Zoraya was alone in the room. Pale. Hooked up to IVs. Eyes glassy with fake innocence. She looked up when we walked in like she hadn’t been expecting this performance all day.
Zeus gave me a look colder than winter in hell.
“Do it. Kneel. Tell her you’re sorry for trying to kill my child.”
I flinched. The words hit harder than his hand ever could. I shook my head slowly, lips trembling, not because I wanted to fight—but because I couldn’t believe this was real.
“I didn’t…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Zeus please, I didn’t do anything.”
His hand cracked across my cheek before I finished the sentence. Pain bloomed. Stars danced in my vision. My knees buckled and I hit the floor.
Tiled. Sterile. Cold.
And I whispered, because that’s all I had left in me, “I’m sorry… I... I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Zoraya gave this long, dramatic sigh like she was doing the world a favor.
She nodded, like some noble queen forgiving a peasant. “I forgive you,” she said softly. “I know this must be so hard for you.”
Zeus turned away, his phone ringing. “Don’t move, not until I say so,” he muttered before stepping outside.