Chapter 33

FREYA 

I had barely finished reviewing the agenda for the morning when Lucy walked in, holding a tablet and a coffee cup like she was about to juggle three more items. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, sharp eyes already scanning the screen as she made her way to the chair across from my desk.

“Okay, Mrs. Lefevre—correction, Executive Lefevre,” she said with a cheeky smile as she sat down. “Here’s how your day is looking.”

I smiled faintly, sipping the coffee she brought me earlier. “Hit me with it.”

“So, first things first, you have a department check-in at ten. Marketing wants to update you on their projections for the next quarter. Then at eleven-thirty, you and Brandon are reviewing the new vendor bids for the New York expansion. Lunch is free—unless Brandon hijacks your schedule again—and at two you’ve got an internal briefing with finance. Might want to bring aspirin to that one. Then at four…”

I listened—or tried to—but her voice was like background music to the mess still churning in my head. Bryan. The dinner party. That awful moment when his hand brushed my back without consent. His breath laced with whiskey. The flash of his grin, thinking he could get away with it.

I hadn’t talked about it since Brandon drove us home that night, rage simmering beneath his usual composed exterior. He’d taken such care of me afterward, sat with me until I stopped shaking, kissed my forehead like a silent vow.

But Lucy was sitting in front of me now—talking and trusting, loyal to a fault—and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Lucy,” I blurted out, cutting through her rundown. My voice came out sharper than I meant. She paused, blinking in surprise.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, setting the tablet on her lap.

I drew in a breath. “Something happened at the dinner party. I haven’t told anyone besides Brandon.”

That got her attention immediately. She leaned in, brows knitting. “Tell me.”

I stared at the steam rising from my coffee for a second, then forced myself to speak.

“Bryan got drunk. More than drunk. He cornered me in the back hallway after the speeches… said some things, touched me.” My throat tightened, but I pushed through it. “He tried to kiss me.”

Her eyes went wide. For a second, she was just frozen.

“And Brandon…?”

“He saw,” I said softly. “He came in just in time and pulled him away. It didn’t go further than that.”

Lucy stood up, her face flushed with fury. “That bastard! I knew something was off about him. I should’ve trusted my gut. The way he looked at you when you were announced as part of the company—it was like he swallowed glass.”

I stood too, reaching out to stop her as she started pacing. “Lucy, I told you because I trust you—not because I want you to do anything reckless.”

“Oh, please.” Her hands were already curled into fists. “I’m not going to sit around while that sleazebag walks the halls like nothing happened. He should be fired. Arrested, even.”

“Brandon handled it,” I said gently, though I could still feel the tremble in my voice. “He confronted him. I don’t know what exactly was said, but Brandon made it clear that if Bryan so much as breathes near me again, he’s done.”

Lucy stopped pacing, looking at me like she couldn’t believe how calm I was being. “That’s not enough, Freya.”

“I know,” I said, my voice quiet. “That’s why I’m telling you. In case I need to build a case later. If anything ever happens again, or if I need to report it formally, I’ll need more than just Brandon and me saying it happened. I need someone else to know the truth. Someone who can back me up.”

Lucy walked over and knelt beside my chair, her expression softening with understanding. “You should’ve told me that night.”

“I couldn’t,” I whispered. “I didn’t even want to believe it happened.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were in shock.” Her voice broke a little, but she straightened her back and wiped at her cheek. “You’re brave for saying anything at all.”

I looked at her, eyes burning. “Thank you.”

“I’ve got your back,” she said firmly. “Whether it’s now or a year from now, you just say the word. We’ll make sure people know what kind of man he really is.”

I nodded, swallowing down the emotion that threatened to spill over. “Just promise me you won’t go charging into his office with a stapler.”

Lucy snorted. “No promises. But I’ll try.”

We both sat there in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling between us.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “this company has always been a boys’ club. Rachelle was their exception, not the beginning of change. But you… you might be.”

I gave a soft laugh. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“But you can handle it.” Her voice was steady now. “You didn’t just survive that night. You showed up the next day. You took the seat they never wanted to offer you. That matters.”

I looked around my office—the sleek desk, the framed documents, the laptop open to graphs I still didn’t fully understand. None of it felt like it belonged to the caterer I once was. But I was growing into it.

“I don’t want to be here because I’m Brandon’s wife,” I said, mostly to myself. “I want to earn it.”

“You already are,” Lucy said. “But if it helps, I’ll keep reminding you every time you doubt it.”

That drew a real smile from me. “You really are the best secretary-slash-bodyguard.”

She stood, brushing imaginary dust off her blazer. “Damn right I am. Now, should I get you prepped for finance, or should I forge an anonymous letter to HR about a certain executive’s ‘unprofessional conduct’?”

I laughed. “Let’s start with finance. We’ll leave anonymous letters for later.”

As she resumed her spot with the tablet, I couldn’t help but feel lighter—even if only a little. There was still a long road ahead. But I wasn’t walking it alone.

And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one ready to challenge the way things had always been.