“Oh.” Her voice was light—too light. “Sorry if I wore your robe, Savannah. Didn’t mean to. I just—” She stretched her arms above her head like she was stretching out her territory. “It was dry and soft. Figured I’d take advantage. You know, since I’m here all the time now.”
What?
Her tone was sugar laced with poison. Like she was the innocent victim of circumstance.
I didn’t move.
Zeus appeared from the bathroom, towel hanging low around his hips, his wet hair slicked back.
He paused, eyes flicking between me and Zoraya like he was watching two halves of some broken mirror.
“Zoraya spilled wine on her dress, Sav,” he said, voice flat and precise like he was reading a report, not delivering a verdict. “She asked for the robe. I told her it was fine. End of story. Don’t make it one. No issue.”
Zoraya smiled at him like he was the only person in the room worth smiling at.
“Thanks for the robe, Zeus. You’re a lifesaver,” she said, voice silky, eyes gleaming.
He nodded, “You should be more careful with the wine next time.”
She laughed, a light, careless sound that made my stomach twist.
“Yeah, yeah, boss,” she said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “I’ll try not to drown my clothes again.”
Zeus’s gaze slid back to me. “I don’t want to hear you start with this drama, Savannah. We’ve got bigger problems than a robe.”
I tried to say something—anything—but the words tangled and died in my throat. He stepped closer, kissed my forehead with no warmth at all, more like a cold command.
“We’re starving, babe,” he said. “Get something on the table. You’ll eat too.”
I turned toward the kitchen before the shame could drag me down. The silence in the kitchen was louder than the city outside. Tears streaming.
I cooked, but my hands moved on autopilot. Garlic, onions, peppers—the knife slicing through vegetables like it was slicing through my skin.
From the hall, Zoraya’s voice floated back, sweet and sharp. “You think Savannah’s mad I’m here, Zeus?”
Zeus didn’t even hesitate. “She’s not my wife. She doesn’t get to be mad. End of story.”
Her laugh was low, teasing. “Oh, I’m not mad. Just… surprised she’s so quiet. Usually, she puts up a fight.”
His reply was quiet, dangerous. “She’s tired. Let her rest in silence.”
I stood there, stirring the pot, every word sinking like a blade.
When I brought the food to the table, Zoraya was already there, lounging like she was queen of the castle.