It was a cold afternoon when the group met for the first photoshoot. Leah had pulled some strings—something about knowing a local artist who’d let them use his old, dilapidated mansion for the shoot. The place was perfect. The peeling walls, the overgrown vines creeping in through broken windows, and the dim, golden light that filtered in through the dust-misted air—all of it screamed the Underworld. It was almost as though the house itself was a relic of time, much like Persephone’s forced descent into the depths with Hades.

  Killian stood by the edge of the room, already dressed in his black leather jacket and dark jeans. His eyes glinted with an intensity that made him look almost too real for this. Like Hades was a role he had played before, or would play again.

  Anastasia, on the other hand, stood farther away, arms folded tightly across her chest. She had fought every step of the way to avoid this, but here she was, looking every bit the reluctant Persephone. She wore a long, dark green dress, the fabric flowing loosely around her legs. There were hints of pomegranate red in the hem—an attempt to symbolize her inevitable fate—and her dark hair was pulled back loosely. The look was simple but elegant, though the way she stood—arms crossed, expression blank—said more than her attire ever could.

  Leah was practically glowing, her phone in hand as she scouted the room. "This spot is perfect," she said, spinning in a slow circle, looking at the light and the shadows, her eyes sharp. "We have to make sure the pomegranates are in focus, though."

  Ethan was practically bouncing with excitement behind his camera. His eyes were wide as he adjusted his lens, completely immersed in the artistic potential of the scene. "Okay, Killian, lean in a bit more like you’re offering her something. Anastasia, look down at the fruit but don’t smile. Like you’re about to make a choice. A heavy choice."

  Killian glanced over at Anastasia, who was already looking away, refusing to meet his gaze. The tension between them was palpable, but it wasn’t the same tension as before. It was the kind that came from force. The kind that lingered when something had to be done, but neither person wanted to be part of it.

  He strolled toward her, making sure his steps were deliberate, his presence commanding. He pulled a pomegranate from the small basket Leah had brought along and held it out to her. The deep red of the fruit almost mirrored the anger simmering in his chest—unspoken, but there nonetheless.

  Anastasia refused to take it. She stood there, still and poised, but her gaze flickered briefly toward the fruit and then back at him, her lips tightening.

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  "Come on, Anastasia," Ethan urged, moving to get a better angle. "You have to take it. Like you’re deciding if you’ll let him pull you into his world."

  Anastasia’s eyes flickered to Ethan for a moment, irritation flashing in her gaze before she looked back at Killian.

  "Do I have to?" she asked, her voice as cold as ice.

  Killian smirked. "Do you want the scene to work or not?"

  She sighed, taking the pomegranate from his hand with a small, reluctant movement. For a brief moment, she held it, examining the fruit like it held the weight of the entire myth.

  Fitting, Killian thought. It’s all just a game of control, isn’t it?

  Ethan, clearly enchanted by the dynamic between them, snapped several shots, his lens clicking in rapid succession. "That’s perfect, Anastasia. Just like that. Now look up at Killian, but don’t make eye contact. Like you’re both aware of the tension, but neither of you can say it."

  Anastasia glanced up, but her eyes never met his. They hovered just above his shoulder, as though she couldn’t bring herself to fully engage. Killian watched the way she stood, so detached, so resistant—and yet, still there. It was as if she were trying to make herself as distant as possible from the scene while still participating in it.

  "You’re too good at this," Killian muttered under his breath. His voice was just a little too low, a little too sharp. He couldn’t help but find it fascinating. She could turn herself into a stranger in the blink of an eye, shut him out completely, and yet she couldn’t fully pull away from him.

  Anastasia didn’t answer. She just held the pomegranate and stood perfectly still, allowing herself to be captured in the frame.

  Ethan’s camera flashed again. "Yes, yes, yes! Perfect. Look at this shot!" He darted over to his screen, showing off a shot that captured Anastasia’s face turned away, a pomegranate clutched in her hand, her expression unreadable. In contrast, Killian’s form loomed over her, dark and magnetic, a stark contrast to her softness.

  Leah peeked over his shoulder. "That’s incredible. It’s like they’re trapped in their roles, forced into this moment. You can see the distance between them, the way Hades is in control, but Persephone—"

  Anastasia glanced at her for the first time, a flash of annoyance in her eyes. "I’m not trapped," she said coldly, breaking her silence.

  Killian almost smirked, but the word lingered in his mind—trapped.

  It wasn’t just a word. It wasn’t just a concept.

  It was real.

  And somewhere, deep down, he knew that it didn’t apply only to Persephone. It applied to both of them.