ZEUS.

Pretty things often hide in thorns, and even if I have to tear off my flesh to get to her, I intend to pluck them bare, one by one.

The door slammed shut behind me, echoing in the room. The stench of bleach hit me first, sharp, chemical, trying to erase the night's carnage. But it couldn't touch and couldn’t deny the smell of blood that still lingers to me, a scent as intoxicating as her defiance. 

The cleanup crew had vanished and executed their job efficiently, leaving the room as clean as new, as if the walls had never echoed with screams nor the floor never spilled blood.

I crossed the room, my boots thudding against the marble floor, each step a reminder of the power I wielded in Nexus.

My fingers brushed the porcelain vase on the nightstand, its surface smeared with jagged streaks, a blood, dried in patterns that mirrored the chaos of her fury. 

“Saoirse.”

The name rolled off my tongue. A pretty name for a girl who carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. I gripped the vase, feeling its weight, then dropped it against the floor. It shattered with a satisfying crash, shards scattering.

I picked one up, its edge cool and sharp, tracing it along my fingertips until a bead of my own blood welled up, a tiny, stinging sacrifice to the memory of her.

She'd stood her ground, trembling yet unyielding, her uniform torn in shreds that revealed glimpses of pale skin marked by bruises. 

The way her hands shook as she clutched that vase, breath coming in ragged gasps, but she didn't break. A quiet resolve, like the calm before the storm.

Most girls in this hellhole would have crumbled, begged for mercy, and played the victim to survive.

But not her. 

And when my hooded men dragged the limp body away, leaking life onto the floor, she stared at me, not with gratitude, not with pure terror, but with a quiet challenge that ignited something primal, a hunger I hadn't felt in years.

I crushed the shard in my fist, as questions flooded my mind. Why did this cigarette woman, with her shadowed eyes and wild jet-black hair, choose to endure in a place like this? 

Nexus was crawling with eager girls, desperate to please, to submit, their bodies offered like cheap thrills. But Saoirse…she intrigued me more than she should. More than anyone had in a long fucking time.

I yanked my phone from my pocket, dialing the tech team's secure line. The ring was immediate, insistent. 

“Pull all the footage and files you have of Saoirse.”

There was a pause on the other end, a hesitation that screamed incompetence. “Sir, is this... standard protocol?” the voice stammered, laced with fear.

“Do I sound like I give a fuck about protocol?” I growled, the words slicing through the air like a whip.

The line went dead. Good. Obedience was the only currency that mattered in my world. I poured myself a glass of scotch from the bar cart, the amber liquid swirling in the dim light.

As I sipped, the burn tracing a path down my throat, the wall screen flickered to life with a soft hum. I sank into the leather chair, the same one I'd lounged in while watching her struggle, and let the images unfold.

I zoomed in, my fingers hovering over the controls, noting the faint bruise on her cheek, hidden beneath layers of makeup. Not from tonight, that was fresh, from the bastard I'd put down. This one was older, faded yellow at the edges.

The footage shifted to the back rooms, the break area where staff huddled like rats in a cage. She sat alone, staring at her phone, fingers trembling as she scrolled through messages. Without tearing my eyes from the screen, I typed furiously, hacking into the club's internal logs. 

Her employee file popped up: Saoirse Vincenzo. Twenty-three. No family listed. Bullshit. I dug deeper, cross-referencing databases. Her brother, Aofie Vincenzo. Thirteen. Hospitalized for leukemia. Bills piling up like unpaid debts, her pay abysmal — minimum wage plus tips, barely scraping by for his treatments. 

She worked doubles, triples, shifts bleeding into the night, her body a machine fueled by quiet desperation.

Then, the footage from the other night, the night I first saw her. She was arguing with a man inside the club, his hands gripping her arms too tightly, fingers digging in like claws.

Her boyfriend or whatever, shoved her against the wall, face twisted in rage, spitting words I couldn't hear but imagined all too well, insults, demands, the poison of control. She didn't fight back, not then. 

Her body went still, eyes hollow, absorbing the blows like a sponge. But when he turned away, she wiped her cheek, a flicker of something dark crossing her face. Rage. Quiet, simmering, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

It hooked me. Not her beauty that was undeniable, curves that begged to be traced, but this. Her quiet rage. The way she swallowed pain, turned it into fuel. Most people broke under pressure, but she sharpened herself on it, emerging stronger, deadlier.

I leaned forward, breath fogging the screen as I replayed the moment she swung the vase. The crack echoed in my mind, blood spraying in slow motion, her defiance of a wildfire. 

She was a storm in a teacup, and I wanted to unleash her, feel her fury crash over me.

Just then, the door creaked open, and Azriel stepped in, his presence a cold draft cutting through the room's heat. The one who kept the shadows at bay in this empire of sin.

He glanced at the screen, eyes narrowing. “What are you, a pervert? Watching her again? This isn't like you at all, Zeus.”

I didn't bother turning off the feed, letting the images play on. Azriel poured himself a drink, settling across from me, his movements deliberate, controlled. It seems that he read the question I had in mind as he spoke.

“Same as the rest. Desperation. Her brother's sick. Bills are piling up. Nexus pays better than most dives, but you know the drill. Once you're in, it's hard to get out. Debts, threats, the whole fucking cycle.”

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere, her file flashing in my peripheral vision. Low pay, abusive boyfriend, sick brother. But she never complained, never asked for help. That rage simmered, a weapon she hadn't fully unleashed. 

Yet.

Azriel sipped his scotch, gaze piercing, like he could see straight through me. “Attachment is liability, Zeus. You know that. You're not built for softness. Girls like her, they break or they burn. And you? You burn everything you touch.”

His words were a warning, laced with the truth I'd lived by for years. Softness was a myth in my world, a trap for fools. I'd clawed my way to the top, built an empire on fear and control, Nexus, the Trojan Covenant, all of it, mine. 

Attachments? They were chains, weaknesses to be exploited. But Saoirse...she wasn't a weakness. She was a puzzle, a flame I wanted to hold, to consume.

I kept my face impassive. The way she'd remained frozen, memories crashing over her like waves. And then her defiance, refusing to fold even though death is staring at her face.

It was a hunger I couldn’t quite name but want to fucking consume. Something deeper, darker.

Azriel set his glass down with a clink, tone sharpening. “Whatever you're thinking, stop. She's not yours to save or ruin.”

I smirked, the cold grin twisting my lips as I finally shut off the screen, plunging the room into dimmer shadows. He shook his head, but didn't argue. He knew better. In Nexus. In the Trojan Covenant. I am a king, and kings take what they want. 

Saoirse was mine to watch, to unravel. Her quiet rage called to me, promising chaos I craved, the fear, the fire. I saw it all.

“I don’t do saving games, and I ruin pretty things perfectly,” I murmured, more to myself than him, my voice rough with the weight of it. 

“She caught a glimpse of the monster hiding beneath my skin and yet didn't flinch. As if she recognized them — craved them, even.”

Azriel's eyes darkened, a flicker of concern crossing his features. “Recognized them? Or saw something she wants to destroy?”

“Destroy. Ignite. Either way, I don’t care. It's mine now.”

He leaned back, crossing his arms, his gaze unwavering. ‘You've got that look, Zeus. The one that says you're already planning how to break her or worse, how to keep her.”

“Break her?” I echoed, pouring another scotch, the liquid splashing against the glass. “No. I want to see her shatter on her own terms. That rage. It's…beautiful. Untamed.”

Azriel snorted, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone. “This isn't a game. She's got a brother to protect, debts that could bury her. If you pull her in, it'll be war.”

“War? I thrive on war, Azriel.” I set the glass down, leaning forward. “And Saoirse…without her realizing she's already in the middle of one.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. He held my stare for a long moment. “Just don't say I didn't warn you. What starts as an intrigue like that, it’s dangerous…it consumes.”

He stood up and headed towards the door, clicking it shut behind him, I returned to the screen, replaying the footage once more.

I poured another drink, the scotch burning as I imagined her here, in my world, her defiance clashing against my control. 

Soon. Very soon. She will be mine to break and ruin.

SAOIRSE.

There was no sight of him. The whole two days had been a fragile illusion of peace, a thin veil over the chaos that clawed at my edges.

For once, his gaze hadn't pinned me down, turning the world into a cage that mirrored his destructive soul, the kind that seeped into your veins and drove you mad.

Midnight struck as I stumbled out of the motel, the rain-slicked pavement gleaming under the sputtering lights. My shoes clicked against the road, I can still feel the exhaustion and adrenaline rattling my bones. 

This hiding game had stretched on too long, a relentless tug-of-war that left me hollow. But none of that mattered. Not the ache in my muscles, not the fog of my breath in the chill air. 

All that consumed me was Aofie, my little brother, trapped in that rundown hospital on the city's fringe, his tiny body tethered to machines that beeped like false promises.

He'd been there for years, fighting a disease the doctors called ‘under control.’ Lies. In this unjust world, the word under control was nothing but a myth. All they do is take and take, milking the desperate to live. 

The warm porridge I'd clutched in my hands was meant to be his comfort, a small act of normalcy in our messed up lives. I walked faster, adrenaline surging through me like fire, drowning out the fatigue. Aofie needed me. He was all I had left, the only light in this brutal city where monsters like Zeus Trojan prowled, devouring the weak without a second thought.

Rounding the corner, my heart lurched into my throat. Three black sprinter vans idled violently in front of the hospital, their tinted windows devouring the moonlight like voids. The kind that appeared in nightmares, spilling shadows that left carnage in their wake.

I recognized those vans. They are his. 

The porridge slipped from my fingers, splattering onto the cracked pavement like blood. Hot liquid seeped into the cracks, mixing with grime, and I bolted inside, my heels clicking frantically against the linoleum floors. 

The air reeked of antiseptic and decay, a nauseating cocktail that clawed at my nostrils. Nurses glanced up from their stations, their eyes widening in alarm, but I ignored them, my pulse thundering in my ears. 

Room 312. Aofie's room. At the end of the hall. I burst through the door, gasping, chest heaving — only to freeze, the world tilting on its axis.

There he was. 

Zeus Trojan. 

He is sitting bluntly on a chair beside the window. However, something was off. No cigarette dangling from his lips, no lazy puffs of smoke curling into the air. Just him, staring at me with those dark eyes, bored yet burning.

“You have exhausted my patience, little fox.”

“W–What are you doing here? Get out.” The words escaped in a whisper, my body rooted, lungs refusing to draw breath. “Leave my brother out of this, Mr. Trojan. Please…”

I couldn't bring myself to say his first name. It tasted like poison on my tongue.

“Trojan?” He arched a brow, lips twisting into a smirk that never touched those cold depths of his eyes. “You know my name. Does saying it stir something in you you're not supposed to feel?”

Does it? I don’t know. I didn't understand and I don't want to know. It didn't make sense to me how just uttering it could make my skin prickle and my pulse race.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “W–What do you want?”

“You know what I want.”

The words hit like a punch, stealing my breath. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. “You're a monster. All of you. All of you are nothing but evil.”

He rose slowly, unfolding like a predator from its den, each movement deliberate. His scent enveloped me first, intoxicating and suffocating. Heat radiated from him, thickening the space between us until I could barely breathe.

“Monsters are protectors, Saoirse. In a world like Castello, you need someone like me. Someone who can shield you from the real evil, from the shadows that devour the weak. Submit, and I'll save you both.”

“Submit?” I scoffed. “To you? To a murderer, a monster? No. I'd rather burn.”

“Then burn with me.”

I didn’t have the time to process when his mouth claimed mine, fierce and demanding. Zeus’s tongue swept in but I fought it, biting his lip again, but he groaned, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming, around my waist.

Fuck.

Pleasure shot through me, sharp and unwanted, making me release a moan in his mouth.

I pushed his chest hard to pull him away. The two of us are catching our breath. Those eyes. Those damn hungry eyes glinting into the night, staring right through me made my whole body shiver. 

“Did you like my gift?”

“What? What gift—”

The memory slammed into me, a tidal wave of horror. The box on my motel doorstep the other morning, left like a sick offering. I'd opened it with shaking hands, expecting…what? Flowers? Something normal? But inside. 

Inside, was a pair of eyes. Real eyes, carved from flesh, veins glistening, blood pooling at the bottom. The stench of blood and flesh had made me gag, bile rising in my throat as I slammed the lid shut and throwing it in the bin. But the image was burned into my mind, the way it throbbed faintly, as if it still held life.

“Did you not like it?” he asked, his tone innocent, almost playful, like we were discussing a bouquet. “Your boyfriend didn't seem to mind when I carved it out of his skull.”

What the fuck. What the fuck is wrong with this man. My brows narrowed, fury and horror twisting in my chest. He’s disgustingly disturbing. How could he say something like that? So casually like it was nothing, as if Lorenzo was just a meat on a slab, as if he was a joke.

"W—What the fuck are you saying?"

“Feisty.” A low rumble escaped him, a scoff that echoed through the room. "A little smile would suit you."

“What did you do? What did you do to Lorenzo? You didn't do anything, right?” I asked, almost a whisper. “Right?!”

I knew. We both knew. He wasn't just a man. Zeus Trojan is a walking death. He could pluck souls like petals, twist lives with a flick of his finger. What he was saying wasn't impossible. It was his reality, his game.

He stepped even closer, his breath hot against my ear.

“This is why you don't get to fuck around, Saoirse. Not with me.” He stepped closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

My gaze darted to Aofie, lying still in the bed, machines humming softly. My heart shattered.

“Test me again, and I'll have each part of his body delivered to your doorstep. Piece by piece.”

What have I done? 

Playing hide and seek with Zeus had been a mistake, a deadly game I never should have started. And now, the consequences were staring at me in the face, brutal and unyielding.

“You know where to find me.”

He walked past me. And as the door clicked shut, leaving me alone with Aofie, I sank to the floor, the room spinning, sobs wracking me as I tried to muffle them. 

I’m running out of choices and Zeus? He was ensuring I had nowhere left to run.

SAOIRSE.

Days have bled into nights in this sterile hellhole, the hospital and this tiny room a cage of my own forging. Aofie's small body lies tangled in white sheets, his chest rising and falling in those shallow, ragged breaths that haunt my dreams. 

The doctors' voices echo in my skull, reassurances laced with pity, their eyes darting away like cowards. They know. This disease is a merciless thief, clawing at his childhood, devouring his future bite by bite. Leukemia. 

I sit by his bedside, my fingers tracing the IV line snaking into his pale arm, feeling the fragile pulse beneath his skin. Nurses come and go, their footsteps soft as ghosts, dimming the lights when the world outside pretends to sleep. But sleep eludes me. 

Instead, I stare at the door, replaying Zeus's words from that shadowed alley last night. His offer dangles like a noose, protection, power, a way out of this nightmare. For Aofie. But the cost? My soul, maybe. My freedom. Definitely.

My hand trembles as I clutch the edge of his bed, his small fingers warm in mine. For him, swallowing the bile rising in my throat, the pride I am willing to swallow. For his safety. His life. I close my eyes, the darkness swallowing me whole, and whisper my surrender into the void. 

“I'll do it. Whatever it is, Aofie. Whatever it takes...”

Dusk falls like a shroud, and I don't want to waste another second. I slip out of the hospital, the cool night air biting my skin as I head to Nexus. The extravagant club pulses with life, thumping bass, flashing lights, bodies grinding in a haze of sweat and desperation. But I weave through it all, my gaze locked on the elevator leading to the towering floor. 

Zeus is waiting. I can feel it.

The hallway up there is dimly lit, the chaos of the club below muffled to a distant roar. And I wasn't wrong, when I entered his private room, Zeus was there, like the very first time I saw him, sitting like a king in his throne, like a statue carved from marble and menace, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the huge window.

His eyes are dark like always, piercing, stripping me bare. I stop a few feet away to hold my breath, to keep together the little courage I have left in my body.

“You came,” he says, his voice a velvet blade, smooth but sharp enough to draw blood. “Wise choice, little fox.”

I lift my chin, forcing steel into my spine. “You knew I would. What other choices do I have?”

His lips curl into a smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. “Choice? Saoirse, we both know that's a luxury you can't afford. Not with that boy's life hanging by a thread.”

The words hit like a punch, and I flinch, my fists clenching at my sides. “Don't pretend you care about him. All you care about is power. You want control. You want me in your pocket.”

He stood up and with just a couple of steps, he closed the gap between us, the heat from his body radiating against mine, making my skin prickle. 

“And you'll give it to me, won't you, Saoirse?”

I swallow hard, the bitter taste of pride choking me. “What do you want?”

“You. Everything.” His gaze drops to my lips, then lower, lingering on the curve of my neck. “But we'll start small. You'll serve me at my home. La Serpente. Be my maid, my servant. My…whatever I desire. A role that reeks of servitude, yet promises the protection you crave.”

The word ‘maid’ lands like a punch, reeking of servitude, of chains disguised as silk. But in his world, it's a lifeline. Protection wrapped in danger. I imagine the fortress he calls home, luxury and menace, walls that keep threats out but trap you in. 

My hands shake as I lift them, pressing against his chest to push him away, but my fingers linger on the hard planes of muscle beneath his suit.

“Maid?” I scoffed, incredulity sharpening my tone. “You think I’ll believe that's all you want? You don’t own me and I certainly won't be your whore.”

“Oh, Saoirse.” Zeus chuckles, low and dark, the sound vibrating through me. “If I wanted a whore, I'd have one kneeling already. You'll serve me because deep down, you know it's the only way to keep that boy breathing.”

My breath catches, and I glance toward the massive window, where the city lights flicker like dying stars. Castello City swallows people whole, but so is Zeus. 

Zeus Trojan is a beast deep down, and I've been running from it, from him, for what feels like forever. Even though I hate to admit it, he's right. Aofie's life hangs by a thread, and he's the one holding the scissors. 

“And if I refuse? You'll kill him, is that it?”

Zeus's hand shoots out, wrapping around my wrist, his grip firm but not bruising. He pulls me closer, our bodies brushing, and a spark ignites where his skin meets mine, electric and terrifying. 

“I dare you, Saoirse. But you won't refuse, will you? Not when you know I'm the only one who can save him.”

“I’m not your fucking toy. I won't be the one to satisfy your sick desires.”

“What makes you think you have a choice?" He murmured, his voice low and dangerous, sending shivers down her spine.

“Because you don't go around deciding people you own them and you certainly do not own me.”

“Every inch of ground you step upon, I own.” He closed the distance between them in one step. “And unfortunately, for you darling. Everything I want. I get. So, choose. My patience is running thin.”

Tears prick my eyes, hot and furious. I yank my hand free, but he doesn't let go completely, his thumb traces a slow circle on my pulse point, sending shivers racing up my arm.

“F—Fine, I’ll do it…” I whisper, but the word lacks bite. It's a plea, a crack in my armor.

“Louder, little fox. I want to hear you break.”

I glare up at him, defiance flaring one last time, my chin lifting even as my body betrays me with a tremble. 

The room spins, the distant wail of an ambulance mirroring the chaos in my head. Pride burns in my throat, bitter and hot, but I swallow it, letting it burn down my throat.

“Fine,” I breathe, the word barely audible. “I'll do it. I'll serve you.”  

“That’s my good girl.” His eyes flash with something predatory, triumphant. “Pride suits you, but submission will look even better.”

Damn you. Damn this man. Over my dead body I would submit. I would never bow to him. I won't give him the satisfaction that he wants. I will kneel to no man, especially not to him. 

“When do I start?”

“Now. The car’s outside. La Serpente is far, far away from here, the drive will give you time to reflect on your decision.”

He turns, gesturing for me to follow, and I do, my legs moving on autopilot. The hallway leads to a service stairwell, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew. As we descend, the sounds of Nexus fade, replaced by the echo of our footsteps, his steady, mine hesitant. Outside, a sleek black limousine car idles, its tinted windows hiding whatever lurks within. Zeus opens the door for me.

With a deep breath, I slide into the seat, the leather cool against my skin. Zeus climbs in beside me, his thigh brushing mine, and the driver pulls away without a word. The ride is silent at first, the city blurring past, neon lights, and crowded streets. Castello’s alive with danger. 

I stare out the window, my mind racing. What have I agreed to?

Zeus's presence beside me is overwhelming, his scent, musky and expensive, filling the confined space. I steal glances at him, his profile sharp in the passing headlights.

“You’re staring.” He said, not glancing in my direction. I bit my tongue. Shit. I must have been too obvious. “Got questions in mind?”

“Out of nowhere, why…me?” I ask, breaking the silence. “There are people who owe and fear you. Those who are willing to have you. So, why drag me? Why drag me into your life?”

“Just because, Saoirse. You're...broken, but not shattered. Yet.” He turns, his gaze pinning me. “It makes breaking you more…satisfying.”

I bristle, heat rising in my cheeks. “You think you can break me?”

“I don't think. I know.” His hand rests on my knee, brushing his thumb on my skin. “You'll beg for it eventually.”

I shove his hand away, my pulse pounding. “Please, don't touch me.”

He laughs, a sound devoid of humor. “Defiant. As always.”

I spent the whole drive staring at the side-road, I’m not familiar with the place anymore. Then the next thing I knew, the limousine pulled up to gates that part like jaws. 

La Serpente looms ahead.

An obsidian fortress sculpted from shadow and intent. Its sharp, modern lines slice into the overcast sky, every angle precise, every surface unforgiving. Black stone and glass dominate, absorbing light rather than reflecting it, as if the house feeds on secrecy. 

It’s…beautiful. 

We step out, and the courtyard hits me like a physical force. At its heart, a massive black wolf statue crouches in a circular basin, muscles frozen mid-pounce. Its matte-black body gleams under recessed lighting, a silent warning disguised as art. Predatory. Watchful. It reminds me I'm entering a territory ruled by power, not mercy.

Wide steps ascend toward the entrance, illuminated from below, guiding us upward like a procession to judgment. The door is massive, framed by vertical slats that resemble prison bars. Even the openness feels controlled, balconies shielded by dark railings, windows tinted to obscure the sins inside.

The courtyard is meticulously curated: smooth stone paths winding around manicured greenery, black orbs placed like chess pieces. Nothing grows wildly. Nothing exists without permission. The space unnerves me, making me feel small, exposed, already at a disadvantage.

This is not a home built for warmth.

This is a throne disguised as architecture.

A sanctuary for monsters who prefer silence, wealth, and darkness. Where deals and darkness are sealed behind glass walls, and loyalty is tested long before anyone ever steps inside.

Zeus's hand finds my lower back again, urging me forward as we enter, the door clicking shut behind us with a finality that echoes in my bones. 

The foyer is vast, marble floors gleaming under chandeliers that cast long shadows. A staircase spirals upward, and doors branch off into unseen rooms. It's luxurious, yes, plush rugs, art that screams wealth but the air is heavy, charged with unspoken rules.

Zeus turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Your room’s upstairs. Second door on the left. You'll start tomorrow. Get some rest.”

I nod, but don't move. “What about Aofie? How do I know he's safe?”

The dim light casts shadows on his face, making him look even more menacing. “He'll live, Saoirse. As long as you behave.”

The words sting, a reminder of my cage. But somehow relief floods me, knowing that Aofies’ safe, even if it means my freedom is forfeit. 

“How do I know you're not lying? That this isn't just another trap?”

“Because I don't lie to what's mine.” Zeus reaches out, cupping my chin, tilting my face up. His touch is gentle, almost tender, but his eyes burn with intensity. “Now, go.”

The threat hangs between us, and I bite my tongue, turning away. But as I climb the stairs, his voice follows. 

“Saoirse.”

I pause, glancing back. And in that exact moment I swear, I want to take back all the decisions I made as I met his gaze.

“Welcome home, little fox.” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.