His eyes found me instantly. And for a moment, the whole place fell away.
He didn’t smile.
He didn’t smirk.
He just looked at me like I was inevitable.
My breath caught.
The locker room was half-empty now, steam curling from the showers and laughter bouncing off the tile like leftover adrenaline. Hades stood beside me, still in his padded shorts and compression gear, looking as if the fight hadn’t taken a single breath from him.
But when he turned to me, there was something quieter in his gaze. Not soft. Never soft. But… anchored.
“Come here,” he said simply, like it was a command and an invitation rolled into one.
I followed him deeper into the room, my boots echoing against the tile as I stepped into his world.
Five men were scattered around the benches—half-dressed, half-cocked, and fully chaotic.
“Gentlemen,” Hades said, voice dark and unhurried, “this is my wife.”
That stopped everything.
Five pairs of eyes turned toward me.
Gideon was the first to break the silence. He was lounging against his locker like it owed him money, shirtless and smug, with the kind of jawline that belonged on a cologne ad. “This is Persephone?” he drawled, pushing off the bench. “Damn, Sinclair. No wonder you lost your mind tonight.”
“She always look this furious?” James—aka Hook—asked with a crooked grin, twirling a hockey stick between his fingers like it was a sword. He had dimples that looked like they belonged on a sinner and a glint in his eye that said he knew it. “Hi, sweetheart. Welcome to the boys’ club.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is hazing part of the welcome package?”
Hook grinned wider. “Only if you ask nicely.”
Jeremy—Scar, Hades had said—was quieter. Leaner. Paler. He sat back in the corner with his hair still wet, watching me with those ice-blue eyes that didn’t blink often enough. “She’s got fight,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I like her.”
“Of course you do,” Gideon muttered, rolling his eyes.
Then there was Jafar—slicked back hair, long limbs, a smirk that could slice a man open. He looked me over like I was a chess piece he hadn’t decided how to use yet. “We were wondering if you existed,” he said, folding his arms. “Or if you were just part of the mythos he built around himself.”
“Surprise,” I said dryly.
That earned a chuckle from the last man—Gang Lu. Quiet, strong, terrifying. He didn’t say much, just nodded once, his gaze respectful but heavy. Like he could snap a spine without breaking a sweat and then make you tea afterward.
“These are the idiots I deal with every day,” Hades said beside me. “Don’t get attached.”
“Speak for yourself,” Gideon said with a wink. “I think she already likes me.”
“I think I tolerate you,” I shot back.
Gideon clutched his chest like I’d stabbed him. “I live for strong women. This is why Belle won’t speak to me.”
“Because she has good taste?” Jafar offered, earning a fist bump from Hook.
The tension had shifted. They weren’t posturing now. They weren’t playing the roles their nicknames had carved out for them on the ice.
They were just men—sweaty, loud, ridiculous. Dangerous, yes. But real.
“You’re not what I pictured,” Gideon said, grabbing a towel and tossing it over his shoulder like he was posing for a magazine cover no one asked for. “Sinclair made you sound like a myth. Ice in your veins, fire in your stare. Honestly?” He winked. “You’re hotter.”
