“I’m exactly on time, Zeno.” I walked to the center of the room and stopped. I didn't sit. “Thal is in the car. We’re leaving for the coast for a while.”
Zeno finally looked up. His eyes were bloodshot and haunted. “Rhea’s people are still out there, Daphne. It isn't safe. You should stay here, where I can?—”
“Where you can what? Protect me?” I cut him off, my voice calm and cold. “Like you protected Cassandra?”
The name hit the room like a physical explosion. Zeno flinched, his grip tightening on the edge of the desk until his knuckles went white.
“I know, Zeno,” I continued. “I saw it in your eyes at the warehouse. I saw the world stop for you the moment you realized she wasn't ash. And I realized something else too.”
I stepped forward, my shadow falling across his desk.
“Every time you called me ‘little bird,’ it wasn't an endearment. It was a prayer to a woman who died in the smoke. You didn't lock me in this penthouse to keep me safe. You did it because you couldn't live with letting Cassandra burn. I was never your ward. I was your penance. You didn't love me. You loved that I was a second chance to get the ending right. But I’m not a placeholder for your grief anymore. I’m the Ghost of Olympus, and I’m done haunting your halls.”
Zeno’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. The great manipulator, the man who always had a plan, was at a loss for words.
“The debt is paid, Zeno. In full. But don’t think I’ve stopped looking for the faces in the shadows from that night. I’m going to find out who ordered the hit on my parents, and when I do, I won’t be looking for a guardian—I’ll be looking for blood. I’m choosing my own monster now.” I turned to leave, but Zeno’s voice caught me at the door.
“She’s out there, Daphne,” he rasped, his voice trembling. “Cassandra. She’s out there, and she hates me. I have to find her. I have to explain?—”
I looked back over my shoulder, seeing the man I had once feared and worshipped for what he truly was: a man with a broken crown, chasing a memory.
“Then find her, Zeno. But do it for her, not for the girl you wanted me to be.”
I walked out of the office, down the hall, and through the lobby. I didn't look back at the gold leaf or the marble. I walked out the front doors into the blinding, white-hot Vegas sun.
Thal was waiting by the SUV, leaning heavily against the passenger door to take the pressure off his side. When he saw me, he winced slightly but straightened, the carbon-fiber cane clicking rhythmically against the pavement as he moved to meet me. He didn't ask what happened. He just opened the door, bracing himself with the cane in his left hand as he held out his right. I took it. His grip was warm, solid, and real.
The door closed with a soft click, sealing out the noise of the city. He hooked his cane over the headrest, seemingly unaffected by the flash of pain in his side, and finally used both hands to pull me close against his chest.
“Where to, beauty?” he asked, his voice a low, possessive rumble against my ear.
I looked ahead through the windshield at the road, stretching toward the horizon where the desert met the sky. I wasn't theward of Olympus, nor Rhea’s debt. I was the woman who had walked through fire and emerged with the king by her side.
“Anywhere,” I whispered, leaning into the heat of his chest. “Just drive until the ghosts can't find us.”
As the city lights faded into the desert night, I realized that for the first time in my life, I wasn't seeking sanctuary—I was sitting in one.
I felt the weight of my phone in my pocket, a silent notification confirming the encrypted transfer of Rhea's millions to my private account.
I wasn't just a King's partner. I wasn't running anymore. I was finally home.
If you loved the dangerous games and high-stakes passion of Daphne and Thalassios, you are not prepared for what comes next.
While the city's syndicates battle for power, the King of Olympus has been hiding a ruinous obsession. Zenobius Theodorus has ruled from the shadows for a decade, mourning a woman who burned to ash.
But the Ghost is back. And she didn't come alone.
