Theseus stepped off the elevator on the sixtieth floor of the Acropolis. A woman at the front desk stood and greeted him with a smile.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “How may I help you?”
Theseus glanced at her long enough to see her smile fade before he passed her desk and continued onto the floor of New Athens News in search of Helen.
Behind him, the woman called out. “Sir!”
He ignored her.
He was already impatient, already annoyed. It set him on edge, and that woman did not want to know what happened when he was pushed, especially now that he had eaten the apple and ensured his own invincibility. Though depending on what Helen had to say about her plans to counter Persephone’s statement, she might just find out what his true power looked like.
He scanned the maze of desks on either side of the walkway until he caught sight of her. She was turned away from him, but he recognized her hair. He liked to bury his hand in those long locks while he fucked her from behind.
That was the only way he took her, the only way he wanted her—or any woman for that matter. He did not even wish to face his wife, whom he struggled to look in the eyes. Often, he would just bury his face in the crook of her damp neck under the guise of passion to avoid it.
Lovemaking was a taxing performance, a labor he did not find pleasing but necessary. Thank fuck Phaedra had finally moved past the stage in her pregnancy where she wanted sex every night. Now she seemed content with a few pretty words and a kiss, things he found far easier to mime than affection.
Helen didn’t notice his approach. She stood with her arms crossed over her chest, her hip cocked to one side, her head tilted up toward the television where coverage streamed from Persephone’s press conference.
She jumped as he grabbed her by the elbow, turning her shrewd blue eyes to him.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed.
“Move,” he said, pushing her toward a wall of meeting rooms.
“Let me go,” she demanded, but he ignored her, choosing the room closest to him, finding it occupied by four people—two men and two women.
“Out,” he barked.
They all stared in stunned silence until one of the men finally spoke. “Call security.”
Another reached for the conference phone at the center of the table just as it exploded, pieces of plastic flying across the room.
“Leave,” Theseus repeated. “Or I will remove you.”
They scrambled out of the room, and Theseus slammed the door shut just as he was accosted by Helen, who shoved him hard.
“You fucking asshole!” she seethed.
Theseus snatched her wrists. “Fight me, Helen. You know how I like it.”
She jerked free. “How dare you embarrass me!”
He narrowed his gaze, eyes darkening. “Embarrass you?”
He could think of better ways to embarrass her, and she seemed to recognize that.
Her mouth hardened.
“No,” she said.
“No?” he repeated, a little surprised by her resistance, though to be truthful, it also excited him. His cock had already been hard; now it was throbbing.
He preferred fucking Helen over the others in his rotation. She did not get attached or sentimental. She wanted what he wanted—a transaction that left them both satisfied—but if she fought? Oh, if she fought, she would be the perfect vessel—the perfect fuck.
He inched closer, crowding her. She tilted her head to keep his gaze, utterly fearless, and he wondered when that light would start to die.
“This is my place of employment,” she said between her teeth.
He could not decide whether to be annoyed or amused by her comment. Did she really think decorum would prevent him from taking her? She was lucky he’d chosen a room. He could have had her on the floor of New Athens News. He still might.
“That may be,” he said, lifting his hand. He trailed a finger down her face and along her jaw, working his hand into her hair. She tensed as his fingers sank into the back of her neck. He leaned in, his lips brushing hers as he whispered, “But you work for me.”
She did not react to the brush of his lips, did not try to kiss him back or give in to her hate-fueled desire. Of course, he preferred that. It told him that she was not falling for a fantasy as so many others had.
He drew back a fraction and met her gaze.
“Need I remind you?” he asked.
“I am well aware,” she replied, the words slipping between clenched teeth.
In the brief silence that followed their exchange, a tension began to build. It wasn’t so much sexual as it was fraught with anticipation, both preparing for the other’s move.
He smirked.
“I will remind you anyway,” he said as he tightened his grip. He twisted her around and pushed her to the table. She tried to dig her heels in and clawed at his arm, but she wasn’t strong enough to resist. He bent her over the table, facing the television that ran the same coverage of Persephone’s press conference as the one she had been watching on the floor.
He moved his hand into her hair, jerking her head back so she was forced to watch it.
“Did you know she would make a statement?”
He spoke against her ear, his body pressed against hers, his cock settling against her ass.
“How would I have known?” she snapped. “She’s used to exposing everyone else’s truths, not her own.”
He straightened but kept his hand flat on her back.
“You should have known,” he said, hiking her skirt up over her perfect, round ass. “You should have already been prepared to deliver your counterattack. That is how this works.”
“So you will punish me for not being a fucking oracle?”
He pushed her legs apart.
“I’m punishing you because I can,” he said as he unbuckled his belt and pants. “Because I want to. Because you make it easy.”
She shoved her heeled foot into his leg and then pushed up from the table. The back of her head struck his nose and mouth, and he instantly tasted blood. He brought his fingers to his sore lip—she had split it. He ran his tongue over it, but as he did, the ruptured skin healed.
The apple had worked.
His gaze connected with hers, and that was when he saw it. The flash of fear in her eyes. She bolted for the door, and he pounced, catching her around the waist. She twisted in his grasp and hit him in the face, but her strike barely registered. He was too overwhelmed by the blood rushing to his cock and the roaring in his ears.
He pulled her back against him, trapping her hands against her sides and dragging her to the table. She fought, but he was stronger.
He’d only let her make this much progress because he’d wanted the thrill of the fight. Now he just wanted to fuck her.
He shoved her down, bending her over the table and wrenching her arms behind her back.
“Just kill me, you fucking bastard,” she snarled.
He laughed.
“I’m not going to kill you when you ask for it,” he said. “That would be a gift, and I am not generous.”
Theseus shoved her legs apart. He licked his fingers and touched her between her thighs while fisting her hair. She did not fight as he pulled, forcing her back to arch awkwardly.
“Look at her,” he ordered, commanding her to watch the television again. It gave him pleasure to know that he was responsible for the haunted expression on Persephone’s face. “Remember when you promised to write for me?”
“I haven’t stopped,” Helen said between her teeth, and then a guttural sound tore from her throat as his finger slipped inside her. She was wet and he was ready—it was enough. He pulled free of her and drew his cock out, letting the head of it rest against her entrance.
“The longer she goes unchallenged, the more sympathy she will gain, the more worshippers will follow.”
“Nothing I write will bring an end to that.”
“The point, Helen,” he said, gripping her hips, “is to deepen division. Have you forgotten the role of the media?”
She glared at him from over her shoulder, and he smiled wickedly.
“Now be a good girl and take my cock,” he said, shoving balls deep inside her. She gasped, her head falling back. He took advantage of that angle and gripped her hair harder as he thrust inside her. The table squeaked with his movements, and his eyes fell to his hands, which were streaked with blood from her nails.
It sent a rush of pleasure to his head.
Fuck.
Helen’s breaths were desperate, and her cries were loud. She pushed into him, forcing space between herself and the table so she could touch herself. There was no delusion here—it wasn’t about her pleasure. If she wanted that, she’d have to find it herself. In that way, she reminded him of Ariadne, who let lust move through her, expressing it in whatever way she needed. Sometimes it was delicate, and sometimes it was rough.
That was what made his mouth water.
Helen tensed beneath him, and he gripped her harder, his fingers pressing into her skin. He imagined for a moment that it was the burnished brown of Ariadne’s, and then his hand smoothed up her back, and his fingers found her throat and he squeezed until he was on the brink of ecstasy.
He released her all at once and came on her ass.
Helen collapsed to the table, her hand going to her neck as she gasped for air.
Theseus zipped his pants and adjusted his jacket. He shifted until he was in her line of sight.
“The ball’s in your court,” he said as he fixed his cuff links. When he met her gaze, he found she was glaring at him, hatred in her watery eyes. Perhaps he had broken her a little. He gave her a cold smile. “Don’t disappoint.”
Theseus left the Acropolis for home, teleporting to his office. He had been here less and less over the last few weeks despite Phaedra’s quickly approaching due date, but he could not help the fact that his long-awaited plans were unfolding at the time of his son’s birth. The reality was that opportunities could be missed, but Phaedra wasn’t going anywhere.
He had not really thought long on becoming a father, because impregnating Phaedra had been a necessity—as necessary as marrying her.
Because he had to be one of them—just a man with a beautiful wife and a child on the way.
For a moment, he let himself think of everything he might be capable of if he did not have to play this game, but he would know soon enough.
It was part of the plan.
His eyes fell to his tidy desk, to a perfectly stacked set of papers—minus the one on top that was skewed just a hair. It was not how he had left it.
“Where have you been?”
His gaze shot up, level with Phaedra, who was standing in the doorway. She had one hand on her swollen belly.
He wasn’t sure what set him off—the fact that someone had been in his office or that she had intruded so quickly, as if she’d been waiting for him, watching for him.
Maybe it was her tone, which hinted at her irritation.
Either way, anger curled through him like a hot knife.
“Is that blood?” she asked, taking a step forward.
“Have you looked through my things?” he asked.
Her eyes widened, and she halted. Now she had two hands on her stomach.
“What?”
He came around the desk.
“Did you look through my things?” he repeated as he advanced on her.
She backed away into the hallway.
“Theseus—” she pleaded, flinching as her back hit the wall.
He grabbed her by the hair, and she cried out.
“Answer me!”
“Please, Theseus,” she begged as a guttural sob escaped her mouth. “I would never—”
Someone jerked his arm—a young girl, one of the maids. Theseus swung at her.
“Leave her alone!” Phaedra shrieked as the maid went flying, crashing into the opposite wall.
Phaedra sank to her knees, reaching toward the girl who lay across from them. She was still, her neck poised at an odd angle.
Phaedra’s body shook with sobs as she repeated in a hushed voice, “Theseus. Please, please, please.”
He reached for his wife and dragged her to her feet.
“Answer the fucking question, Phaedra,” he snarled.
Tears streaked down her face, and snot dripped from her nose. She was disgusting, and he had never resented her more.
“I would never,” she said. “I would never.”
He released her with a push, and she flinched.
He started to pace. He wanted to rage.
“If you would never, then who?” he demanded.
She studied him, her gaze full of horror and shock. There was also an element of hurt, as if she could not believe she was looking into the eyes of the man she loved.
“There was a new maid,” she whispered.
“A new maid?” He halted and moved toward her. “What new maid?”
She stepped away, her back now against the wall.
“What. New. Maid?”
“She arrived this morning,” Phaedra explained. “I assumed you knew. You are responsible for everyone who works at this estate.”
He did not miss her subtle jab.
“Fuck!” The word scratched his throat as he screamed. He swung his gaze back to his wife and pointed a finger in her face. “Never let anyone into this house unless I explicitly tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”
She nodded, and he heard a distinct trickle. He looked down, finding Phaedra standing in a puddle.
He sneered. “Go clean yourself up,” he said, repulsed, but as he started to turn away, she spoke with more venom than she ever had.
“It’s not piss,” she said. “The baby’s coming.”
