Page 137 of Hades

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

We lay there in the quiet. Two dark souls who’d found each other in the chaos.

And I knew, with absolute certainty, that protecting her would mean standing between her and Zeus when the truth came out. It would mean choosing her over my president. Over my club. Over everything I’d built my life around.

I’d do it without hesitation.

Because she was mine.

And some things were worth burning the world for.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Lettie

It was happening again. The same way it always did.

I heard her moving around in her room before sunrise. Not the usual shuffle of someone reluctant to face the day, but purposeful steps. Deliberate. The sound of drawers opening and closing. Hangers scraping against the closet rod.

Harvest Week.

I stood in the kitchen, coffee mug warming my hands, and waited for her to emerge.

She appeared in the doorway ten minutes later. Hair combed. Blouse pressed. Lipstick applied in that shade of coral she only wore once a year.

“Good morning, Violet.”

“Morning.” I took a sip of coffee. “You look nice.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Dear.

That word.

The one she saved for this week and no other time.

She moved into the kitchen with an energy I’d learned to expect but never understood. No complaints about her joints. No hesitation. Just smooth, deliberate movement toward the table.

The table. Not her recliner.

She pulled out the chair across from me. The one that sat empty fifty-one weeks a year. The one she claimed during Harvest Week like it had always been hers.

“Is breakfast ready?”

“Almost.”

“Good. I’m starving.”

Starving. Another word reserved for this week. The rest of the year, she picked at her food and complained about her appetite. But during Harvest Week, she ate like someone who remembered what hunger felt like.

I plated eggs, bacon, and toast with mechanical precision. Set it in front of her and watched her pick up her fork without complaint.

“This looks wonderful, dear.”

I forced myself to eat. My stomach twisted the way it always did during this week. That low-grade unease that came from watching a pattern repeat without understanding why.