Hades stood still as her words lashed at him, every syllable carving into his pride like a blade.
His chest rose and fell slowly, but within him the Underworld itself seemed to rumble.
He could bear insults from gods, he could bear rebellion from mortals, but the thought of Hecate giving herself to another man ignited something darker, something primal, deep within his very soul.
His hand twitched at his side, as though yearning to seize her wrist and crush her defiance, to drag her against him and silence her with the force of his will.
Yet he did not move. He only stood there, letting her finger press against his chest, letting her gaze stab into him, letting her words burn.
Inside, two forces clashed violently.
One was the cold, imperious pride of the King of the Underworld, who would never allow what was his to be touched by another.
