The first few days after Zeus’ proposal felt like a fever dream.

You hadn’t meant to break his heart. Gods, you weren’t even sure you could break the heart of the King of Olympus, but the moment you saw the ring — celestial gold threaded with lightning patterns, handcrafted by Hephaestus himself — your breath had caught in your throat. Not because you didn’t love him. You did. You loved him far more than you ever thought you would.

You just… didn’t think you were meant to.

You were mortal. Fragile. Temporary. And he was Zeus — eternal, powerful, complicated, famously loved and feared, and until recently you believed still married to Hera. When you found out they’d been divorced for centuries, it didn’t exactly calm your nerves. If anything, it made everything more real. More dangerous. If it didn’t work out, you wouldn’t just lose a boyfriend — you’d become another cautionary tale whispered through history.

So when he got down on one knee — lightning dancing in the air around him, eyes soft and hopeful — and you whispered, “I… I need time to think,” the world didn’t just go quiet.

It began to rain.

And it kept raining.

Heavy, constant storms over New York — thunder that shook windows, lightning that split the sky open. You noticed it immediately, because after dating Zeus long enough you learned the weather wasn’t just weather. It was him.

He’s hurting.

You could feel it in every rumble of thunder like a heartbeat.

But what were you supposed to do? You weren’t ready to be a goddess. You weren’t ready to be immortal. You weren’t ready to be the consort of Zeus Olympios, father of the gods, commander of storms. You slipped away from Olympus through the Empire State Building, heart aching, and returned to your tiny New York apartment — thinking, foolishly, that distance would help both of you.

You had been wrong.

Three days later, you were halfway through reheating leftover Chinese food when the lights flickered.

Then the air shifted — like pressure dropping before a hurricane — and suddenly your living room glowed with divine light.

Hera wasn’t there, thankfully. But practically everyone else was.

Athena stood with her arms crossed, expression unreadable and sharp as a blade. Apollo adjusted his sunglasses like he was trying to look nonthreatening and failing miserably. Hermes gave a little wave like this was all totally casual. Artemis looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. Hephaestus awkwardly held a toolkit like it might help somehow. Even Dionysus was there, sipping your wine.

You screamed so loudly that Athena actually flinched, which had to be some kind of historical first.

“By the gods—” Hermes held up his hands. “Don’t panic! No smiting necessary!”

“Why are you in my apartment?” you demanded, voice shaking.

Apollo spoke first. “Zeus is—” he glanced toward the window as thunder cracked, “—not taking your answer very well.”

“I didn’t say no,” you protested. “I said I needed to think.”

“Yeah, well,” Hermes sighed, “to him that was basically a slam-dunk rejection with a side of heartbreak and a drizzle of abandonment issues.”

Athena stepped closer, eyes softening just barely. “He is destroying the weather patterns of an entire continent. The Council thought it best to… check on you.”

“Translation,” Artemis muttered, “he’s unbearable right now and we’re trying to fix the problem.”

Dionysus lifted your wine bottle slightly. “And you’re the problem.”

You wanted to crawl into the floor and vanish. “So you all came here to… what? Tell me to marry him?”

“No,” Hephaestus said quietly. “We came to tell you that he loves you. And that he’s afraid.”

That stunned you more than the gods popping into your apartment.

Zeus? Afraid?

Athena nodded. “He has never proposed to someone he didn’t expect to lose. He proposed to you hoping you would stay.”

The apartment went silent except for the distant thunder — softer now, almost pleading.

And then Hermes spoke again, voice gentler. “You don’t have to say yes. No one is forcing you. But running away without talking to him is the one thing he will never