Zeus stormed back in, jaw clenched tight, grabbed my hand like he was ready to burn the whole damn place down.

“We’re leaving!” he said.

“Zeus—” his Dad roared, “Walk out that door and you’re done. Don’t expect a dime. Don’t call. Don’t even think about this family ever again!”

He froze at the door for just a second. Then turned, grabbed the sad little cake from the table, and tossed it right at his feet.

“Then I disowned myself!” he growled.

The streets outside were dead quiet, snow crunching beneath our boots. Subway had stopped. Taxis were ghosts. We walked across the overpass to some budget hotel, wind screaming through the city like it was trying to rip us apart.

All around us, windows glowed warm, like distant stars. But none of those lights were mine.

I kept my eyes on the sidewalk and whispered, “Let’s break up, Zeus.”

He said nothing.

“Zeus, I—”

He yanked down his coat zipper, wrapped it around both of us, and pulled me into him. His arms locked tight around my waist like if he let go, I’d slip into the night.

Then, quiet and fierce against my skin, he said:

“Savannah Smith, I swear on my name—I’ll give you a home. No matter what it costs me.”

I smiled bitterly.

When I got back to the apartment, he was passed out on the couch, snoring softly. The TV was still on—muted, casting blue shadows across his face. I tucked a blanket around him, careful not to wake him. He looked so damn peaceful it made my chest ache.

Peaceful—like he hadn’t shattered me just hours ago. His phone buzzed. Two unread messages.

Both from Zoraya.

“She made sure I got home safe, don’t worry Mr. Lambert! ”

“Goodnight, see you tomorrow! ”

My hands shook. I told myself to let it go. That I was being paranoid. But my thumb didn’t listen.

It hovered. Then tapped. I scrolled up.

“You left a mark on my thigh It’s still sore.”

“You liked it.”

“Obviously. I was soaking through my underwear before you even touched me.”

And then the photo dropped in. Blurry. Low light. But unmistakable. Her on his desk. Hair messy. Bra pulled down. The corner of his nameplate visible in the background. Our office. The one we built.

A buzzing started in my ears.

“Remember the way I moaned when you whispered my name?”

“Like music.”

Then another line. Time-stamped. Same day I was curled up in bed, head splitting, shivering through a fever.

“She’s sleeping. I told her not to come in today.”

“Good. I want you to taste me without rushing this time, Zeus.”

And I just… stopped. Tears slid down my face before I even realized I was crying. They dripped onto the phone screen. Onto her skin. Onto his words.

I tried to breathe. But it felt like my lungs were full of stones. I stared at him, slumped on the couch—lips parted, completely unaware. I tried to speak. Tried to say his name. Tried to scream.

But nothing came out. Then I stood. Walked to the study like a ghost in my own home.

Opened the drawer. Pulled out the pregnancy test and the crumpled report with the diagnosis still circled in red ink. I slid them under the ledger. Buried them. I didn’t want to see them. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Behind me, Zeus stirred. Made a noise in his sleep. I looked back at him, my heart like glass underfoot. And in that moment, I knew:

He would never be the same man again.

And neither would I.

---

By seven, I heard him stir.

Zeus walked in, rubbing his temples like he’d just come down from something hard. He looked like the kind of man who ran a crew—sharp gray slacks, sky-blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the tattoos creeping down his forearms.

That face…

Even after everything, it still hit me. That stupid, dangerous, beautiful face.

He saw me at the desk, eyes bloodshot, and slowed his steps. His whole expression shifted, just for a second.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nothing. Think I’m gonna take some time off work.”

“You don’t need to work, Sav. I got us.”

His hand reached out to ruffle my hair—this old habit from back when things were simple.

I moved away before he touched me. His hand just… hung there for a moment. Then dropped.

He tried again. “You okay?”

I didn’t answer that. Truth was, I’d been tired for a long time.

---

I started working part-time in college—graveyard shifts at a 24-hour diner, dealing with drunk assholes and creeps with wandering hands. Every dime went toward rent and food.

When Zeus cut off his old man and walked away from the Lambert empire, we had nothing. We shared a shoebox apartment above a laundromat. Cockroaches. Thin walls. Gas stove that worked sometimes.

He had a dream, so I made it mine, too.

I’d commute two hours just to save on rent. Woke up at five. Caught the first train. Worked till midnight, came home, washed off the city grime, and passed out cold.

I kept us afloat while he built the business—ran money drops, did “quiet favors” for old contacts, took meetings in dark basements with men who didn’t shake hands unless they were holding a weapon.

And now? We're rich… but I am now... tired. Tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I felt Zeus’s thumb brushing my cheek.

“Hey… What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

I shook my head, voice low. “I don't know. Just tired, Zeus. Tired of running. Tired of pretending everything’s fine.”

I leaned into him, and for a second, it felt like it used to—like the world was small and simple and safe. He wrapped his arms around me, warm and familiar, and I closed my eyes.

“Zeus…” I whispered. “Can you stay with me today?”

If he stayed—if he chose me, just this once—I swore I’d let it all go. I’d forget the texts, the pictures, the lies. I’d bury the betrayal so deep it’d never touch daylight again. I wouldn’t mention Zoraya. Wouldn’t bring up the wrapper, or the desk, or how he left me sick and alone. I’d forgive him. Because I loved him.

But then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the screen—face blank, unreadable.

Then without a word, he stepped away from me. Just a few paces. But it felt like a chasm opened between us.

He answered. Then I heard her voice, tinny but unmistakable through the receiver.

Zoraya. “I’m vomiting, Zeus,” she said, her voice shaky. “I think I’m pregnant… Can you come with me to the clinic? I’m scared.”

My ears rang. My vision blurred, like my body was trying to protect me from hearing the rest. He turned slightly, like he might check if I was listening—then walked farther into the hallway, lowering his voice. But it was too late. I’d already heard everything.

The truth wasn’t a knife—it was a slow, cold burn.

He came back a minute later, casual like nothing had happened. Tossed on his jacket.

“I got a sit-down with Santino’s crew,” he said, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. “Could turn into a war if I don’t show. I’ll be back early though. Don’t worry—go watch your shows, rest up a bit. I’ll be home before dinner.”

Liar!

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

He leaned down, fixed the blanket around me like I was a child, kissed my forehead like I was his home. And then he left. And the door didn’t just close behind him. It buried me.

Then I turned and signed the damn paper.

Organ donor.

---

I went to the Hospital alone. Dr. Alex slid it back toward her and gave me this soft, cautious look. She was pale, well-dressed, probably a few years older than me, and completely out of place in the underworld we floated through.

“You sure about this?” she asked. “If your people disagree, they can override your choice.”

“I don’t got people,” I said. “No family. Just let them take what they can.”

At least if I end up six feet under, someone out there might get a second shot.

She hesitated. I caught a flicker of guilt in her eyes.

“It’s alright,” I added. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I’ve been hearing bad news since I was fifteen.”

“Actually, it’s… not as hopeless as it looks. Chemo and precision therapy could buy you time. And the baby's still early. We could—”

“I know,” I cut in, my voice calm. “If it was early-stage, maybe I’d fight it. But it's not. And I'm not gonna pretend just to make you feel better.”

She swallowed. Doctors like her weren’t used to girls like me—girls who’d held blades and secrets, who’d cleaned blood off tile floors without blinking.

“How big is a baby at seven weeks?” I asked, just to change the subject. Tried to smile, like I wasn’t choking inside.

“There’s already a heartbeat,” she said quietly, and for the first time, her expression softened into something real.

“No kidding?” My throat tightened. “So it's in there, alive.”

She nodded. “Little thing’s got its own rhythm already.”

That was the first time I felt something crack in me. It hit different—knowing something inside me was alive, even if the rest of me was dying.

She handed me a note. “That’s my number—WhatsApp too. Call me, no matter what time.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

The bus home was packed. Elbows in my ribs, smells of cheap cologne, gun oil, and street snacks. I found a seat in the back, head down, hoodie up. I choose the bus instead of driving my own car.

I texted Alex:

“Doc, how do you even know if nausea’s from cancer or pregnancy? I haven’t been able to eat in days.”

Before she could answer, someone tapped me.

“Hey,” an older guy barked. “This seat’s for elderly or pregnant people. Get up.”

“She looks fine to me,” a woman chimed in. “She can stand. Let the man sit.”

The whole bus started to turn.

I pulled my medical file out of my bag and flashed it like a badge. “I’m pregnant. And I got stage four brain cancer. I’m not getting up. Happy?"

Silence dropped like a shot fired into the air. I leaned back and stared out the window.

And just like that, I didn’t feel scared anymore.

---

The door clicked behind me, and the house was thick with silence. Too thick.

But the hallway smelled like wine and perfume—something expensive and too sweet. The kind of scent that didn’t belong to me.

The lights were off, except one in the entryway. A wine glass lay tipped on the console table. Burgundy puddled beneath it like blood.

I didn’t clean it up. My body ached—every part of me from the hospital still throbbed like I’d been flayed open. But I walked. Step by step. Numb. Quiet.

The master bedroom door was cracked.

I pushed it with my fingertips.

And there she was.

Zoraya.

She was stretched across my bed, legs crossed like she owned the world, wearing the ivory silk robe Zeus gave me last Valentine’s. It hung loose around her—untied, careless. Her damp hair clung to one shoulder, and her smile was a slow, smug curve.

She looked at me like I was an afterthought.

“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.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said to Zeus, brushing a crumb off his lip with her fingers.

Zeus’s eyes never left me.

“You’ll eat. You need strength.”

She winked at me, lips curved in a cruel little smile.

“Don’t mind me, Savannah. I’m just here for the free meal.”

I didn’t sit. I watched them eat—their easy laughter, the way she touched him like she had the right to, the way he let her.

Like I was invisible.

When they were done, I slipped away to the bedroom and closed the door softly behind me.

Laid on the edge of the bed. The silk robe still smelled like her. And all I could think was...

"You lost everything, Savannah. And you let him do it."

---

I must’ve passed out at some point, face down on the cold side of the bed. When I woke, it wasn’t silent anymore.

Voices from the kitchen. Too familiar.

Zoraya laughed. “These eggs are perfect. You always make them better than me. Savannah’s lucky. I’d never let you leave the kitchen if you cooked like this every morning.”

I pulled myself up, moving like a ghost. Zoraya was already dressed—in my black cotton top and gray shorts. Hair tied with my silk scrunchie.

Zeus flipped eggs at the stove. He looked up calm, like this was normal.

“Come sit with us, Sav.”

I said nothing, pulled out a chair. He placed a plate—eggs, toast, apple slices. Didn’t taste the same.

He stood, arms crossed, watching me like a deal.

“Zoraya’s pregnant.”

Just like that. Wow.

Zoraya smiled across the table, like friends swapping news.

“With my child,” he added, low, firm, like a confession.

My fork slipped. I didn’t flinch.

“We wanted a baby. Remember? We talked adoption. We tried.”

I remembered. Every failed test, tears in the clinic bathroom. Now he looked at me like I was the problem. Like Zoraya fixed what I couldn’t.

“I’ve decided to let her stay,” he said. Like I wasn’t even part of it.

“She’ll live here until the baby’s born.”

Zoraya leaned on the table, sipping coffee from my mug.

“I told him it was up to you. I’d find a hotel, but Zeus wants us under one roof—for the baby.”

I stared. Her perfect skin. Her fake-sweet smile.

“I want what’s best for the baby. And for Zeus. This is hard. But you’ll be a good mom, Savannah. The baby’ll love you.”

My throat burned. I still felt the hospital soreness. My body a battlefield. My heart a graveyard.

They didn’t know I was pregnant too. Seven weeks. Seven fucking weeks pregnant.

They didn’t know I was dying.

Zeus sat like it was done.

I looked at him—seven years. My youth, love, loyalty. Cleaned blood off his suits. Hid bodies. Took his pain. Now he chose her, in my house, while I broke inside.

A hollow sound left me. Not a sob. Not a scream.

“You’re really doing this… after everything? After seven years? After cleaning your messes, hiding your sins? You’re cheating. Betraying me. And you stand there like it’s... It's business.”

He didn’t blink. “Don’t make this about you, Savannah.” Without looking me: “Think of the baby.”

And that moment, I knew then... I wasn’t his home.

Just another room he didn’t visit.