Chapter 3
The house always smelled of food I wasn't allowed to eat.
Today, it was roast chicken—golden skin glistening with butter, the smell so rich it made my stomach twist.
I had set the table for five.My stepmother, father, and stepsiblings would sit there, laughing between mouthfuls. I would wait until they were finished and hope they left me scraps.
But tonight, when I came to clear the plates, the chicken was gone. Every last shred, even the bones.
I checked the counter. The sink. Nothing.
"You weren't quick enough," Liam said from the doorway, licking grease from his fingers. "Guess you'll go hungry tonight."
My stepmother didn't even look up from her wine. "Maybe it'll teach you to be faster next time."
I swallowed the lump in my throat.Hoping that for once in my life ,my own father would speak up for me.That he would defend me considering half of my DNA is his.
But he didn't.He didn't even spare a glance.I wanted to scream at him ,asking how he could just sit there and let this happen to his own daughter.
I wanted to argue with him,with all of them,but I couldn't do it.
Arguing would only make them find new ways to starve me.New ways to torture me so as to satisfy their inner monsters.
I washed the dishes while my stomach cramped, then dragged myself to my room. The walls felt closer than usual, the air stale and heavy.
---
When I closed my eyes, the scent of chicken faded.
It was replaced by something richer—dark spices, roasting meat, and the faint sweetness of wine.
I opened my eyes in the dream and found myself at a table that stretched farther than I could see. It was covered in platters of food: bread still warm from the oven, steaming bowls of stew, ripe fruit glistening in the candlelight.
At the head of the table sat the golden eyed god.
The man who always appears in my dreams every night.The mystery guy who both scares but also offers me solace.
He leaned back in his chair, one elbow resting on the arm, his gaze fixed on me like I was the only thing worth seeing.
"Come," he said.
I hesitated. "Is it… for me?"
His smile was slow, deliberate. "Who else?"
I took a cautious step forward, then another. The heat from the food wrapped around me, making my mouth water. I sat, and he reached for a loaf of bread, breaking it in half.
He placed a piece in my hand, his fingers brushing mine. The contact sent a shiver down my spine.
The kind of shiver that makes something coil below my stomach.The kind of shiver that has your toes curl due to excitement of the unknown.
Not knowing whether to anticipate pleasure or danger.But knowing that a part of you likes the idea of both.Does that make me sick?
"Eat," he murmured,interrupting my chain of thoughts.
I bit into it. The crust crackled, the inside soft and warm. My eyes stung at the simple pleasure of tasting something real.
The golden-eyed man watched me in silence for a while, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "You deserve more than scraps, Selene."
"They don't think so," I said before I could stop myself.I couldn't help it.He feels safe despite the fact that he has that aura of danger surrounding him.
It was almost suffocating but in a sweet kind of way.Like smoke and something more darker and sinsiter but also alluring.
His gaze sharpened, gold catching the light like molten metal. "Then they are wrong. And I do not suffer those who are wrong."
The way he said it made me shiver. There was no doubt, no bluff. If I asked him, he would destroy them without hesitation.
But I didn't ask.
I don't know why I didn't ask.He said it himself ,one word, and he would burn them for me.
I have the chance to end this,so why could I not bring myself to say the words?
Why could I not ask him to make all the torment stop? Why could I not ask him to make them pay for what they've done to me?
When I woke, the taste of warm bread lingered in my mouth, impossible and undeniable.Making me wonder, was it really a dream or something more?