|p.|

The office was buzzing, the air thick with the clatter of keyboards and the murmur of hushed conversations. But Penelope Faelan barely registered the sound. She sat at her desk, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she finished an end-of-day report. It was the same as every other day—men staring too long, the occasional inappropriate joke, and the predictable attempts at small talk that made her skin crawl.

Penelope knew the power she held in her appearance, but it felt more like a curse than a gift. Her beauty was a beacon, drawing eyes to her wherever she went. Her hair, the color of polished chestnut, shone like silk under the fluorescent lights. Her hazel eyes, flecked with gold, seemed to shimmer like molten honey. Her lips were soft and full, perpetually curved into a polite smile that masked the exhaustion she felt from constantly being scrutinized.

The men in her office weren’t subtle. They lingered too long when asking her questions, their eyes dipping to her neckline or wandering down the curves of her figure. Even the older executives—men with graying temples and wedding bands that should’ve acted as barriers—couldn’t seem to help themselves. Her boss, a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties, had implemented sexual harassment meetings as a precaution. “Before anyone gets too comfortable,” she had said.

Penelope tried to laugh it off most days, but it wore on her. By the time she got home, she felt like she’d been running a gauntlet.

Her studio apartment was a sanctuary, a haven of soft, neutral tones and cozy furniture. She kicked off her heels the moment she stepped inside, sighing in relief as her feet touched the cool hardwood floors. She tossed her bag onto the couch and padded into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.

The evening sunlight streamed through her windows, casting golden rays across her space, but Penelope barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, clouded by the events of the day. She had smiled, deflected, and endured the endless attention, but it left her feeling hollow.

After a quick dinner of leftovers, she slipped into her usual evening routine. She dimmed the lights, lit a lavender candle, and climbed into bed. Beneath the soft blankets, she let out a shaky breath, her body already anticipating the comfort she sought every night.

Her hand moved slowly at first, trailing over her thighs as she imagined a strong, calloused hand replacing her own. She closed her eyes, her mind conjuring the scenes she had watched countless times in videos. A dominant man, tall and broad-shouldered, holding her down, whispering filthy promises against her skin.

Her breath hitched as her fingers found the sensitive spot between her thighs. She bit her lip, stifling a moan as waves of pleasure rolled through her. The images in her mind grew more vivid—the sound of his voice, the weight of his body, the way his hands would grip her hips.

Penelope’s movements quickened, her body trembling as she chased release. Her lips parted in a silent cry as the first climax hit, her toes curling beneath the blankets. She didn’t stop, her fingers circling again and again, pushing her higher with each pass.

But when it was over, she felt... empty.

Her chest rose and fell as she caught her breath, but satisfaction eluded her. She sat up, brushing her damp hair from her face, frustration bubbling in her chest.

“What is wrong with me?” she whispered to the empty room.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want men—she craved them. She longed for the strength, the dominance, the rough hands that would take control and leave her breathless. But no one had ever sparked that fire in her.

She had tried dating apps, gone to parties, even let her friends set her up on blind dates, but nothing worked. Every man she met seemed dull and unremarkable, their touches too soft, their words too cautious. She wanted a man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it.

Penelope sighed, pulling her knees to her chest. Her thoughts drifted to her father, a man who had been the epitome of strength and kindness. Maybe that was why no one measured up. But thinking of him brought a pang of sadness, and she quickly pushed the thought away.

She grabbed her phone, scrolling through the menu of her favorite Chinese restaurant. The idea of indulging in takeout and binge-watching a K-drama seemed like the perfect distraction.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of her doorbell.

“Who is it?” she called, pressing the intercom button.

“It’s Chloe!”

Penelope smiled despite herself. Chloe was her best friend, a whirlwind of energy who refused to let her wallow in solitude.

When Penelope opened the door, Chloe swept inside, her arms laden with shopping bags and a mischievous grin on her face. She tossed a glittering black dress at Penelope.

“Get dressed,” Chloe demanded. “We’re going out.”

Penelope groaned. “Chloe, I’m not in the mood—”

“Nope, don’t even try it. We got invited to Elysium.”

Penelope froze.

Elysium was more than just a club. It was a legend, a place where whispers of decadence and desire came alive. Only the elite, the powerful, and the chosen could enter.

“How did you—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe said with a wink. “Just trust me. This is exactly what you need.”

Penelope hesitated for only a moment before excitement took over. Maybe Elysium was the answer.

Meanwhile, on Olympus...

The golden halls of Olympus gleamed in the fading sunlight, their grandeur unmatched by anything in the mortal world. But Demeter, goddess of the harvest, cared little for the beauty surrounding her. Her heart was heavy with rage.

Her daughter, Persephone, was to spend six months of every year in the Underworld as Hades’ queen. It was a decree handed down by Zeus and Hera, and no amount of pleading or arguing could change it.

In her private chambers, Persephone paced barefoot, her emerald eyes blazing with fury. She was a creature of light and freedom, her golden curls cascading like a halo around her face. The thought of being confined to the dark, cold Underworld made her chest ache with dread.

“He’s insufferable!” Persephone spat. “I will not be his queen!”

Demeter cupped her daughter’s face, brushing away a tear. “We’ll find a way, my love. I promise.”

An idea began to take shape in Demeter’s mind—a desperate, audacious plan. That night, she gazed into the mortal realm, searching for someone who could take Persephone’s place.

When she saw Penelope Faelan, her breath caught. The resemblance was uncanny.

“She’ll do,” Demeter murmured, her lips curving into a smile.

Far below, Penelope danced at Elysium, unaware that her life was about to change forever. She felt the weight of eyes on her, a presence that made her pulse quicken.

Demeter watched from above, her plan falling into place. Persephone would be free, and the mortal girl would take her place.

All it would cost was Penelope’s freedom.