Page 64 of Gilded Gods

My father was exiled from the Drakos family. The falling out initially caused a rift between Cora and our mother. But good old Athena managed to get back into her graces by divorcing our dad.

She couldn’t handle temporarily losing her standing among the Beacon Bay elite. Our family fell apart because of it. And six months later, Dad was shot outside Olympus and left to die in the street. Even if Belen didn’t pull the trigger, he ordered the hit.

He’s a fucking murderer.

“Once Mom gets Belen to change the will, we can get the fuck out of here.”

Every second of our free time, we look for any unusual transfers. Anything that can prove our dad wronged Belen. I know we won’t find it because my dad didn’t do it.

“What about Ophelia?” Atlas props his elbow on the desk and glances at me curiously, tipping up his dark brows. “I know you feel something for her.”

I sneer at him. “I feel nothing.”

Lie.

I feel everything.

And I hate it.

“Even if we didn’t have our twin bond, I would know you’re lying. I can see how much you like her. And don’t even get me started on what you did with her and Ares in the bathroom.”

“Momentary lapse in judgment,” I say in my defense, and I hate that he’s right. “It won’t happen again.”

“You need her,” he presses, getting so close to me I can feel his breath on my cheek. “She can fix you, Apollo. I know it. Ophelia is the one.”

My hand trembles from the anger coursing through my veins. “The daughter of our enemy can’t fix me.”

Iambroken.

But I don’t need my brother or anyone else to tell me that. I’m damaged on the inside. I feel the hollowness where my heart used to be. And some days, I wish I could carve out that darkness with a knife and set it on fire.

Like I don’t already know that the twisted thoughts in my head are not normal. My dreams are nightmares of a past reality that have sucked the life from my body. He doesn’t know what it’s like to have someone accidentally brush against him in a crowd, only for it to trigger a horrible flashback.

“I didn’t mean it that way. You’re not broken, Apollo.”

Atlas tries to pull me toward him, but I slide the chair, so I’m out of his grasp. Usually, I don’t mind as much if it’s one of my brothers. But I’m pissed at him for bringing up the past. He wants me to heal from my trauma. Because that means he doesn’t have to indulge my sick fantasies anymore.

Ares doesn’t mind.

He never did.

My older brother thinks he’s God’s gift to the world, and having people watch him fuck excites him. He loves being admired. Ares is the best looking out of the three of us, and he damn well knows it. Some women like it. I can see it on their faces as their eyes shift to me.

They wantmeto wantthem.

But I don’t.

It’s not about them.

It’s not about the sex.

Atlas tries to touch my hand, and I slide it off the desk. I hate the feel of anyone’s skin against mine—especially a woman’s. More than anything, I hate long fingernails on my body. I have nightmares about that sensation.

“Okay, fine.” He breathes loudly through his nose. “I get it, Apollo. I’m sorry. It fucking kills me that you’re hurting. You’re not just my brother. Our souls are linked. When you feel like shit, so do I.”

Our souls are linked.

That’s the artist speaking.

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