4

FREYA

I sat on the floor for…. I don’t even know how long. The only difference between me and someone unconscious was that I still knew I was sitting.

I was aware of my body touching the tiles, but nothing else. My eyes were open, but they weren’t seeing anything. It felt like someone stuffed cotton inside my ears. Everything around me was muted and far away, like I was trapped underwater.

I didn’t even hear footsteps. I only felt a hand on my shoulder, and I jolted so hard the breath caught in my throat.

When I looked up, it was Rebecca. Luna’s nanny.

She had that look. The one people give when they already know something went wrong, but they are scared to ask.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” I said, even though my voice didn’t sound like mine. I pushed myself up from the floor. My legs were stiff, like they forgot how to be legs.

Rebecca stretched my phone toward me. “It has been ringing for a long time. That is why I came to get it for you.”

“Thank you.”

I took it from her and looked at the screen.

Fifteen missed calls.

All from my store manager. Of course. Problems never respect timing; I guess something is wrong at the store.

Just as I wanted to walk away, I stopped and forced myself to ask, “What about my hus—…”

I closed my eyes because even saying the word felt like lifting something heavy.

“My husband and Luna.”

“They left already,” Rebecca said softly. “I packed Luna’s lunch. Her spare bottle. And her cardigan, snacks. She was quiet this morning, though.”

Quiet.

Because of me.

Because I snapped.

I nodded. “Alright. Thank you.”

I walked away, checking my phone as I went. A long text from Gladys lit up the screen. Supplier issues. Asking for permission to take funds and handle it.

I typed back, “Gladys, please sort it. I grant you permission.”

My throat was dry like I had swallowed dust. It was still early, but my body felt like it had lived the whole day already. I made my way downstairs to the kitchen.

Rebecca followed behind silently.

“You can go,” I said without turning. “I’m fine.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Go, Rebecca. Please.”

She hesitated, then nodded. Rebecca didn’t live in the main house. She stayed in the small apartment behind the courtyard and only came over when Luna was around. But right now I could see it… she didn’t want to leave me alone.

I forced a small smile. “I’m okay.”

The moment she walked away, my knees almost buckled, but I held the railing and kept moving.

I walked straight to the sink. I poured myself a cup of water. My hand shook a little, but I ignored it and drank everything in one go.

When I dropped the glass cup, the sound echoed around the kitchen. I didn’t move away from the counter. I just closed my eyes and breathed out slowly.

Then I looked up, right at the ceiling.

“Daddy… your friend’s son is no longer treating your daughter right,” I whispered.

Saying it out loud burned. Not because of Mark. Because my father wasn’t here to hear it.

I stepped out of the kitchen and headed for the living room. I was about to turn toward the hallway that led to my room when I saw Rebecca’s figure still by the entrance.

“Rebecca,” I called, surprised she was still there.

I walked toward her slowly. And that was when I noticed someone else was standing there.

I walked closer just to see who Rebecca was talking to, and the moment I got close enough to actually see his face and body, I almost lost my breath. Or maybe I was just being silly. But honestly… who the hell is this?

I didn’t know this stranger, but his look alone felt illegal. Not just the look, the whole body shape. Did he spend all his life in the gym? His shoulders were wide, arms thick with that type of muscle that doesn’t come from pretending to work out. His shirt hugged his chest like it was trying to hold on for dear life. Veins ran down his forearms. His jawline was sharp and clean, and the small stubble only made it worse. Dark hair. Low fade. A tattoo peeking from under his sleeve. The type of man girls describe online and people say doesn’t exist in real life and is just fiction.

Growing up, if anyone asked me my type of guy, this stranger standing here was exactly what I would have described. My exact dream man in human form.

Oh God… I know the question is, why did I end up with Mark?

Mark was good-looking, yes, in that corporate man way. Not anywhere close to this. And I fell in love with Mark being Mark. The man I thought I knew then, not the beast he is now. Mark was brilliant, smart, a mathematician, and had a whole different vibe. But this guy… this guy looked like he would have a crazy fashion sense without even trying. He was just in casual wear and still managed to make it look expensive.

Who the hell is this?

I suddenly realized I had been staring too long. I looked at Rebecca and nodded for her to leave. She quietly walked off.

“Hi,” I said, but my voice sounded like it wasn’t sure of itself.

“Hi,” he replied, smiling.

What the hell. He smiled.

“I have been here before,” he said, still holding that light smile. “But no one seemed to be at home.”

He stretched the flyer toward me and started talking again, his voice smooth and steady.

“We just opened a new gym down the street. State-of-the-art equipment, personal trainers, classes, all that. And we’re giving out discount coupons for people in the neighborhood. The first month is half off, and—”

Gym.

The second that word hit my ears, something inside me twisted hard. My brain didn’t even process the rest. Everything inside me snapped back to Mark in the bedroom, pointing at my stomach and my waist, telling me to fix myself. To work on myself. Like my body was some problem he needed solved.

And then, in one sick, dizzy second, my mind put it together: a ripped stranger showing up the very same morning, handing me a gym flyer.

Did Mark really do this?

… I actually believe he sent this man.

My chest tightened. My breath shook. The humiliation hit me so fast it felt like a slap.

Of course he would. Of course Mark wants to humiliate me further by arranging for a full-muscle gym man to show up at my door. That was exactly the kind of insult he would think is “helpful.”

The embarrassment burned through me again.

“And by the way, my name is Steve,” he added.

I blinked, snapped out of my haze, and before I knew it, the words fell out of my mouth.

“Did Mark send you?”

Steve paused, confused. “Who is Mark?”

A single tear dropped from my left eye before I could stop it. I didn’t even understand why it fell so fast, but I knew exactly what triggered it. Mark’s voice replaying in my head. His words stabbing me again and again.

My throat tightened. “Please… take your leave,” I whispered. I turned quickly, wanting to walk away before I embarrassed myself even more.

But his hand reached out gently and held my arm.

I froze.

Not because it hurt. But because the touch was warm, steady, and intentional. It made every nerve in my body spark sharply. I felt his grip—not rough, not grabbing, just firm enough to stop me.

I turned slowly.

His eyes narrowed slightly, focused on my face. And then he said quietly, his voice deep and intense, nothing like before:

“You’re crying?”

The way he said it…