Dare to Love me

I've heard about hell ; definitely not a myth but no one ever told me the real form of hell is being dead while you're still alive.

The sun was beginning to dip below the skyline, painting the streets of South Side in hues of orange and gold. I tugged my Coat tighter against the late autumn chill, my steps echoing faintly on the cracked pavement. It wasn't the safest neighbourhood, but It was home-a place where secrets festered in the shadows and everyone pretended not to notice.

I'd always felt out of place here. My father; Marcus Belmont worked hard to make sure I lived a life of privilege, but there was a distance between us that I could never quite bridge.

He wasn't a bad father-not in the traditional sense. He paid the bills, sent me to good schools, and ensured I never lacked anything. But he was a ghost in my life, always preoccupied with "business."

My mind drifted to Jason. It had been three years since we'd lost him. The pain still felt fresh, like an open wound that refused to heal. Jason had been my anchor, my best friend. His death was sudden, violent, and worst of all-unsolved.

The police had chalked it up to gang violence, just another casualty in a city teeming with crime. But something about it never sat right with me. My brother wasn't the type to get mixed up in dangerous crowds.

A sharp breeze snapped me out of my thoughts, and I quickened my pace. The sooner I got home, the better.

Dinner that evening was quiet, as it always was when it was just me and Dad. He sat at the head of the table, his posture stiff and his phone face-down beside his plate. The tension in the air was palpable, though I couldn't pinpoint why.

"How was work today?" I asked, trying to break the silence.

"Busy," he replied curtly, not looking up from his steak.

That was Marcus Belmont-always busy, always detached. I pushed my food around my plate, appetite waning.

"You've been distracted lately," I ventured. "Is everything okay?"

He finally looked up, his sharp blue eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I thought he might actually tell me the truth. But then his face hardened, and he forced a tight smile.

"Just work stress, sweetheart. Nothing for you to worry about."

His phone buzzed, cutting through the lie like a knife. He glanced at the screen, and his jaw tightened.

"Excuse me," he said, standing abruptly. He snatched the phone and disappeared into his office, shutting the door behind him.

I wasn't a naturally curious person, but something about his behaviour tonight set off alarm bells. He'd been acting strange for weeks-short-tempered, secretive, always looking over his shoulder. I tried to ignore it, but tonight my gut told me something was Wrong.

Quietly, I crept down the hallway and stopped outside his office door. His muffled voice carried through the wood, low and urgent.

"I told you I'd handle it," he hissed. "Hades isn't stupid. He knows better than to make a move without thinking it through."

Hades. The name sent a shiver down my spine. Who the hell was Hades?

There was a long pause, and I pressed my ear closer.

"No," my father snapped, his voice rising. "The Italians are the priority right now. If Hades finds out about the shipment, we're all screwed."

I didn't understand most of what he was saying, but the tension in his tone made my chest tighten. This wasn't normal business talk. This was something darker, something dangerous.

The floor creaked under my foot, and I froze.

"Who's there?" my father barked.

I bolted down the hall, my heart pounding. By the time he opened the door, I was already in the kitchen, pretending to wash dishes.

"Kia?" he called, his voice softer now.

"Yeah?" I replied, feigning innocence.

"Did you need something?"

I turned to face him, forcing a smile. "Nope, just cleaning up."

He studied me for a moment, suspicion flickering in his eyes, but he didn't press further. Instead, he nodded and retreated back to

His office, shutting the door firmly behind him.

That night, sleep eluded me. My mind raced with questions. Who was Hades? What shipment was my father so worried about? And why did it feel like the walls of my world were starting to crack?

I tossed and turned, Jason's face flashing in my mind. If he were here, he'd know what to do. He always had a way of making sense Of things, even when the world felt like it was falling apart. But Jason was gone, and I was left to figure this out on my own.

The next morning, I decided I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in my gut. If my father was involved in something dangerous, I needed to know. Not just for my sake, but for his too.

The day passed in a blur. I went through the motions at work, but my mind was elsewhere. By the time I got home, I was more determined than ever to find answers.

My father wasn't home, as usual. I seized the opportunity to snoop around his office, my heart racing with every step. The room was immaculate, every surface meticulously organized. But it didn't take long to find what I was looking for.

In the bottom drawer of his desk, beneath a stack of papers, I found a black leather-bound notebook. The pages were filled with names, dates, and cryptic notes that made little sense to me. But one thing stood out-a name scrawled in bold letters across several pages: Hades.

My hands trembled as I flipped through the notebook. The more I read, the more it became clear-my father was involved in something far more dangerous than I could have imagined.

I was so engrossed in the notebook that I didn't hear the front door open.

"Kia?" my father's voice rang out, sharp and panicked.

I froze, the notebook still in my hands.

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded, storming into the room.

"I-" My mind raced for an excuse, but the look on his face told me he already knew.

His eyes darted to the notebook, and his expression darkened. For the first time in my life, I saw something in him I'd never seen before: fear.

"You shouldn't have seen that," he said quietly, his voice trembling.

"What is this, Dad?" I asked, my voice cracking. "Who is Hades? What are you involved in?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he snatched the notebook from my hands and shoved it back into the drawer.

"You need to forget everything you just saw," he said, his tone cold and final. "This isn't your business."

"It is my business!" I shot back. "You're my father, and you're clearly in trouble. Why won't you just tell me the truth?

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might break. But then he turned away, his shoulders sagging under the weight of whatever burden he was carrying.

"Go to your room, Kia," he said softly. "And don't ask me about this again

I didn't sleep that night. I couldn't. My father's words echoed in my mind, each one sharpening my sense of dread.

I didn't know who Hades was, but one thing was clear: he wasn't just a name in a notebook. He was a storm on the horizon, and I had a feeling my father wasn't ready for what was coming.

As I stepped out of the house the next morning, A sleek black car pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down, and a man with cold, piercing eyes locked onto mine.

"You're coming with us," he said, his voice sharp as blade.