The man filled the frame—tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features softened by perpetual amusement. Dark locks fell carelessly across his forehead. His eyes sparked with mischief even now, even looking at my tear-stained face. Wedding ring glinted on his left hand. I recognized him instantly from Gideon's photos, from glimpses at the arena.
Hades.
The team captain. Married. The only one Gideon seemed to actually trust.
His eyebrows lifted. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face.
"Oh." He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. Voice rich with barely contained laughter: "Hmm. Gideon. Your…"
He let the sentence trail off deliberately. Weighted. Significant.
My cheeks burned.
His grin widened. "Well, whatever she is, she's here."
"The fuck are you talking about?" Gideon's voice cut through from somewhere deeper in the house. Rough. Raw. Wrecked in ways that made my chest ache.
Hades threw a lazy salute toward the interior. "I'll go." He stepped past me onto the porch, pausing just long enough to lean close. His voice dropped—conspiratorial, warm. "Be gentle with him, Belle."
Not a warning.
Permission.
He walked down the steps whistling softly, hands in his pockets, completely unbothered by the shattered glass crunching beneath his shoes. His car door slammed. Engine purred to life. Taillights disappeared into darkness.
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Uneven. Getting closer.
My breath stopped.
Gideon appeared in the doorway.
He froze. Stared at me like I was a ghost. Like he'd conjured me from desperation and couldn't trust what his eyes showed him. His hair stuck up in wild directions. His shirt hung open, bloodstained. His right hand—swollen, wrapped in fresh bandages, fingers splinted wrong. Dark circles hollowed his eyes. Stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked like he'd been fighting something bigger than loan sharks.
Fighting himself.
Losing.
His voice came out hoarse, disbelieving, "Belle?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out except a broken sound—half sob, half his name.
His expression cracked. Something raw and desperate flooded his face. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
"I told you?—"
"I know." My voice shook. "I don't care."
His jaw worked. His good hand gripped the doorframe hard enough his knuckles went white. "Belle?—"
"I came back," I whispered. "I chose to come back."
And then I reached for him.
