The way she gasped.
The way she flinched.
The way her body reacted to me no matter how much her mouth fought back.
She could hate me.
She could scream and cry and claw at the walls.
But one day soon…
She’d beg.
And I’d make sure she never forgot who broke her.
Chapter 5
Seph
Morning light spilled into the kitchen, bright and unyielding. It poured over the marble countertops and bounced off the stainless-steel appliances, casting sharp shadows that sliced through the stillness. No storm rumbled outside. No dramatic revelations awaited me. Just silence, heavy and suffocating.
I stepped inside, my bare feet pressing against the cool tile. The smell of breakfast hung in the air—coffee, toast, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit. A perfect domestic lie sprawled across the table, waiting for me like an invitation I had no intention of accepting.
I approached cautiously, my heart drumming a steady beat of defiance. The spread felt mocking. This was Hades' way of reminding me I was trapped in his carefully crafted illusion—a life designed to soothe while binding me tighter in invisible chains.
With a practiced calm, I poured myself a cup of coffee and took a sip. The bitter warmth slid down my throat as I surveyed the meal laid out before me. I didn’t feel hunger gnawing at my insides; I felt something else—this was a game now, and I was tired of losing.
I picked at the food—a bite of scrambled egg here, a piece of toast there—each chew an act of rebellion against this façade he crafted so meticulously. My movements were deliberate, almost theatrical; every motion echoed with purpose as if daring him to show himself.
But he didn’t come.
The minutes dragged on like an endless stretch of empty road. I waited, holding onto that small flicker of hope that he might appear to interrupt this charade with his cold smile and calculated gaze.
But nothing stirred beyond the walls of this penthouse prison. The stillness wrapped around me tighter than ever, each tick of the clock resonating like a countdown to an unknown fate.
I finished my coffee, placing the cup down with deliberate care. The silence felt oppressive now—like it had weight and texture—and in that moment; it crystallized into something solid: a decision that shifted in my chest. I wouldn’t seek him out; not today.
I drifted through the penthouse like a ghost, careful not to disturb the fragile calm that enveloped this place. My footsteps were silent on the polished floor, each step measured, each breath held as if the air itself could betray me. I didn’t slam doors or break things; I’d learned early on that noise only invited scrutiny.
As I moved deeper into Hades’ domain, I noticed details lurking in the corners of my mind—little reminders of the life he led. The walls felt cold and sterile, decorated with art that looked too pristine, too calculated. There were no family photos anywhere, just empty frames lining the shelves, their glass faces gleaming but devoid of memories. Had he stripped them all away? Or had he never bothered to fill them at all?
The emptiness gnawed at me, raising questions I couldn't voice. My fingers grazed along the edge of a shelf, dust-free and untouched, like no one had ever lived here. A flicker caught my eye—a light near the security panel dimmed momentarily as I stepped closer. It blinked again when I shifted my weight. Something about it felt off, like a warning system reacting to my presence.
I backed away instinctively and moved toward the living area. His jacket hung on a chair by the door—a dark suit jacket that seemed to command its own space. Every time I saw it there, draped perfectly over the backrest as if waiting for him to return from some important meeting, it sent a chill down my spine. Did he leave it there deliberately? To remind me of his ever-watchful presence?
I walked over to it slowly, my heart racing in quiet defiance. The fabric felt soft beneath my fingers; its tailored lines screamed power and control. A part of me wanted to rip it down and toss it aside, to show him I wouldn’t be just another ornament in his carefully arranged world.
But instead, I stepped back and forced myself to keep moving through this maze of his making—this prison disguised as a home—observing every detail with wary eyes while hiding my turmoil beneath an impenetrable surface.
I stood in front of his room, heart thumping against my ribcage like a caged animal. The door loomed before me, imposing and solid, a barrier between our worlds. For a moment, I hesitated, the cool metal handle sending a shiver up my arm as I reached for it.
Taking a breath, I twisted the knob and stepped inside.
His room felt vast yet constricted, as if it was both too big to contain him and too small to escape from. The walls were painted a deep navy blue, the color wrapping around me like a heavy blanket. A large bed dominated the space—dark linens perfectly arranged—and I couldn’t help but wonder how many nights he had spent in this very spot, plotting his next move.
Or with another woman.
A flare of annoyance tickled my chest, but I ignored it. It didn't mean anything.
