Once I gathered all the glass into a pile on the towel, I stood back to survey my work—my breath came in short bursts as adrenaline surged through me. The room looked less chaotic now; perhaps there was hope hidden beneath this tangled mess after all.
With one last glance at the towel stained red with blood and fragments of what once was—a bitter reminder—I felt a flicker of strength ignite within me.
I wasn’t about to become a victim in Hades’ twisted game; I was Persephone Moore.
Survival had always been my forte—whether it was navigating the treacherous waters of family expectations or finding ways to evade the suffocating shadows that threatened to engulf me.
As the ache in my foot throbbed like a pulse of defiance, I felt a fire igniting deep within. I couldn’t allow Hades to see me vulnerable; that would be handing him a victory he didn’t deserve. I focused on my breathing, grounding myself in the present and pushing away any flickers of doubt that tried to creep in.
My mind raced through options and strategies, formulating plans while the chaos slowly began to settle.
This wasn’t just about escaping a room; it was about reclaiming my life from his grasp. I needed to be smart—strategic—and above all else; I had to remember who I was beneath this façade he tried to impose on me.
Chapter 4
Hades
Persephone locked the door.
Cute.
A flimsy little move. A flick of the middle finger wrapped in satin gloves. She thought it meant something—thought it was a stand, a shred of control in the mess I’d so neatly gift-wrapped around her life.
But see, that was the thing about cages.
They didn’t have to feel like prisons to work.
You just had to believe you built the walls yourself.
I let her have the illusion.
Leaned lazily against the doorframe, shoulder pressed to the wood, hands in my pockets like this was just another casual Tuesday. I could hear her heartbeat—tight, erratic, like a songbird trapped behind glass.
“You can stay in there all night, Persephone.”
My voice came low, slow, with just a smile’s edge of menace.
“Won’t change a fucking thing.”
Silence.
Beautiful, loaded silence.
I imagined her jaw clenched. That pouty little mouth twisted into something angry and defiant and doomed. She thought the lock was a line I wouldn’t cross. That if she stayed quiet, if she held—she could outwait me.
Spoiler alert: I didn’t lose.
Then… the pacing started.
Soft steps. Hesitant. Controlled.
Like she thought she was still the one playing chess.
But every footfall was a tell. A little crack in her composure. And oh, I lived for the cracks.
She thought locking the door kept me out.
But Persephone didn’t understand the game she’d walked into.
