Scene 2: Ares‘ Rage
Ares waited in the study, eyes fixed on the corridor long after she had gone. The pendant still
burned behind his eyes, each rotation of that chain a memory clawing its way to the surface.
Selene.
He pressed his palms to his thighs, hard enough to feel the throb of old fractures deep in his
bones. That necklace it wasn’t a replica. It was hers. Which meant the woman wearing it wasn’t
some stranger with credentials and pity.
It meant the game had already begun.
And he was the only one still blindfolded.
The door opened softly.
She stepped in carrying a tray silver, polished, perfectly balanced with tea, toast, and a small
porcelain cup that released the faintest curl of lemon steam.
“Thought I said I didn’t want tea.”
“You also said I’d last a week. That was twelve hours ago.”
Ares growled under his breath. “You think you’re funny?”
“No,” she said, placing the tray down. “I think you’re starving.”
He slapped the cup off the tray. It hit the edge and tumbled, shattering into a hundred sharp
white shards that danced across the oak floor like angry snowflakes.
She didn’t flinch.
“You’re going to clean that up?” he asked, voice tight with barely leashed fury.
“No,” she replied, kneeling. “But I’ll make sure you don’t fall on it.”
“Stop acting like you care,” he snapped.
She collected the pieces calmly, placing them back onto the tray one by one. “I’m not acting.”
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He shoved his wheelchair back and gripped the armrest. “Don’t lie to me. Everyone in this damn
house lies. The doctors. My uncle. The fiancée who vanished the moment I couldn’t walk.”
She stood again, tray in hand. “Then stop making it so easy.”
His eyes flared. “Excuse me?”
“You want honesty?” Her voice was low, unwavering. “Then here it is: You’re bitter. Broken.
Angry at the world for moving on while you stayed behind.”
“Careful,” he warned.
She stepped closer. “You push everyone away so you can sit here and pretend you’re the only
victim. But the truth? You’re not.”
He stood from the chair suddenly, swaying, muscles trembling with the effort. The cane clattered
to the floor again.
She reached for him.
“Don’t touch me!” he barked.
But she caught him anyway. One hand firm at his elbow, the other pressed to his chest to steady
him. He could feel the heat of her skin through the gloves. He could feel her pulse.
“You’d rather fall again than accept help,” she whispered. “What are you trying to prove?”
He shoved her back. “That I don’t need you.”
She staggered but didn’t drop the tray. Her breath hitched, but her eyes held him steady.
“You don’t even know who I am,” she said.
“No. But you know who I am.”
“I did,” she replied. “Once.”
Silence wrapped around them like smoke.
He narrowed his eyes. “That necklace where did you get it?”
“I told you. It was a gift.”
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“From who?”
She turned her head slightly. “From a man who used to believe in redemption. Before he traded
love for power.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
Ares clenched his fists. “What the hell are you implying?”
“I’m not implying,” she said softly. “I’m remembering.”
He couldn’t breathe.
Something in her voice its cadence, its paint peeled back layers of years, revealing something
dangerous beneath.
“You’re insane,” he muttered. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I’ve played before.”
He stared, eyes raking over her frame, searching for some tell some flaw in the armor. “You
think hiding behind a mask will protect you?”
“No,” she said. “But it protects you.”
That threw him. “Me?”
“If you knew who I really was, you’d crumble.”
His laugh came out like a cough. Dry. Hollow. “You overestimate your importance.”
“And you underestimate your past.”
Ares staggered back toward his chair. She didn’t move to help him this time.
“Leave,” he said.
“No.”
He gritted his teeth. “Are you deaf? Get out!”
She remained still.
“Go to hell!” he shouted.
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“I already did,” she said, voice quiet as snow. “You were the one who pushed me there.”
He froze.
And she stepped closer.
“You don’t recognize me. Not yet. That’s fine.” Her voice broke slightly, just at the edge of
control. “But you will. And when you do, you’ll wish I’d left when you told me to.”
His stare turned sharp. “Who the hell are you?”
She didn’t blink.
“Someone you once broke.”
Silence fell hard between them.
He couldn’t speak.
Her voice had cracked on the word “broke.” Just enough for him to hear the shards underneath.
She turned and walked out, her boots silent on the tile.
Ares sat alone.
And the pendant still gleamed in the shadows.
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