Chapter 19
Seph
I stepped out of the locker room; the door slamming shut behind me like a warning. The sound echoed down the hall, sharp and final, but it didn’t drown out the pounding in my chest.
God, I couldn’t breathe.
I leaned against the cold wall, fingers digging into the brick like it could ground me—like it could pull me out of the storm he left in his wake.
Hades.
Those eyes. That voice. That impossible heat.
He’d looked at me like he knew. Like he could see straight through the anger I wore like armor and into the chaos underneath.
And I hated him for it.
But worse? I hated that I didn’t hate him enough.
Every step I took away from him made it harder to breathe, like I was walking with chains around my ribs. He’d pushed me—again. Pulled me too close, then let me walk away like it was a favor.
My wrist still tingled where he touched me.
I rubbed the spot like I could erase it. Like maybe if I scrubbed hard enough, I’d feel clean again. But I didn’t. I just felt owned. Marked.
Why the hell do you care?
He’s a man who thrives on chaos. Who wears cruelty like a crown. He doesn’t protect people—he owns them. Breaks them. Enjoys the sound they make when they shatter.
And yet…
What the hell just happened in that locker room?
I almost said it.
Almost whispered thank you like it would’ve made any of this better.
Thank you for punching him.
Thank you for silencing that bastard.
Thank you for—
I bit the words back before they could crawl out and disgrace me.
Logan’s voice echoed in my head, cruel and smug: sold with a bow or a leash.
The memory made me flinch, bile rising.
No amount of blood spilled in my name could erase what I was now. Hades’s wife.
By contract. By force. By design.
But it was something more now, wasn’t it?
That room—that stare—it had felt like something was shifting. Like the game was changing. Like I wasn’t just his problem anymore. I was his possession. And worse?
Part of me wanted to know what it meant to be claimed.
I stopped walking. Pressed myself against the nearest wall. Let the cold seep into my back while fire burned through the rest of me.
I hate him; I told myself. I hate him.
But the truth curled sharp behind my teeth like a secret too dangerous to speak aloud.
I hated that I didn't hate him enough.
I stumbled through the door, breath catching somewhere between my ribs and my throat.
The air inside was heavy—stagnant with the weight of everything I hadn’t said. It felt like the chaos from the locker room had followed me home, curled into the corners of the room like smoke I couldn’t clear.
I kicked off my shoes, barely registering the thud as they hit the wall. My hands were already at the hem of the jersey—his jersey—yanking it over my head like it was burning me. Like I could peel him off my skin with it.
The fabric bunched in my fists. Soft. Familiar. Dangerous.
I dropped it. Watched it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. A symbol of everything I hadn’t asked for but couldn’t seem to shake.
Then my fingers found the choker. That damn silver H—his initial gleaming like a brand against my throat.
I pulled. Hard. The clasp dug in before it gave way, and the metal bit into my skin one last time before clattering to the ground beside the jersey.
Relief hit me like a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
But it didn’t last.
I changed into the only thing that felt like mine—baggy pajamas with loose sleeves and nothing clingy, nothing tight. I needed space. I needed softness. Something that didn’t feel like him.
The reflection in the mirror stopped me cold.
Eyes rimmed with something raw. Mouth tight. Hair wild and tangled like I’d survived a storm.
Except I hadn’t.
I was still inside it.
I lit a candle on the counter—vanilla, the one I always saved for bad days. Its flickering flame cast shadows across the walls like ghosts. Like the pieces of myself I didn’t recognize anymore.
The freezer door groaned as I opened it. I didn’t care what I pulled out—just that it was cold. Sweet. Numb.
Ice cream.
Spoon.
Quiet.
He filled my thoughts like fog—thick, impossible to shake. That look in his eyes when he told me I wasn’t a fool. The way he bled and didn’t flinch. The way he saw me, even when I didn’t want to be seen.
I told myself I hated him. Over and over again.
But the silence didn’t believe me.
Without him here, the room felt… empty. Like something vital had been ripped out and left behind an echo.
Wasn’t that what I wanted?
To be alone?
To be free?
Then why did this stillness feel so much like mourning?
I brought the spoon to my lips again and stared into the dark.
I didn’t know if I missed his chaos… or if I just didn’t know who I was without it.
I finally sank into the couch, curling into the soft fabric like it might swallow me whole. The ice cream in my lap was starting to melt, but the cold still numbed my tongue—quieting the chaos just enough to breathe.
Each spoonful was a small rebellion.
A moment of control.
A reminder that I could still choose something… even if it was only dessert.
I let my thoughts drift—away from the blood smeared across the ice and the weight of his stare.
Away from the heat of his hands and the sound of my own voice cracking as I tried to sound unaffected.
I focused instead on useless things. What shade of polish I’d paint my nails next.
How many spoons I could stack before they toppled.
I was mid-spoon stack, the tower swaying, when the knock came.
Sharp. Hollow. Final.
My heart lurched. I blinked at the door like it might vanish if I didn’t move.
Delivery, I told myself. Something stupid I forgot I ordered. Maybe the body scrub I added to my cart last night while trying not to think about Hades. Or socks.
Please let it be socks.
Even this late.
I set the bowl down with a clink and padded to the door, pulling it open without thinking.
And just like that—the floor dropped out from under me.
She stood there like a curse I hadn’t meant to summon.
I didn't recognize her. And yet, I knew exactly who she was.
Every inch of her was designed to destabilize: vibrant red hair spilling down her back like wildfire, a black designer dress hugging her curves like armor, heels too sharp to be practical.
She looked like danger wrapped in elegance.
The opposite of the chaos Hades brought into a room—but no less lethal.
My hand tightened on the doorknob.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, voice clipped, already bracing for impact.
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t even a smile—just the shape of one, stretched tight over something venomous. “We need to talk.”
“I don't know you,” I shot back.
The faux-smile slipped. What replaced it? Something colder. Sharper. The kind of look that made you bleed before you even realized you were cut.
“It’s about him.”
My stomach dropped. I didn’t want to flinch, but I did. Just a fraction. Just enough for her to see it.
I crossed my arms, tugging the hem of my oversized t-shirt lower, as if it could act like armor. “I don't care."
She tilted her head—slow, calculating. The kind of movement that made you feel like prey. “You’re in way over your head, Seph.”
My name on her lips made me want to punch something. Or cry. I wasn’t sure which. “I’m not asking for your opinion,” I said, heat creeping up my spine. “You don’t get to come here and pretend you… what? Care?”
“Really?” she said, stepping just inside the doorway like it was hers. Like she had the right. “Then maybe you should stop acting like a na?ve little placeholder and listen.”
Her words sliced deep—not because they were true, but because some small, terrified part of me feared they might be.
But I didn’t back down.
Not this time.
I hesitated.
Just for a second. Long enough to think maybe I could shut the door and pretend none of this was real.
But that second was all she needed.
She stepped inside like she owned the place—like she belonged here, and I was just some girl who’d accidentally wandered into the wrong story. Like she knew this place.
And it bothered me more than I would ever say.
“Nice digs,” she said, her voice syrupy with sarcasm. “They look exactly the same way they were when I was here too. I see you’re settling in quite well.” A beat. “By the way, I’m Sloane.”
Her eyes flicked around the room before landing back on me, slow and deliberate. She looked me over like I was an outfit she’d never wear—cheap, laughable, temporary.
I folded my arms over my chest, trying to shield what little peace I’d built in the last hour. Her gaze was cold. Clinical. Invasive.
“What do you want?” I asked, sharper than I intended. But I didn’t care. Not anymore.
Sloane leaned casually against the doorway, arms crossed, as if we were two friends catching up. “Just wanted to see what Hades dragged home this time,” she said. Her smile was all teeth. “Didn’t think he’d go for someone like you.”
I stiffened. “Someone like me?”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “You really think you’re different? That you’re special?”
The words landed like a slap—sharp and uninvited.
“I’m not here for your approval,” I said, though my voice felt thinner than it should have. I hated that she got to me. Hated that her presence made the floor feel unsteady beneath my feet.
Her smirk widened, like she could smell the insecurity I was trying to drown.
“Oh sweetie,” she cooed. “This isn’t about approval. This is about reality.”
She stepped closer.
One step. Then another. Testing me.
And I didn’t move.
“He always finds a new toy,” she said softly, like a warning wrapped in velvet. “Until he breaks them.”
Her words sank into my skin like frost.
“I’m not a toy,” I snapped, though it came out too fast—too defensive. Like I was trying to convince myself.
She laughed.
A cruel, condescending sound that scraped along every raw nerve I had left.
“You might think you’re different now,” she said, voice dropping to a whisper.
“With that ring on your finger. That title beside his name. But trust me…” She leaned in, her perfume overwhelming, her mouth close enough that I could feel the heat of her breath.
“You’ll be just like the rest of them before long. ”
And for a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t blink.
Not once.
I kept my gaze locked on Sloane like she was the only thing standing between me and air. I refused to flinch. Refused to give her the satisfaction of knowing just how deep her words had already cut.
But inside?
Inside, I was a hurricane held together by a thread.
She stood there like a serpent draped in silk—perfectly poised to strike—and I felt every bit of her venom sink beneath my skin.
“Didn’t he tell you?” she asked, head tilting with that insufferably smug smirk. “I was his first fiancée. Before your sister, of course.”
The words hit like a punch to the ribs.
But I didn’t show it.
“We had it all planned out,” she continued. “Until I got tired of the games.”
Her voice dripped with poisonous sweetness, like she was savoring the taste of every syllable.
“Hades doesn’t just play with hearts, darling. He plays with lives. He collects people. Uses them. Then discards them when they stop being fun.”
My heart was racing.
Lungs tight.
But I breathed slow and shallow through my nose, forcing control where there was none.
“Oh, yes,” she went on, circling me like a predator that already tasted blood. “He came crawling back after I left. Pathetic, really. You know how it is—he has this way of making you feel chosen right before he twists the knife.”
I clenched my jaw.
I didn’t want to believe her.
But her words slithered through the cracks I hadn’t even realized were there—cracks Hades had made with every unanswered question, every withheld truth.
“You’re just the latest distraction,” she said, her arms folding like she was discussing the weather—not a man who had become my every breath, my every battle. “He always comes back to me when things get too complicated,” she added. “I can handle his storms. You won’t.”
A pulse of heat surged through me—rage, shame, fear.
I didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
She stepped closer, her perfume cloying, her presence oppressive. Her voice dropped, chilling. “Just wait until you see what happens when you push him too far.”
Something in her tone made my stomach twist.
Not because I believed her.
But because I almost did.
I forced myself still. Fingers trembling at my sides, fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms.
And then—
“Let’s see how long that ring keeps you safe.”
She stepped back, smiling like she’d already won.
But I wasn’t breaking. Not for her. Not for anyone.
I drew in a breath that tasted like smoke and steel and said, cold and clear. “Get out.”
Her smile faltered.
Good.
“Now.”
Something in me snapped.
It wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t explosive.
It was quiet. Cold. Clear.
I looked Sloane up and down—head to heels—and for the first time since she slithered through my door; I didn’t feel like prey.
I felt pissed.
“You know what I think?” I said, voice calm in that terrifying way right before the storm hits. “I think you didn’t walk away. I think he kicked you out.”
Her eyes narrowed. Just a flicker.
So I pressed deeper.
“I think you thought you could handle him, but what you really wanted was to tame him. And when he didn’t fold to your perfect little power trip, you ran.”
Sloane’s posture stiffened, but I wasn’t done. Not even close.
“You come in here like you still matter, like you’re the blueprint, but let me guess…” I stepped forward, matching her energy. “He didn’t come crawling back. You did.”
The color drained slightly from her face, but that mask—she tried to hold onto it.
“You think because you knew him first, you own a piece of him?” I laughed, low and sharp. “That’s pathetic. No wonder he needed a clean break. You don’t rattle me, Sloane. You reek of desperation.”
She moved before I saw it coming.
A sharp crack of skin against skin, and pain exploded across my cheek. My lip split open under the force of the slap, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.
I staggered back a step, hand flying to my face, breath catching—
And then I smiled.
Slow. Bloody.
Sloane froze like she hadn’t expected me to smile. Like she’d expected tears.
Big mistake.
She turned toward the door with a smug little toss of her hair. “Be a good little dog, Persephone,” she said, her voice full of venom.
But I was already on her heels.
“That’s Mrs. Sinclair to you,” I snapped, spit and blood in my mouth but fire in my chest.
She paused.
Didn’t turn around.
And then, without another word, she left.
The door slammed shut behind her.
And I stood there, bleeding—but victorious.