Prologue

The club was the kind of place that shouldn't have let Meg in.

Chrome and velvet. Glass and gold. The air smelled like money and hidden sins. Every surface gleamed like it had something to prove. The doorman had looked her over—scuffed boots, denim jacket two sizes too big—and waved her through anyway. Maybe it was the eyes. People always said she looked like she had something to run from.

Tonight, she wasn't running.
Tonight, she was marching straight into the fire.

Inside, the bass throbbed low under her feet, the lights dim enough to hide regret but bright enough to flaunt power. She shoved her way through the crowd, ignoring the sidelong glances, the silk-slick smiles. Her hands were fists in her jacket pockets. Her heart hammered.

She'd heard the name whispered.

Hades.

The man who could fix things.
The man who could ruin you if you asked twice.

She'd heard it from Theon—hissed into the phone when he thought she wasn't listening. A debt he couldn't repay. A man he couldn't outrun.

Now, Theon was in over his head.
And Meg had come to sell whatever it took to keep him breathing.

A bartender with sleeve tattoos raised a brow as she approached. "Looking for someone?"

"I need to speak to Hades," she said. Her voice came out steadier than she expected. "Tell him it's about Theon."

The bartender's smile thinned. "You think dropping a name buys you a minute of his time?"

"He'll want to hear this."

He watched her a moment longer, then nodded toward a door at the back. "Upstairs. Don't waste it."

She climbed, boot heels echoing on marble stairs, every step scraping at her nerves. The music dulled behind her, replaced by the hush of something colder.

At the top of the landing: a hallway. A door, half-open. Golden light spilled out like an invitation - or a warning.

She pushed it open.

The office was sleek, understated in the way that cost a fortune. Shelves of untouched books. A window with the city glittering like a trap. A single chair in the corner—deliberately out of place, designed to make anyone who sat in it feel small.

And behind the desk: him.

He didn't look up right away. Just turned a page in some leather-bound book, deliberate as a priest mid-sermon.

"You're not one of mine," he said at last, voice cool and clean. "So why are you in my office, Meg?"

The sound of her name stopped her cold.

She blinked. "I didn't tell you who I was."

"No." A slight smile touched his lips. "You didn't."

Her breath caught in her throat.
Of course he knew her. Of course he knew everything.

He stood slowly, his suit moving like water. Dark. Unblemished. Tailored like a second skin. The open collar. The rings. The weight of his gaze.

She forced herself to hold it.

"You know who I am," she said. "But I don't know you."

"Don't you?" he asked, stepping around the desk.

"I know your name. I know you've got your claws in Theon."

"Theon has claws in Theon," he said, not unkindly. "I just collect what's owed."

"And if I could give you something instead?"

"Something?" A flicker of interest passed through his eyes. "Or someone?"

She flinched. "I want to make a deal."

"Ah. The good old-fashioned kind." He smiled now. Slow and sharp. "You're not the first girl to offer herself for a man who wouldn't do the same."

"That's not your call to make."

"Isn't it?"

Her fists clenched. "I don't care what he owes. Take it from me instead."

Hades stepped closer, gaze never leaving her. "You're offering yourself, then."

"I'm offering a way to make things right."

"There is no right," he said, gently. "Only cost."

They stood in silence. The city blinked behind the glass. The desk sat between them like a line she didn't know she'd already crossed.

Then, finally:

"You're braver than he is," he said, like a compliment and a verdict all at once. "Fine. I'll accept your offer."

Her stomach dropped.

"That's it?"

"Oh, no," he murmured, walking past her toward the window. "That... is only the beginning."

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for reading this far!

This is the first fic I've ever written or published. However, it is long overdue as these characters - and the brutal road we're about to follow them down - have been living and breathing with me for the last 11 years. So I finally decided that I needed to let them have a full life on the page, rather than in snatched moments of daydreaming where I've allowed them to reside for the last decade. Although I don't think Meg is going to thank me for this...

The story is going to unfold in two main parts. The first of which is pretty much fully-written, so I hope to update on the regular.

Inspiration for this fic comes squarely from the fantastic 'Gâchette Noir' by GorgyPorgyGregoria, which was published between May 2013 and Dec 2014 (FF, under the 'Disney' category). I highly recommend you check it out. I started writing STYX in my head when Gâchette Noir stopped updating in 2014. That fic has stayed with me since the moment I read it and slowly my own story has taken shape as some kind of weird withdrawal-symptom therapy.

GorgyPorgyGregoria's work introduced me to the rough shape of some of the characters who take appear in STYX, particularly Flynn and Esme (who you'll meet shortly). Other characters are of my own creation (obviously inspired by their Disney counterparts). No scenes in STYX are drawn from Gachette Noir directly, although I'll be sure to flag any particular points of inspiration as they crop up in STYX through these author's notes.

If you plan to stay, I can promise you a twisting and turning tale of friendship, love, and betrayal. One that's about finding your place in the world and watching as it slips away. There will be heartbreak, self-loathing and psychological torment, but also beers shared as summer stretches into autumn...

Thank you for being here, it means a lot!

CB