Chapter 26

FREYA’S POV

The night had unfolded like a slow burn—elegant, meticulous, and charged with unsaid things. We were hours in now, the orchestra playing softer melodies as the formal parts of the evening gave way to the more relaxed—if not indulgent—afterglow. Laughter echoed near the open bar, the scent of champagne and floral perfume mingling in the air. Conversations had turned more casual, jackets were loosened, and heels were quietly kicked off beneath round tables draped in ivory.

I had excused myself, needing a breath. Not because I felt overwhelmed, but because I needed a moment to peel off the pressure. To feel my own skin again without so many eyes.

The hallway was dimly lit, golden sconces lining the velvet-papered walls. The noise of the ballroom faded the farther I walked, replaced by the rhythmic clack of my heels against marble tile. I let out a soft breath and closed my eyes, resting one hand against the wall.

“You always did know how to disappear.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Bryan.

His voice slurred slightly, but the confidence in it—the arrogance—remained intact. I slowly opened my eyes, squaring my shoulders as I turned.

He stood a few feet away, glass in hand, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. The flush in his cheeks betrayed the alcohol, though he wore the same smug expression I remembered far too well.

“Looking for your wife?” I asked, coolly.

He chuckled, stepping closer. “Rachelle’s busy talking to a board member. I figured I’d take a walk.”

“Then maybe take it somewhere else,” I said and moved to pass him, but his hand shot out, blocking the corridor.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice dropping. “With Brandon? You can’t seriously—”

“You’re drunk,” I cut in, firm.

“No. I’m clear as hell about this,” he replied, leaning in. “You think I don’t notice the way you look at me when no one’s watching?”

I stepped back. “That’s your ego talking. Not me.”

Bryan's gaze swept over me shamelessly, lingering too long. “You look... stunning tonight. That dress—Freya, come on. Don’t pretend like there wasn’t something between us.”

“There was,” I said, sharp. “And then you destroyed it.”

His expression flickered—just for a moment. Then it returned, smug and entitled.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t mean we can’t—”

He reached for my wrist.

And that was it.

I pulled my arm back, stepping away with more force than grace. “Touch me again and I’ll scream loud enough to empty the entire ballroom.”

He chuckled, though it faltered. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m just getting started.”

I turned to walk away, heels clicking fast now—but then suddenly, his hand grabbed my arm again, rougher this time, yanking me back.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, struggling.

“I just want to talk—”

“Let go of her.”

The voice was low, deadly calm, and unmistakably Brandon’s.

Bryann froze.

I turned my head to see Brandon standing at the mouth of the hallway, hands at his sides, expression unreadable—but the tension in his jaw, the steel in his voice, was enough to silence the world.

“Let her go,” Brandon repeated.

Bryan’s hand dropped, and I stepped back immediately, brushing my arm as if trying to erase the touch.

Brandon walked toward us slowly, but with purpose. No theatrics. No raised voice. Just pure, contained fury.

Bryan straightened. “Look, man, I wasn’t—”

“I saw everything.”

Bryan blinked. “It’s not what it looked like.”

Brandon didn’t stop walking until he was directly in front of him.

“You grabbed her,” he said coldly. “That’s not a conversation. That’s a problem.”

For a moment, no one moved. Even the air held its breath.

“I think you’ve had enough for one night,” Brandon added, reaching out. Not with a punch—but with cold efficiency, he took the glass from Bryan’s hand and set it down on the nearby table.

Bryan scoffed, but didn’t protest. He knew better. The power dynamic had shifted completely.

“She came onto me,” Bryan said suddenly, in a last attempt to salvage something.

I stared at him, disgusted. “You’re unbelievable.”

Brandon didn’t even glance at me—his eyes stayed locked on Bryan. “You’re going to walk back into that ballroom, find your wife, and leave. Quietly. Or I’ll make sure everyone in that room knows exactly what you just tried to do.”

Bryan's jaw clenched.

Brandon stepped closer, voice dropping. “I don’t need to raise my voice, Bryan. I don’t need to make a scene. But believe me when I say—if you ever lay a hand on her again, you won’t just be answering to me. You’ll be dealing with every legal, financial, and public weapon I have. And I have plenty.”

Bryan glared at him, but the fight drained from his eyes.

He turned with a bitter curse under his breath and walked away, stumbling slightly as he disappeared down the hall.

Silence followed.

Brandon turned to me then, expression softening as his eyes scanned me for any sign of harm. “Are you okay?”

I nodded, though my hands were trembling slightly. “Yeah. I didn’t expect him to—to be like that.”

“I did,” Brandon said gently, stepping closer. “Which is why I never take my eyes off you at these things.”

“You’ve been watching me?” I tried to smile, but it came out strained.

“Every second,” he said. “Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t trust him.”

I exhaled, grounding myself in his presence. “Thank you. For showing up.”

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“I will always show up,” he said.

We stood there for a long moment, just the two of us in the quiet corridor. The buzz of the ballroom was still audible in the distance, but it felt like a different world.

“Come on,” he finally said. “Let’s get out of here.”

I nodded, grateful, and followed him back down the hall.

By the time we reached the coat check, Brandon had already arranged our car. The valet greeted us wordlessly, sensing the shift in energy. Maybe he’d seen Bryan leave moments before, maybe not. It didn’t matter.

Inside the car, I leaned against Brandon's shoulder, my hands finally still. His arm wrapped around me, protective and sure.

“You were brave tonight,” he said softly.

“No,” I whispered. “I was just tired of being afraid especially of what people will say about our relationship.”

He kissed the top of my head.

“Well then,” he said, “welcome back to yourself.”

And as the city lights slipped by outside the window, I realized he was right.

This wasn’t just about surviving anymore.

It was about reclaiming.