Sweet Hatred-Chapter 250: "I hate being seen."

My eyes burned. My throat squeezed tight. My whole body shook like it had been waiting to fall apart.

But still... no tears.

Just the ache of words I couldn’t say and a thousand emotions I didn’t know how to translate.

Sylas kept holding me.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t rush.

Just held me like he’d do it forever if that’s what it took.

And in that moment, I didn’t care that he was loud, or reckless, or too much.

He was warm.

And he was here.

And that was enough.

"I’m okay now," I whispered into his shoulder, voice scratchy, throat still raw.

It wasn’t convincing.

Hell, I didn’t even believe it.

I tried to step back, hands releasing his jacket, body untangling from the safety of his warmth.

But Sylas didn’t let go.

Not fully.

He eased back just enough to see my face, his eyes sweeping over me like he was checking for bruises no one else could see.

"Are you?" he asked softly, one brow raised, the teasing in his voice gone. "Because you’re kind of shaking like a leaf."

I scoffed, trying to smile. "I’m always shaking. That’s my charm."

He didn’t laugh.

Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and murmured, "You don’t have to lie. Not to me."

"I’m not lying," I muttered. "I just... I don’t want to talk about it."

"Good," he said, stepping beside me. "Because I didn’t ask you to."

Then, without another word, he reached for my hand.

Fingers curling gently, not demanding, just there.

I hesitated for half a second, then let him.

He didn’t tug. He just walked with me, slow, steady, guiding me away from the café, away from the suffocating silence that still clung to the glass walls and the man I left behind.

My legs felt like they didn’t belong to me, but I moved anyway.

And Sylas stayed by my side, hand still around mine, warm and solid.

"You really don’t have to say anything, Aria," he said as we neared the motorcycle. His voice was soft now. Grounding. "You already said enough by letting me hold you."

I blinked hard.

The air outside was sharper now. But I didn’t shiver.

Maybe it was the warmth still lingering from his arms.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

He reached for the helmet. Didn’t hand it to me this time, just held it in his hands, waiting for me to meet his eyes.

"You ready?" he asked.

I nodded. Even though I didn’t feel ready at all. I sneaked a last glance at my father through the glass building still sitting and wiping his face. I felt the pain curl in my chest again and immediately looked away.

We hopped back on the bike and I kept my arms loose around Sylas’s waist, still a little distant. Still somewhere else in my head.

But I noticed something after a while.

We weren’t heading toward XE.

This wasn’t the route back to the city center either.

I leaned forward slightly. "Sylas?"

He didn’t say anything.

Just revved the bike a little faster, the wind teasing the edges of my blouse and biting at my cheeks.

Ten more minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

We wove through back roads, then up. Higher. A steep curve, a quiet trail with nothing but street lamps fading behind us and the silver glow of the sky ahead.

And then he stopped.

The engine cut off, and the night settled into a hush.

We were on top of a hill. Not too high. Not too far. But far enough.

Below us, the entire city sprawled out in glittering lights. Skyscrapers blinking lazily. Cars like blood cells moving down glowing veins of road. The world still spinning beneath my grief.

I blinked slowly, my breath catching.

"What is this place...?" I murmured.

Sylas swung off the bike and pulled off his helmet, shaking out that mess of hair like he was in some damn movie. He turned back to look at me, a soft grin on his lips.

"I come here sometimes when I can’t sleep," he said. "Or when I’m trying not to punch someone."

"I thought that was the beach."

"Meh, I like to switch sometimes."

My lips twitched. "So you brought me here for peace... or to keep yourself from punching my dad?"

"Bit of both," he shrugged. "And also... thought you might need it."

I hesitated.

Then got off the bike, legs stiff, heart heavier than I wanted it to be.

We stood side by side at the edge of the hill, wind brushing at our clothes.

"It’s quiet," I whispered.

"Mm." He glanced at me. "Do you want me to shut up, too?"

I chuckled softly. "No. Your stupid voice is kind of helping."

"Gee, thanks," he said dryly. "You really know how to flatter a man."

I nudged him with my shoulder, and he nudged me back.

The silence that followed was different from before. Lighter. Bearable.

I looked at him again, and for a moment, I forgot about the ache in my chest. The hollow echo of my father’s words. The storm still unraveling in my brain.

It was just this.

Me. Him. The city below us.

And the slow, strange calm of being held without touch.

We found a spot in the grass, soft and quiet and lit by moonlight. I sat with my knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. Sylas flopped down beside me, one leg stretched out, the other bent up. Elbow propped against his knee, chin tipped to the sky.

Neither of us said anything for a while.

Just the hum of the wind and the low buzz of the world far beneath us.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice slipped through the stillness.

"I hate being seen."

I glanced at him.

He wasn’t looking at me. Just staring up, like the clouds were listening.

"Not like... seen, seen. Like noticed. Watched. Expected."

His fingers dug into the grass. "Everyone thinks they know who I am. Ash thinks I’m reckless. My dad thinks I’m a waste of space. Kael thinks I’m a joke. And the rest of the world sees some rich punk with too much charm and not enough spine."

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