For every wall she thought she could build.
For every piece of armor she still clung to.
For the moment she’d finally realize there was no escape hatch. No reprieve.
Just me.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
She thought silence was a stand.
She thought locking herself away would throw me off balance.
She didn’t understand yet.
I thrived in silence. I weaponized patience. I turned waiting into war.
While she sat stewing behind that door, tangled in the knots of her own fear and fury, I was here.
Growing stronger.
Sharper.
Hungrier.
Because when Persephone finally stepped back into my world?
I wanted her to see what she’d been missing.
Not just the man she married, but the monster she unleashed.
I stepped out of the shower, steam clinging to my skin like a second layer—hot, heavy, possessive. The tiles were slick beneath my feet, but my grip was steady on the sink’s edge as I leaned forward and stared into the mirror.
My reflection?
Unbothered.
But beneath the surface?
Wildfire.
The image of her flashed through me like a match to dry bone—Persephone, staring up at me with those eyes full of hate and confusion, mouth set in that defiant little line like she actually had a say in how this would end.
She didn’t.
She never did.
And that truth?
It turned me on.
I palmed myself without shame, jaw tight, the steam making it easier to imagine her there. Her voice, her breath, the moment she’d stop fighting—not because she wanted me, but because she finally understood.
She was mine.
Mine to break.
