“Olympus. The city with a class system. The rich get richer, while the poor live like animals. It’s a city where the underbelly, the dark abyss of the underworld, is equally alive.”

The time I spent behind bars was almost a relief. It provided an escape unlike the drinks and sex from my past. It helped me forget the lies and false hope I was once so naïve to believe.

I didn’t want to stay in these slums, where the ground crumbled beneath my feet and every alley carried the scent of urine, blood, desperation, or death. But my actions led me to this.

I kept my head low, passing by the tightly locked store fronts, disregarding the groups of people enjoying themselves after long days as underpaid workers at shitty jobs.

I used to pretend to be like them, concealing the scent of my father’s wealth. I attempted to embody the disappointing son he always claimed I was. Well, now I truly was that person. I had forsaken it all for attractiveness, deceptive words, and the lies I desperately wanted to trust.

I was foolish. This was my current reality. Another wandering lost soul in these gloomy, dilapidated streets. Or perhaps I was akin to a lifeless zombie, following the programmed motions ingrained in us from a tender age.

Turning a corner identical to every other corner in this terrible place, I spotted the brown brick building I had been seeking.

I checked the address, written by my mother on the fancy paper she had hastily given me before my father forced me from the car at the beginning of the lower town area.

When my parents picked me up from prison, it was surprising, but they made it clear they wouldn’t take me back.

I suppose my father’s claim to reform his failure of a son seemed impressive to his business associates, but deep down, we both understood that I was already dead to him the moment my case jeopardized his position in the local parliament.

And Mother couldn’t stop him.

She only stayed his wife because it was beneficial to both their families.

Despite his coldness and numerous affairs, including his current mistress, she remained faithful to him.

I let out a sigh, but the chilly night air quickly absorbed it, much like how the shadows of this city engulfed unsuspecting individuals.

I crossed the street, which was surprisingly calm at this late hour, unlike the bustling uptown streets where the rich enjoyed their luxurious lifestyles.

The front door appeared worn, and the lock showed signs of age. I inserted a key from the bunch I discovered in my pocket, presuming my mother had also managed to put them there.

After a few attempts, I finally located the correct key and unlocked the entrance. The aging lights flickered, causing the surrounding shadows to sway. Unlike my parents’ apartment building, there was no one in the lobby to welcome me. Instead, I was greeted by the scent of dust and the mustiness that hinted at mold, accompanied by faint sounds emanating from a decrepit television and muted conversations.

I looked around and muttered, “Home Sweet Home, I guess.”

Checking out the area, I noticed the lack of elevators. Only an old staircase with cracked tiles lay before me. Glancing at the keys, I spotted a number: Room 808.

A dark laugh escaped my lips as I began my climb. “Seems like my cardio workouts in prison will come in handy. It’s a step closer to hell, Meg. We can handle it.”