Page 11 of Gilded Gods

“I’m guessing never.”

He nods, smirking. “We’re going to have so much fun together, Ophelia.”

ChapterSeven

ATLAS

I have always beendifferent from my brothers. As a child, I would sit in the corner and draw with my crayons while Apollo read a book and Ares stacked his blocks, only to kick them over.

Apollo enjoyed learning.

Ares liked to hit things.

And I created art.

Between the three of us, we make the perfect team. It’s always been us against the world. And after our dad’s murder, it brought us closer, bonding us in ways we hadn’t expected. For three people with little in common, we found one thing to unite us—our hatred for Belen Drakos.

So when Apollo and our mother devised a plan to help us get our birthright back from Belen, we jumped at the chance. I wouldn’t be sitting in this dining room wanting to rip out my future stepfather’s eyeballs if our revenge wasn’t in sight.

Too bad Belen’s daughter is involved. Ophelia is an unnecessary complication, a pawn in a much larger game. Poor girl will go down with her father if she doesn’t see things our way.

Belen raises his glass of wine with a smile. “I’m so thankful you’re all here. After Cora passed, I didn’t think I would ever remarry, let alone have a family again.”

Ophelia spits the wine into her glass and sets it on the table. I can’t tell if this is her way of sayingfuck youto her father or if the wine is disgusting.

Maybe a little of both.

I hate wine, so I raise my glass of craft beer. My brothers follow suit, slapping on fake smiles to make our mother happy. It’s the least we can do since she’s gone to great lengths to get us here.

We’ll have it all soon.

Because of her.

Our mother isn’t just named after a goddess—sheisa goddess. Like her namesake, she’s full of wisdom and power.

“To my beautiful bride and her sons.” Belen flashes a smile that I want to punch off his stupid face. “I can’t wait for us to become a family.” He holds out his glass and says in Greek, “Yamas.”

I drink, even though this beer is shit. Our mother smiles and sips her wine. Ophelia sits between Ares and Apollo, groaning so loud her dad’s eyes snap to her. He gives her a warning look to behave herself.

I flip open the sketchbook on my lap and return to drawing Ophelia. She’s consumed my thoughts from the second she pointed a Glock at Ares. Beautiful and strong, she has the power of a goddess when she speaks, commanding the attention of a room.

I can see why Belen’s men respect her. She’s his heir apparent and a take-no-shit kind of woman. Watching her put Ares into his place is such a fucking turn-on.

My charcoal pencil moves across the paper on my lap, and Apollo glances at my drawing.

He shakes his head and whispers, “Don’t go soft on me. We follow the plan.”

Keeping my head down, I nod. I’ve been in a creative zone since Ophelia tried to shoot us.

That was fun.

She’s a real spitfire rebel and won’t put up with Ares and his usual bullshit. I can already see the two of them hate fucking on every surface of this house.

Apollo puts his hand on the page, so I can’t move another inch. “If all goes well, we’ll have everything we need by the wedding.”

“One month,” I mutter. “I can make it until then.”

The thought of living under the roof of the man who murdered our father floods my veins with anger. I didn’t want to live here. Neither did Ares. But Apollo insisted this was the only way. Attack them from the inside—just like the Greeks did to the Trojans.

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