Chapter 27

FREYA 

The car ride home was a quiet one, wrapped in silence that didn’t feel heavy—just fragile. Like if either of us said the wrong thing, it would crack something open that neither of us was ready to touch yet.

Brandon’s hand rested on my knee, warm and steady. It wasn’t possessive, not even protective—it was grounding. A quiet reminder that I wasn’t alone. That he was here. And somehow, that was the only thing holding me together.

Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of amber and gold. Inside, I sat in the dark cocoon of the backseat, replaying the hallway over and over again in my mind. Bryan’s voice. His grip. My own heartbeat pounding too fast. And then—Brandon. The sound of his voice slicing through it all. The way everything shifted the moment he stepped between us.

I hadn't said much since we left. And he hadn’t pushed.

When the car finally pulled into the private driveway, Brandon was the first to get out. He walked around to my side and opened the door before the driver could. I looked up at him, and the soft look in his eyes nearly unraveled me.

“You okay to walk?” he asked gently.

I nodded, even though my legs felt like jelly.

He offered his hand anyway. I took it.

The moment I stepped into the house, I exhaled—like I’d been holding my breath all night and didn’t realize it until now. The familiar scent of home washed over me: faint cedarwood, clean linen, a hint of something floral from the diffuser in the hallway. Safe.

Brandon led me to the living room without a word. I sank into the couch, the plush cushions swallowing me whole. He disappeared for a moment and returned with a glass of water, kneeling in front of me like I was made of something breakable.

“Here,” he said. “Small sips.”

I took it, letting the cool water soothe the dryness in my throat.

He sat beside me, close but not too close. Close enough that I could feel his presence, but far enough that I didn’t feel trapped.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He looked at me, brow slightly furrowed. “For what?”

“For showing up when you did. For saying something. For not making it worse.”

Brandon’s jaw clenched slightly, but not in anger—it was something else. Something deeper.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I always have eyes on you in places like that. Not because I think you can’t handle yourself. But because I know men like Bryan. I’ve worked with them. They’re entitled. They don’t hear ‘no’ unless someone louder says it for you.”

My throat tightened. “He made me feel... powerless.”

“You weren’t.” He reached for my hand this time, lacing his fingers with mine. “You stood your ground. You told him no. That matters.”

I let my head fall back against the couch, closing my eyes. “I hate that I still let him get under my skin.”

“He’s a coward,” Brandon said. “A coward with too much wine and too little conscience.”

I chuckled softly, eyes still closed. “You always know how to phrase things like they belong in a courtroom.”

“I spent too many years in boardrooms and mergers. I can make murder sound poetic if I need to.”

My eyes opened, and I turned my head toward him. “Would you?”

“What?”

“If I hadn’t screamed—if he hadn’t let go—what would you have done?”

Brandon’s gaze locked with mine. “Anything I needed to.”

There was no bravado in his voice. No performance. Just quiet, unwavering truth. It sent a shiver through me—not fear. Something else. Something deeper. Warmer.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to protect me,” I said.

“Too late for that,” he said simply. “I already do.”

The words settled between us like dust in sunlight—soft, glowing, undeniable.

I looked down at our hands, still joined. My fingers curled tighter around his without thinking.

“I didn’t think I’d feel this shaken,” I admitted. “I thought I’d be angry. But I just feel… tired.”

“That makes sense,” he said, thumb stroking the side of my hand. “Your body’s still in fight-or-flight. You’ve been on edge all night.”

I let out a slow breath. “He made me feel like I was still stuck in the past. But then you walked in and reminded me that I’m not.”

Brandon didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, he leaned in slightly. “You’re not that woman anymore. And you’re not alone in this.”

I felt something wet prick at the corner of my eyes, and I blinked fast. “You’re being really gentle tonight.”

He smiled faintly. “I know when to push, and when to hold back.”

“Which one is this?”

“This is me just... being here. As long as you need.”

That cracked something in me. Not a dramatic sob or flood of tears. Just a soft unraveling. A letting go.

“I need to shower,” I murmured after a moment. “Wash this night off me.”

He nodded. “I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

I stood, slow and unsteady, and made my way upstairs while he went to the guest room. When I stepped into the bathroom, I let the steam surround me, let the hot water pound against my skin until the tension began to ease. I stayed there longer than I should have, letting everything melt away—Bryan’s voice, the music, the murmurs of the crowd. Until there was only silence.

When I came out, wrapped in a towel, a soft pair of lounge pants and one of Brandon’s T-shirts were folded neatly on the counter. I smiled faintly, heart warming at the quiet care in the gesture.

I changed, towel-dried my hair, and padded downstairs barefoot.

Brandon was on the couch, shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket off, sipping from a glass of water. When he saw me, he stood instantly.

“You look better,” he said.

“I feel better,” I admitted. “Mostly because of you.”

He opened his arms without a word, and I walked into them without hesitation.

The hug was soft at first. Careful. But the longer I stayed there, the tighter it became—his hands smoothing up and down my back, one resting lightly at my nape, the other curling at my waist. I pressed my face into his chest, breathing in the faint scent of his cologne.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said quietly, “but I feel safe with you.”

He rested his chin against the top of my head. “Then let’s start there.”

There was no need for declarations, no pressure for more. Just the quiet comfort of being wanted, seen, protected. And in that moment, that was everything.

He led me back to the couch, pulling a blanket over the two of us as I curled beside him. I didn’t ask if he had calls to take, emails to answer. He didn’t check the time. We just... stayed like that. Wrapped in silence. Wrapped in each other.

And somewhere between the quiet hum of the night and the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear, I drifted off to sleep.

Not haunted.

Not afraid.

Just held.