Chapter 24

FREYA’S POV

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to look expensive or invisible.

That was the dilemma tugging at me as I stood in front of a row of glimmering gowns, all lined like porcelain dolls—flawless, silent, and intimidating. I could see my reflection in the mirror beside the rack: jeans, sneakers, a soft cardigan. No makeup. Hair in a half-hearted bun. Not exactly a vision of elegance.

“You’re overthinking this,” Lucy said, holding up a deep emerald gown that looked like it belonged in a Bond movie. “You’re going to that dinner party with Brandon, not to war.”

I gave her a look. “Have you met Rachelle?”

Lucy laughed. “Girl I fought with her, I know her alright.”

We were at this boutique she loved, tucked in the quieter end of town. It was the kind of place where the lighting was soft, the music was jazz, and the prices weren’t printed on the tags. The sales associates had already pegged us as not their usual clientele, which only made me more determined not to flinch every time I saw a three-digit price attached to a piece of fabric.

“I just want to find something... appropriate,” I said, turning back to the gowns. “Something that says, ‘I’m doing just fine, thanks,’ but without screaming it.”

“You want to look powerful but unbothered.”

“Exactly.”

Lucy stepped back and scanned me like she was an art critic and I was her next canvas. “Well, Freya, if you want to look powerful, we’re going to need something that fits like a glove and makes Bryan and Rachelle wish they never underestimated you.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going for revenge.”

“No, but if it shows up along the way, we’re not kicking it out.”

I laughed despite myself. That was Lucy—always turning tension into banter, always finding light in the cracks. She was the first person I called when Brandon told me about the dinner party. I didn’t even get the words out before she said, “We’re going shopping. I’m picking you up.”

And now here we were, combing through satin, silk, sequins, and styles I couldn’t pronounce.

I pulled out a navy gown with a structured neckline and a slit that made me slightly nervous. “What about this?”

Lucy’s eyes widened. “Now that is a dress. Try it on. Immediately.”

I hesitated. “You don’t think it’s too much?”

“Too much for who? Rachelle? Please. The woman shows up to brunch in heels that could double as weapons. This is elegant. It’s confident. It’s you, if you stop saying yourself out of it.”

With a sigh, I took the dress and headed to the fitting room. As I slipped out of my clothes and into the gown, I stared at my reflection and barely recognized the woman looking back.

It fit perfectly. Hugged in the right places, flowed in others. The slit was tasteful, the neckline bold but not loud. My collarbones looked sharper than I remembered, my posture straighter. Maybe it was the fabric. Or maybe it was something deeper—something rising to the surface after being buried for too long.

I stepped out.

Lucy let out a low whistle. “Oh yeah. That’s it. That’s the one.”

“You think?”

“I know. Brandon’s jaw is going to hit the floor.”

I turned in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric down my hips. “He’s seen me dressed up before.”

“Not like this. Not with this kind of fire in your eyes.”

I glanced at her. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No, I’m being right.”

There was a long pause, and then Lucy sat on the little bench outside the fitting rooms. Her playful smile softened. “You okay?”

I nodded slowly. “I think so. I mean... I’m nervous, sure. But also—I don’t know. Resolved?”

“Resolved,” she repeated. “That’s a good word.”

I sank down next to her, still in the gown, suddenly feeling the weight of the week press into my shoulders. “It’s weird, you know? A year ago, I would’ve gladly run into the room if I knew Bryan would be in the same room. I would've canceled everything just to be next to him—whatever it took. But now…”

“Now you’re choosing to walk in with your head high.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Now I want to be seen.”

Lucy reached over and squeezed my hand. “That’s the growth, babe. That’s the power.”

I leaned my head against her shoulder. “I just don’t want to fall apart. Not in front of them.”

“You won’t,” she said firmly. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve rebuilt your life. You’re with someone who truly sees you. You’re not some broken story anymore. You’re the comeback.”

I let out a quiet laugh. “You’ve been reading too many self-help books.”

She grinned. “Guilty. But also, not wrong.”

We sat in silence for a while before I stood and gave myself one last look in the mirror.

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll take it.”

“Atta girl.”

The sales associate reappeared like she’d been watching from a shadowed corner and smiled professionally. “Lovely choice. We can have it steamed and ready for pick-up tomorrow afternoon.”

I nodded, giving her the most confident smile I could manage. “Thank you.”

At the register, I tried not to flinch at the total. Lucy raised an eyebrow as I handed over my card.

“You sure you’re okay with the price?”

“I’m not buying a dress,” I said, holding her gaze. “I’m buying peace of mind.”

She smiled like a proud older sister. “Well, that’s worth every penny.”

Later that night, back home, I hung the dress on the back of the bedroom door. Brandon wasn’t home yet, and for once I was glad—I needed a moment to just exist with it. With this version of myself I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I stood in front of the mirror again, this time in my pajamas, hair down, face bare. Still me. Still the woman who had endured heartbreak and healing, lies and loyalty. The woman who chose to stay and fight—not just for Brandon, but for herself.

This dinner party wasn’t just a public relations formality. It wasn’t just a social event. It was a declaration.

Not to them.

To me.

That I wasn’t afraid anymore.

That I was done being haunted.

That I belonged in the room—and not just as someone’s wife, but as a woman who had faced her past and came out of it burning brighter.

The dress was just the symbol.

I was the story.