Zeus sat like it was done.
I looked at him—seven years. My youth, love, loyalty. Cleaned blood off his suits. Hid bodies. Took his pain. Now he chose her, in my house, while I broke inside.
A hollow sound left me. Not a sob. Not a scream.
“You’re really doing this… after everything? After seven years? After cleaning your messes, hiding your sins? You’re cheating. Betraying me. And you stand there like it’s... It's business.”
He didn’t blink. “Don’t make this about you, Savannah.” Without looking me: “Think of the baby.”
And that moment, I knew then... I wasn’t his home.
Just another room he didn’t visit.
Morning came with a quiet I wasn’t used to. Like the apartment was holding its breath, waiting for something to break. Maybe me.
Zeus stood by the door, looking like the man who owned every damn inch of this building—and everyone inside it. He said flatly, “Savannah, you’re moving to the guest room. Zoraya’s staying here.”
I opened my mouth, ready to fight. To scream. To tell him I wasn’t some side piece in his damn life.
But my voice was gone again, swallowed by the weight of all the lies.
So I nodded.
Packed my things slowly. Tried to hold on to whatever scraps of myself I could find.
That guest room wasn’t mine anymore than the master was. It was colder, smaller, darker. And the silence in there felt like a sentence.
Back in the main room, things started disappearing. My shoes from the rack. My clothes from the closet. The little shelf where I kept my makeup and perfumes—vanished.
I found out Zoraya had claimed the master bedroom. My silk sheets, my pillows, the robe Zeus gifted me—she wore it like a trophy, like she earned it.
The first time I saw the towels in the bathroom, damp and tangled, I wanted to rip them apart. And then I noticed the strands of hair clogging the drain. Mine? Hers? Didn’t matter. It was invasion. Violation.
I caught her scent on her skin one morning. My favorite perfume—the one I wore to feel alive. Zoraya was bathing in it, laughing like she owned the damn air I breathed.
She started calling Zeus “babe” in front of me.
And Zeus? He didn’t correct her. Didn’t even blink.
Like I was invisible.
One afternoon, she smiled at me, sweet as poison.
“I think stress isn’t good for the baby,” she said, her voice dripping with fake concern. “Savannah, maybe take a walk when you feel overwhelmed? Fresh air might help.”