Chapter 14 Hades
Hades
I gripped him by the collar, fingers tight around the fabric like it might tear beneath my rage.
Cliff was heavier than he looked, but adrenaline made him light. Or maybe it was fury. Pure, undiluted possession thrumming under my skin.
He tried to speak—tried to say her name, like it belonged to him.
That was his mistake.
I slammed him into the front door first—just once. A warning.
Then I wrenched it open and dragged him out onto the steps like garbage that had overstayed its welcome.
He staggered, half-bent, coughing through the hit I’d given him earlier, one hand clutching his ribs like he could hold the air inside him a little longer.
I leaned in, slow and smiling, letting my words curl like smoke between us.
“If you come here again…” I said, voice low, almost gentle. “If you even look at her again—” I stepped closer, so close I saw the flicker of fear behind his rage. “I’ll kill you.”
No bluff. No hesitation.
Just the truth, spoken like a promise carved into stone.
Then I slammed the door in his face.
Let the sound echo like a gavel.
And for a moment, I just stood there—hand on the handle, breathing slow, steady, satisfied.
Let him sit with it.
Let her hear it.
Let the whole goddamn house remember who it belonged to.
His footsteps faded down the path like a retreat.
Coward.
The house exhaled, all at once, and I let the silence settle.
Thick. Dense. Final.
I walked into the kitchen, each step measured—controlled—not because I felt calm, but because rage like mine demands ritual. Precision. A performance before the fire.
Coffee cups.
Whimsical little things. Mismatched. Painted with flowers and stupid quotes.
Hers.
I touched each one carefully, setting them in place, the porcelain clinking soft against the hush like bones in a shrine. An illusion of peace.
But inside?
Inside I burned.
She stood by the door still. Frozen. That dress hugging her like it had been sewn onto her skin.
God.
She didn’t even realize what she looked like—dark silk molded to every curve, legs bare, collarbone exposed like an offering she never meant to give.
She let him see her like this?
She let him touch her?
You let him look at you like you were his to protect.
The thought carved itself across the inside of my skull.
I set the last cup down with a deliberate click.
“Persephone.”
My voice came out quiet.
Too quiet.
“You know what this means.”
She didn’t answer. Not with words. Just that stillness—that glaring, infuriating silence that made me want to shatter every plate in this house just to make her look at me.
“Your little friend can’t come here anymore.”
Still nothing.
Just the sound of her breath. Too fast. Too shallow.
I turned.
Faced her fully.
“You wore that dress like a challenge.”
She flinched.
Just a flicker.
Just enough.
I stepped forward, slow and steady—a god in the mood for wrath. “Look at you,” I murmured, heat curling beneath each syllable. “Draped in silk and defiance.”
That was what did it.
She looked up.
Met my gaze.
And there it was—the spark and the war. The fear. The fury. The need. The hate.
All tangled in those eyes like vines choking out the sun.
Mine, I thought. Even when you want to burn me alive, you’re mine.
This wasn’t about Cliff.
This wasn’t about the dress.
This was about us.
The war she thought she could win.
The game she thought she wasn’t playing.
“Tell me,” I said softly, stepping into her space, “did you want him to see you like this?”
Her lips parted. No sound.
I smiled.
Because that was answer enough.
I turned to her slowly, the kind of slow that precedes a disaster. My rage simmered just beneath the surface—quiet, coiled, ready to strike.
And there she stood.
In that dress.
In my house.
After letting him touch her.
Defiant as ever.
But she didn’t even realize how vulnerable she looked. That bare skin. That storm in her eyes. That fragile little chin tilted up like she didn’t know I could snap it with a word.
“Did you enjoy playing house with him while I was gone?” I asked, voice low and even.
Not a shout.
Worse.
A promise.
Her eyes flared—fuck, that spark—and I could see it coming before she opened her mouth.
“You don’t get to be jealous,” she said, every syllable dipped in acid. “You’re the reason I needed someone in the first place.”
It hit.
Harder than I expected.
I didn’t show it.
But it burned.
Needed someone… because of me.
I stepped in.
Closed the distance like a predator in a room with no exits.
“You think he’s better than me?” I asked, voice quiet but full of teeth. “You think he could ever take care of you the way I can?”
She didn’t flinch.
She dared to lean in.
“I think he treats me like a person,” she snapped. “Not some possession you can flaunt like a trophy.”
Trophy?
Trophy?
My blood boiled. I could feel the pulse behind my eyes, the way the room tilted slightly under the pressure building in my chest.
“You think you’re betrayed?” I hissed. “You let him in. You let him touch you. You invited him into my home.”
My voice rose with every word, venom slipping through every crack.
“Our home,” I corrected, and it came out sharper than I meant. “You didn’t even lock the door.”
“What would you call it?” she fired back. “You’ve turned my life into a prison! I don’t get to leave. I don’t get to choose!”
She was shaking now.
But not from fear.
From fury.
From freedom she hadn’t earned.
“So you run to him?” I growled. “To that boy? You think he gives a damn about you? He wants the girl he couldn’t have in college. He wants to be the hero—”
“At least he doesn’t need to own someone,” she cut in, stepping forward like she was the one cornering me. “Because he knows he’ll never be loved.”
Silence detonated between us.
That was it.
The match.
The knife.
The goddamn guillotine.
The words hit harder than anything Cliff could’ve thrown.
My spine locked. I stepped back once, just once, breath shallow, like I’d taken a blow to the ribs.
Loved?
That wasn’t in my vocabulary. Never had been.
But for a second—just a second—it had been.
And that second was enough to ruin me.
She stood there, chest heaving, fire in her eyes, thinking she’d won.
She didn’t realize.
She’d just lit the fuse.
And now?
Now we’d both burn.
She wanted to fight? Fine. I’d give her something else to fight against.
I stepped in close, the heat between us thickening like smoke. Her eyes flared, fury blazing in those depths, but beneath it all? I saw something else. A flicker of uncertainty.
I grabbed her jaw, my fingers firm as I tilted her face up to meet mine. “You want to wear that dress and act like you’re not mine?” My voice dropped low, a velvet promise laced with danger.
“Then prove it,” I challenged, watching as her breath hitched. “Say it to my face. Tell me you don’t feel anything when I touch you.”
She opened her mouth, a defiant fire sparking in her eyes, but it faltered—just for a moment. The tension crackled between us, and she hesitated.
I pressed closer, backing her against the wall until she had no choice but to feel every inch of me—the heat radiating from my body, the weight of my intent closing in around her like a cage.
Before she could gather herself for another protest, I closed the distance and kissed her—possessive and brutal, claiming every part of her that was still willing to resist. Her lips tasted like rebellion mixed with something sweeter—a fleeting moment of surrender that drove me wild.
But just as quickly as it began, she broke the kiss. The sound of our breaths mingled in the air—a sharp gasp followed by the sting of flesh against flesh as she slapped me hard across the cheek.
I smirked at her audacity, wiping away the shock like it was nothing more than an annoyance. She thought that would deter me? Not a chance.
“You think you can hurt me with that?” I taunted softly, my eyes darkening with amusement. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”
I watched her, my gaze lingering on the defiant set of her jaw and the way her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. She was beautiful in her fury, and I couldn't help but admire the fire that burned within her.
But it was time to remind her who was in control.
Slowly, I reached out and traced a finger along the collar of her dress, feeling the silk beneath my touch. She flinched at my touch, but I didn't stop. Instead, I continued to trace a path down the front of her dress, watching as her eyes followed my movements.
Without a word, I began to unfasten the buttons, one by one. She didn't protest, but I could feel the tension radiating off of her. I took my time, savoring each moment as I slowly revealed more and more of her skin.
When the last button was undone, I gently pushed the dress off of her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet. She stood before me in nothing but her underwear, her body trembling with a mix of anger and desire.
I stepped closer, my breath hot against her ear as I whispered, "You think you can defy me, little Persephone?"
She didn't answer, but I could see the fire in her eyes. I smiled, enjoying the challenge she presented.
I reached out and ran my fingers along the edge of her panties, feeling the heat radiating off of her. She gasped at my touch, her body betraying her even as her mind fought against me.
But I didn't take her. Not yet. Instead, I continued to tease her mercilessly, my fingers tracing patterns along her skin and my lips brushing against her neck. She moaned softly, her body responding to my touch even as her mind screamed for her to push me away.
I could feel her resolve weakening, and I knew it was only a matter of time before she gave in to me completely. But for now, I was content to simply enjoy the game, to revel in the power I held over her.
And so I continued to tease her, my touch growing bolder and more insistent as I pushed her closer and closer to the edge. She writhed beneath me, her body begging for release even as her mind fought against it.
But I was relentless, my fingers and lips working in tandem to drive her wild.
The game was far from over.
I leaned in and kissed her deeply, my tongue exploring her mouth as my hands roamed over her body. She moaned into the kiss, her body responding to my touch even as her mind struggled to make sense of what was happening.
But there was no sense to be made. Not in this moment. Not when I held all the power.
I stripped her out of her underwear, leaving her bare and exposed before me. She trembled under my gaze, her body betraying the desire she tried so hard to hide. I touched her, teased her, denied her the release she so desperately craved.
"You don't get to pretend you're untouched after letting another man look at you like that," I whispered in her ear, my breath hot against her skin. She shuddered at my words, her body responding to my touch even as her mind fought against it.
I traced my fingers along her collarbone, feeling the way her pulse quickened beneath my touch. She was mine, and I would never let her forget it. "You're mine," I growled, my voice low and possessive. "Even when you hate me. Especially then."
She trembled under my touch, not because she was weak, but because I knew exactly where to push. I built her up, brought her to the edge, then left her aching and wanting more. She hated me for it, but she couldn't deny the way her body responded to my touch.
"Say it," I demanded, my fingers tracing a path down her spine. "Say you're mine."
She hesitated, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she struggled to find the words. But I was relentless, my touch growing more insistent as I pushed her closer and closer to the edge.
Finally, she gave in, her voice barely above a whisper as she choked out the words. "I'm yours."
I smiled, satisfied with her submission. But I wasn't done with her yet. I continued to touch her, to tease her, to deny her the release she so desperately craved. I wanted her to beg for it, to plead with me to give her what she needed.
I pulled away, savoring the flush on her cheeks and the fire still flickering in her eyes. She looked so beautifully undone, hair tousled and lips swollen from our kiss, yet I left her there, teetering on the edge of desperation.
“Next time you bring someone into our house,” I whispered, my voice low and dangerous, “make sure he’s strong enough to keep you.”
With that, I turned on my heel and walked away. Each step echoed against the silence of the room as I left her half-dressed and breathless behind me.
I could almost feel the heat radiating from her skin—the mix of fury and confusion simmering just beneath the surface. She was a tempest trapped in a cage of silk and shadows, and I reveled in every moment of it.
The door clicked shut behind me, but not before I caught one last glimpse of her: lips parted in shock, eyes blazing with that stubborn fire she wore like armor. She was furious with me—good. That rage fueled my own desire for control.
I strode down the hall toward my office, heart racing with exhilaration. The power rush hit harder than any drug as I replayed every detail of our encounter in my mind—the way she shivered at my touch, how she fought to maintain that defiant facade even when she was crumbling inside.
Her anger was intoxicating; it made me want to push harder. To show her just how deep this game ran between us.
But now? Now it was time to let her simmer.
The thought of leaving her there alone gnawed at me. She’d be a storm all night—a whirlwind of emotions trapped within these walls. Part of me wanted to turn back, to take what was mine fully—but another part knew that anticipation made every victory sweeter.
She would seethe and plot while I handled business outside this house—strategizing about how best to turn this situation back in her favor.
But tonight? Tonight belonged to me.
I lifted my fingers and slid each one into my mouth, letting her taste linger on my tongue.
Fuck.
And when I returned? She would learn that once you opened Pandora’s box? There was no closing it again.