes.

Kael’s expression darkened instantly. Even from here, I felt it. The ripple of cold rage cloaked in stillness.

He wasn’t speaking. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t moving. Just sipping from the glass in his hand and watching. Like he could set the world on fire by looking hard enough.

His gaze dropped to where Sylas’s fingers were holding mine, fingers clasped and all.

I swallowed hard.

And then I took the first step down the staircase, my emerald dress shimmering with each movement, the dipped back making my skin feel too bare, too visible to him.

I should’ve pulled my hand away.

But I didn’t.

Ash smirked between us like she was already planning the fireworks.

Sylas, cocky as ever, tucked my hand into the crook of his arm as we descended the stairs, playing escort with all the flair of a devil in a tux.

And I?

I was trying to breathe.

Because somewhere in this masquerade of gods and predators, I felt like I’d just lit a fuse.

The sound of glass chiming echoed through the ballroom, silencing the slow hum of conversation.

I turned toward the front dais where Ashlyn and Kael stood, side by side under cascading lights, unmasked for the first time that night, the spotlight catching every bone-cut angle of their perfection.

My chest tightened.

They looked like they were made from the same block of power and aesthetic: she in shimmering sliky red, all glint and elegance; him in that black-and-wine tux tailored to his damnation. Her hand rested lightly on his arm like they’d rehearsed this pose for years.

They were terrifyingly beautiful.

And everyone else saw it too.

"They look so good together," someone whispered behind me.

"Can’t wait till they finally announce it," another said.

"They’re the future," a third murmured. "Ashlyn Roman, it has a ring to it."

I felt myself shrink in the dress that once made me feel like a goddess.

My hand clenched around my glass. Not because I thought he’d really marry her. But because a part of me feared it.

Was that who Kael belonged with? The kind of woman you build empires beside? While I sat here, raging and hollow, someone he could taste in secret but never stand beside in public?

"You look like you’re going to murder someone."

Sylas’ voice dragged me back from the edge.

I turned sharply, only to find him lazily sipping champagne beside me, looking as relaxed as ever in his gold mask and unbothered smirk.

"And was it him?" he asked. "The man you were going to drown yourself for?"

"Jesus Christ, "

I grabbed the lapel of his suit and pulled him closer, hard enough to surprise him.

His grin only widened.

"I. Didn’t. Try. To. Kill. Myself."

"Didn’t deny the Roman part though," he muttered with that infuriating charm.

I let go with a grunt, resisting the urge to shove him off the balcony. freewёbnoνel-com

Before I could retort, the crowd burst into polite applause. The speeches were done.

Ashlyn and Kael descended from the platform, her fingers sliding into his for balance.

My stomach twisted.

He held her hand.

And even if it was just for the image, even if it was political and poised, I hated it.

But I couldn’t look away.

As if sensing it, Kael looked up, his gaze finding mine instantly, dark and unreadable.

Then he let go of her hand.

Ash turned and headed our way.

Kael veered toward the cluster of gold-masked elites near the abstract sculpture and string quartet, blending into that power circle where decisions that end worlds are made with sips of aged scotch.

Ash reached us with a sway of hips and a sharp little smile. "Having fun yet?" she asked, plucking a drink off a nearby tray.

"Define fun," I said, trying to breathe normally.

Minutes later, I didn’t know where to stand anymore.

The ballroom had transformed.

Music lilted through the air, something haunting played by a woman with glowing silver gloves and a transparent violin. The scent of luxury clung to everything, aged whiskey, rose, salt from the ocean. And everyone moved like they owned the night.

Gold masks shimmered. Black velvet gloves held cigars and champagne flutes. Laughter rang like crystal chimes as alliances were sealed and deals whispered in broken languages. This wasn’t just a gala, it was a chessboard, and the people here were gods pretending to be human.

Ash had disappeared again to mingle, drifting gracefully between political ministers and high-ranking tech moguls. She greeted them with air kisses, sly nods, and her lethal brand of charm.

That left me with Sylas.

Unfortunately.

We stood in the center of the room like we were posing for a painting. Or maybe he was just using me as a people-watching excuse while sipping bourbon like it was water.

"They’re looking at you," he murmured, his blue eyes scanning lazily over the room. "You know that, right?"

"I’m wearing gold," I said, adjusting the mask on my face. "It’s expected."

"Sure. But I’m sure it’s not the mask they’re staring at."

I rolled my eyes, even as my throat tightened. Because he was right. Eyes followed me. Not just curious eyes, calculating ones. Hungry ones.

I wasn’t used to being seen like this. Not in emerald velvet. Not as someone important.

"I feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin," I muttered under my breath.

"Hmmn," Sylas replied, suddenly serious. "Or you’re just finally wearing your own."

I turned to him, surprised. But he only smiled again, lazy and too pleased with himself, and pointed with his chin toward a new arrival.

"The prodigal heir is now entertaining royalty now. And he’s smiling. How disturbing. Though I wonder why his brother isn’t here."

I followed his gaze.

There he was.

Kael. Standing at the heart of power.

A group of men and women worth fortunes, encircled him. And Kael, for once, wasn’t just observing. He was commanding. His hand gestured fluidly as he spoke, and the group listened, hanging on his every word.

A former president leaned in to laugh at something he said. A crown prince clinked his glass in approval. Even Ash’s father, in a rare appearance, stood with them, his eyes quietly calculating as he sized up the man likely to inherit half the world.

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