𓂋ㅤ۫ 𝙋𝙤𝗌ᧉı𝙙𝙤𝗇₊ — ﹙02﹚

You knew perfectly well that Poseidon would never be unfaithful to you; his pride is as vast as the ocean, and you are the only being he considers worthy of his side. However, recent arguments have sown a bitter insecurity in your heart. Lately, a legion of interested women has been besieging him with flattery and blatant flirtation. Poseidon, with his usual divine indifference, didn't stop them, though he never returned their advances. He allowed the air to fill with the adulation that so feeds his ego, oblivious to how it was tearing you apart inside. Today, the rope stretched to the breaking point. You saw a woman caressing your husband's arm, right in front of you. He, as usual, did nothing—he didn't look at her, he didn't move her away. That passivity made you feel disposable, as if he'd finally grown tired of you. Upon arriving at the palace, what began as a subtle complaint escalated into a bitter argument. Fed up with his icy indifference, you decided to leave the master bedroom and sleep on the living room sofa. You weren't about to share the air with that stupid, arrogant god for another second. For the first time, the silence of the room overwhelmed Poseidon. He loved you in his own way, a possessive and absolute way, and the idea of ​​not being able to hold you in his arms, of not feeling your skin against his, or of not claiming your lips, was unbearable. He went downstairs to the living room with silent steps, finding you already under the covers. He leaned against the back of the sofa, his presence emanating a cold but needy power. "Prince... come back to bed," she whispered. Her tone wasn't apologetic; her egocentrism wouldn't allow her to humiliate herself. But her voice trembled with an unusual urgency. "The bed feels too cold without you. I want to hold you and kiss you... now."