They stood there, the minutes dragging into an eternity as an unspoken weight grew between them with each expelled breath. The very air felt thick, laden with a tension you could almost taste. The man refused to loosen his hold on Rava, clasping him with the fierce grip one might reserve for a final goodbye, as if pressing him close could somehow prevent his escape. His arms didn't shake; they were steady, calm, unnaturally so – and it was this unsettling serenity that drove Rava to the edge of sanity.
To those observing from a distance, it must have appeared as a tender embrace, a reunion of lovers separated for too long. No one knew the truth of it, the things that had transpired a month ago, or why Rava had fled into the night, panicked and breathless, closing the door behind him without a backward glance.
Rava's arms remained useless at his sides, rigidly immobile. Even if he could move, he wouldn't have returned the embrace. He would have struck him. Hard. Across that infuriatingly perfect face that was both attractive and repulsive to him.
"Let go," he murmured, barely audible, but with a steely resolve that cut through the strained silence separating them.
Rather than releasing him, Hades tightened his grip, as if to merge their bodies, to eliminate any space between them completely. The gesture was intimate, overflowing with a false closeness that made some onlookers turn away, feigning a lack of interest, hesitant to intrude on something they considered sacred.
"If you don't release me, I'll bite you," Rava added, his voice growing louder, laced with barely controlled fury.
The man offered a condescending, amused chuckle, and finally lessened his hold only slightly.
"Spring hasn't even arrived," he said with a smirk, "and my little songbird is already hissing and snapping."
The name tumbled from Rava's lips like poison, bitter and unforgiving.
"Hades."
He said it without a hint of emotion, just icy distance. For Rava, that name was a shadow, a scar, clinging to everything it had touched. And upon hearing it, Hades responded as an actor hitting his mark. His tone turned sugary, artificial in a way that made Rava want to recoil.
Rava recoiled. He struggled, writhing with an almost instinctive drive, until finally, he wrenched free from the embrace. He stumbled slightly but did not fall. Straightening, he lifted his gaze and met the man's stare. That familiar smirk was there, scrutinizing him, dissecting him, reveling in his discomfort as a predator would relish the vulnerability of its prey.
The nausea washed over him, rising to his chest like a saltwater deluge. Breathing became difficult. The thoughts that once raced to find a way out of this had now vanished entirely. Only hate remained. Sharp, solid, expanding rapidly.
He hated this man. Hated him with a pain that settled deep in his gut. He loathed his perfect face, his arrogant voice, his honeyed tone, and the lies he cloaked as love. Hades had stolen his youth, stifled his joy, and shattered the delicate pieces of what Rava had once perceived as an ordinary life.
"Why am I here?" Rava finally asked, avoiding his eyes.
"We haven't been seen together recently," Hades replied smoothly. "I thought this would be the perfect event. You know, the launch of my new app."
Without warning, he grabbed Rava's chin, forcing his face up, locking their eyes.
"Will you congratulate me?"
"Congratulations," Rava replied with detached coldness. There was no warmth in his voice, only revulsion. He tried to push the hand away, but Hades tightened his grip. His eyes, now alight with a peculiar interest, watched Rava's resistance, the way one might observe a trembling animal.
Then Rava understood – this was what Hades wanted, what he enjoyed: the pushback, the power play. So he stopped moving entirely. He would not grant him that pleasure.
From the crowd, a man emerged, his suit straining at the buttons. Beside him was a tall, extravagantly dressed woman who was clearly not his wife. He patted her lower back possessively and wore a look of arrogant assurance.
"Mr. Swift," the man said, licking his lips as his eyes moved across Rava's form. "A pleasure to see you again."
Rava started to pull away, but Hades instantly reeled him back, seizing his wrist so firmly that the watch dug painfully into his skin, leaving a angry red mark.
"Mr. Moule, Miss Scarlett," Hades said smoothly. "Thank you for attending. I trust you are enjoying yourselves?"
While they traded pleasantries, Hades kept his grip on Rava. It grew tighter. Rava's wrist ached. His breath quickened. The pain began to pulse.
Miss Scarlett, a stunning woman in her mid-twenties, studied Rava without blinking. Her gaze was feline, her smile sharp. Slowly, she leaned toward her companion and whispered something in his ear, never breaking eye contact. He nodded with satisfaction.
"Mr. Aven," Moule asked with barely concealed lust, "is Mr. Swift available for services this evening?"
Rava's face drained of color. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted from Moule to the woman, and then to Hades. Panic, cold and clinging, spread through his chest.
Hades did not look at him. He did not flinch. He did not acknowledge the question in any way.
"I believe he needs to greet a few more of my guests first," he replied evenly. "But he should be free in two hours. Will that work for you?"
"Hades," Rava whispered, his voice shaking with desperation. "Please, don't do this."
The couple exchanged glances, considering the offer. The woman finally asked, "Is there any chance we could start earlier?"
"I'm afraid we will need a bit more time than usual," Hades replied with a polite smile.
He wasn't protecting Rava. He wasn't shielding him. He was simply managing the negotiation.
Rava's entire body trembled. He had genuinely believed the worst was over. That tonight would be limited to a public appearance, perhaps a few bruises, a few cruel words whispered through gritted teeth. He had not prepared for this.
Now he understood. The gazes he had received all evening were not curious or admiring. They were hungry.
Eventually, they drifted towards the buffet. The mere sight of food made Rava's stomach churn. But Hades didn't ask if he was hungry. He handed him a glass of white wine and a shrimp tartlet without pause.
"Eat. You've got a long night ahead," Hades said, mocking him with a grin.
"Please," Rava whispered, struggling to utter the word. He despised himself for it. He loathed the power it granted.
"I don't know," Hades mused, sipping his wine and studying Rava through the glass. "You've been such a disappointment lately."
"Please," Rava repeated, his voice cracking from the burden of it all. He was close to crumbling to the ground.
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
"Fine," Hades finally said, setting down his glass. "Then choose. Me, or them."
Rava did not hesitate. He looked him straight in the eyes and said quietly, "Them."
The world stilled.
Hades did not speak. He did not ask again. He simply raised his hand and struck Rava hard across the face.
The impact echoed through the room. Rava's head snapped to the side, pain blossoming across his cheek like fire. The world blurred.
Around them, silence descended. Some people froze. Others looked away, pretending they had seen nothing. But they had. Every single one of them.
Rava did not cry. He stood there, slowly straightening his back, the metallic taste of blood on his tongue, his fists clenched at his sides.