[Location: Nameless Cafe, New York]

"So, let me get this straight; now that I've somehow killed Ares's avatar while devouring a piece of his divinity at it, Olympus got their panties in a twist and will hound me to the end of time."

I leaned back in the chair, the cheap wood creaking as if it, too, shared my disbelief. The Nameless Café wasn't much to look at—dim lamps, peeling wallpaper, the faint smell of roasted beans cut with something almost metallic—but it was quiet. Quiet enough for me to hear Artemis grinding her teeth across the table.

The goddess sat rigid, her bow leaning against the wall beside her like a silent executioner. Her silver hair framed her face in soft strands, but nothing about her posture was soft. Every line screamed tension, from the way she tapped her finger against the porcelain cup to the way her eyes—moonlit and sharp—cut across the space between us.

"You don't understand," she said, her voice low, dangerous, yet trembling beneath the weight of something she refused to name. "You devoured what no mortal should even touch. That fragment of war-god authority isn't just a trophy. It marks you. It stains you."

"Marks me," I repeated, swirling the dregs of my coffee as though divinity and death were just another Tuesday. "Stains me. Adds to the list of reasons everyone wants me dead, I guess."

Her hand slammed down on the table, rattling the cups. A few patrons glanced over—mortal eyes, unknowing, unfocused. The wards around the café blurred their perception, ensuring they'd forget this moment the instant they stepped outside. Convenient.

"Don't make light of this!" Artemis snapped, her cheeks faintly flushed. "Do you think Olympus will let you live after humiliating Ares? His pride alone will demand vengeance. And Zeus—" She bit down on her words, biting her lip until a bead of blood welled at the corner.

"Zeus will throw a tantrum. What else is new?" I countered, folding my arms. "Let me guess—thunderbolts, proclamations of divine law, and a new 'mortal plaything' to distract him when things get boring. Sounds like a Tuesday for him, too."

For a heartbeat, her composure cracked. The goddess of the hunt, who should've been a pillar of divine restraint, let out something dangerously close to a laugh before she smothered it with a scowl.

"You are insufferable."

"And yet you're still sitting here."

Her glare sharpened. A goddess of chastity and discipline, a predator who had hunted monsters since the dawn of myths, was blushing. Not from wine, not from rage, but from the mess of contradictions tangled around me.

I leaned forward, lowering my voice until only she could hear. "Tell me, Artemis… if Olympus comes knocking, are you hunting me too?"

Her shoulders stiffened, and for the first time since the fight with the minotaur, the silence between us carried more weight than any blade. Her lips parted, then closed again, as though every answer she might give was poison.

Finally, she whispered, "If it were that simple… I would've shot you already."

The words should've been a threat. Instead, they trembled like a confession.

I smirked, breaking the tension with a shrug. "Then I'll take that as progress. Lesson one in How to Handle Yanderes 101: if she hasn't killed you yet, she probably doesn't want to."

Her face went scarlet. "Y-Yanderes?! What nonsense are you spouting now?"

"Just a term," I said smoothly, sipping my coffee. "For women who can't decide whether to stab me, kiss me, or chain me up in a basement. And considering my track record, I might need to start writing a manual."

The porcelain cracked in her hand, a jagged line splitting the cup as divine energy flared in her aura. Patrons didn't notice, of course, but the air around us warped as though reality itself braced for her wrath.

"You dare compare me to those—those—!" she stammered, torn between rage and some deeper, darker emotion she refused to name.

I tilted my head, my grin widening. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. The huntress of Olympus, goddess of the moon, scourge of beasts and tyrants alike… couldn't form a denial. Her trembling hand set the ruined cup down, and her eyes—bright, furious, wounded—met mine with a ferocity that was almost too human.

"I should kill you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I should."

"Maybe," I agreed softly, leaning closer until the faint scent of moonlit forests clung to me. "But you won't."

The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy, electric, alive—like the breath before a storm. She looked away first, her silver lashes veiling her eyes, but not before I caught the flicker of shame and longing that burned hotter than any thunderbolt.

Yeah. Olympus could send their armies. Ares could howl for blood. Zeus could throw lightning until the skies ran dry.

But sitting across from me, trembling between pride and obsession, Artemis was already lost. And that was a war none of them could win.

Ding-Dong!

The moment dissolved just as the entrance door was pushed in.

A figure walked past the approaching barista as her gaze of a predator locked onto me—calm, precise, and unassuming in every possible way… yet carrying the weight of inevitability.

Her crimson hair cascading like rivers of molten rubies, sharp cheekbones glistening with healthy blush and excitement, her eyes—god her eyes carried sin of wrath like a violet storm ready to ignite.

But one could see her discomfort as she tugged at the collar of her white blouse, fingers fidgeting with the edge as if the very fabric contained the answer to a riddle only she could solve.

"D-Darling~" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, but it carried over the gentle hum of the café like a bell tolling a warning. "I… I found you."

Seeing her like this, no one can say she is the mistress of wrath, the slaughterer of the hell realm, the daughter of Satan of Wrath— Amon Baelgorath.

And the fiancée of the Prince of Hell realm— AKA Me.

I froze mid-sip, the warmth of my coffee suddenly feeling like it had been replaced by molten lead. My eyes met hers, and in that instant, every rational thought I'd ever had about dealing with fiancées, Yanderes, and centuries of supernatural politics abandoned me entirely.

Zeraphira Baelgorath—the daughter of Wrath, a being whose very name could make armies shiver, whose presence in the Hell Realm alone could reduce legions to ash—stood before me, trembling as though she were approaching a wounded bird, yet radiating a heat that could sear the soul. Her crimson hair seemed to flow even without wind, and her eyes glimmered with that dangerous violet storm, sharp enough to pierce armour, shield, or mind.

"Darling…" she repeated, the word trembling at first, then gaining strength, as if saying it aloud made it real, tangible, undeniable. The subtle quiver in her voice—soft, intimate, yet laced with unyielding obsession—struck a chord somewhere deep in my chest. Somewhere I didn't want to admit even existed.

I tried to form words, any words, to somehow navigate this apocalypse disguised as a café encounter. My throat betrayed me, locking like a stubborn trap.

But her gaze wandered to Artemis and was instantly filled with her—or his stolen sin, Wrath.

Her mind immediately came to a conclusion— she die.

As control slipped and a tsunami of bloodlust and killing intent flooded the small space of the cafe.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

One by one, every other customer lost their consciousness by just sheer force of her presence, collapsing onto the floor like puppets cut from their strings. The barista froze mid-pour, eyes wide, and the faint clink of silver spoons hitting porcelain echoed in the stunned silence.

Artemis stiffened, her body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance, bow hand twitching as if to draw her weapon, though every nerve screamed that movement would be suicidal. I, on the other hand, stood up from my seat, keeping a poker expression.

And I did what any girl missing her love would want.

My arms slipped past her waist and locked behind her, and I gently pushed her head onto my chest.

"It's been a while, Zera~" I said softly, my breath brushing her ear. "How've you been?

"I won't forgive you!" She muttered in my embrace, stiff as a log.

I just started petting her hand, tightening my hold on her.

"I...won't...you..."

"Will you now?" I said playfully, blowing air directly onto her ear.

"I-I will... I will forgive you!" As she melted in my arms, her resistance crumbling like ice under a summer sun. Her fingers dug into my shirt, trembling, but no longer with wrath—only the desperate ache of a love that refused to stay caged.

"See? That wasn't so hard," I murmured, voice low, soothing, letting my hands trace the tension from her shoulders down to her back. Her crimson hair spilt over my arm like a river of fire, her violet eyes fluttering closed as she finally let herself breathe.

The café around us remained eerily still, every patron still unconscious, silverware scattered like fallen soldiers. Artemis's bow remained untouched, though her body was taut, every muscle coiled, yet her gaze flicked between us, assessing, calculating. She understood the stakes instantly. One wrong move, one misstep, and Zeraphira could annihilate everything within a breath.

I tightened my hold just enough to anchor her, letting her feel the certainty that nothing in this world—Olympus, Hell, or the chaos in between—could take her from me.

"I've missed you," I whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The words were gentle, almost casual, but carried the weight of centuries. The fire in her eyes softened, melting into something that flickered between relief and adoration, but the storm of obsession simmered just beneath the surface.

"I… I've waited," she breathed, her voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of longing and lingering fury. "I… I will kill anyone who touches you…"

...

What I didn't know was that Artemis was shivering... from jealousy, looking at Dominic embracing someone else—even if that someone was his fiancée.

***

Stone me, I can take it!

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