Even after everything, it still hit me. That stupid, dangerous, beautiful face.
He saw me at the desk, eyes bloodshot, and slowed his steps. His whole expression shifted, just for a second.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Nothing. Think I’m gonna take some time off work.”
“You don’t need to work, Sav. I got us.”
His hand reached out to ruffle my hair—this old habit from back when things were simple.
I moved away before he touched me. His hand just… hung there for a moment. Then dropped.
He tried again. “You okay?”
I didn’t answer that. Truth was, I’d been tired for a long time.
---
I started working part-time in college—graveyard shifts at a 24-hour diner, dealing with drunk assholes and creeps with wandering hands. Every dime went toward rent and food.
When Zeus cut off his old man and walked away from the Lambert empire, we had nothing. We shared a shoebox apartment above a laundromat. Cockroaches. Thin walls. Gas stove that worked sometimes.
He had a dream, so I made it mine, too.
I’d commute two hours just to save on rent. Woke up at five. Caught the first train. Worked till midnight, came home, washed off the city grime, and passed out cold.
I kept us afloat while he built the business—ran money drops, did “quiet favors” for old contacts, took meetings in dark basements with men who didn’t shake hands unless they were holding a weapon.
And now? We're rich… but I am now... tired. Tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix.
I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt Zeus’s thumb brushing my cheek.
“Hey… What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”
I shook my head, voice low. “I don't know. Just tired, Zeus. Tired of running. Tired of pretending everything’s fine.”
I leaned into him, and for a second, it felt like it used to—like the world was small and simple and safe. He wrapped his arms around me, warm and familiar, and I closed my eyes.
“Zeus…” I whispered. “Can you stay with me today?”
If he stayed—if he chose me, just this once—I swore I’d let it all go. I’d forget the texts, the pictures, the lies. I’d bury the betrayal so deep it’d never touch daylight again. I wouldn’t mention Zoraya. Wouldn’t bring up the wrapper, or the desk, or how he left me sick and alone. I’d forgive him. Because I loved him.
But then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen—face blank, unreadable.