Persephone.
I glanced toward the back of the store. Hades hadn’t moved, still leaning against a shelf like he hadn’t just sucker-punched me without lifting a finger.
I untied the ribbon.
Inside was a book I hadn’t seen in years—The Garden Beneath the Ashes, a first edition. I’d mentioned it once. Just once. A throwaway comment during one of our early, tense conversations when I was trying not to flinch every time he looked at me too long. I hadn’t even remembered saying it.
But he had.
My throat tightened.
There was no speech. No grand declaration. Just… this.
He remembered.
He listened.
When I thought he was only waiting for me to break.
I didn’t know what to do with the ache blooming in my chest.
So I didn’t say anything.
But I held the book a little tighter than necessary.
Chapter 22
Hades
I leaned against the shelf, the wood digging into my spine, grounding me in the moment—because if I didn’t anchor myself, I’d follow her like a man possessed.
She moved through the bookstore like she belonged to it. Like she’d been carved from the stories tucked between those pages. Light spilled through the windows, catching her hair and igniting it into gold. She looked like something holy. Untouchable. Mine.
I couldn’t stop staring.
Every smile that curved her lips was a blade to the ribs—sharp, beautiful, addictive. She laughed at something on a shelf, a soft sound that cracked something wide open inside me. I’d heard her scream. I’d seen her bleed. But this—this quiet joy?
It was rarer than any first edition.
She ran her fingers along a row of battered classics, slow and reverent. And I felt it in my chest like a bruise forming beneath the skin.
I had done this.
I brought her here. I gave her this moment. This peace. This sliver of softness in a world I’d otherwise corrupted with my name.
She didn’t know what it meant—to see her like this. How badly I wanted to be the reason behind that unguarded joy. To rewrite every moment she flinched from me with ones like this.
Then she turned. Caught me watching her.
My heart stuttered.
Because she didn’t look afraid.
She looked alive.
That fire in her eyes flared when she saw me. That untamable defiance laced with warmth she never meant to give me. And fuck, it made my knees weak.
“Come here,” she said, grinning, her voice all honey and challenge.
