All Chapters of Freya Betrayal : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

Chapter 52 — Freya’s POVNew Faces, Old FearsThe first thing I realized after Brandon’s accident was that love could hurt in ways no injury ever could. Caring for him became my whole world. I grew familiar with the rhythm of the hospital room—the steady beeping of machines, the way the curtains drifted slightly when someone moved past, and the exact hour sunlight spilled through the narrow window and kissed his face. I learned which movements made him tense, which smiles were forced, and which silences felt loud. He tried to stay strong, which frightened me more than his injuries. I helped him sit up when the nurses weren’t around, adjusted his pillows when he pretended he didn’t need help, and fed him when his hands trembled too much to hold the spoon steady. Every time I touched his leg—carefully, with care—I felt the weight of everything settle even deeper in my chest. It felt like my fault, even though he kept telling me it wasn’t. Sometimes I caught him staring at the ce

Chapter 54 — Freya’s POVFractured TrustThere’s a gentle, almost inaudible sound that occurs when a heart begins to doubt. It’s subtle—nothing loud or sharp like shattering glass or a roaring thunder. Instead, it splits apart quietly and carefully, almost politely. That was the quiet sound inside my chest as I sat beside Brandon’s hospital bed the following morning. He was awake, scrolling through his phone, with a calm expression that seemed like he was hiding something. Someone might have missed it, mistaking the relaxed posture and steady breathing for peace. But I knew him better. I could tell the difference between Brandon at peace and Brandon at war. This was war. 'You didn’t sleep again,” he said softly without looking up. I blinked, saying, “I did,' though it was a fragile lie. His thumb paused on the screen. “Freya.' Just my name, nothing more. But it sounded like a sigh. 'I slept,” I whispered again. He didn’t argue, and I wish that should have made me feel

Chapter 56 — Freya’s POVTangled in ShadowsThe house no longer feels like home to me. It looks familiar—same walls, same staircase, and those soft curtains that used to glow warmly in the evening light. But something inside it has changed, or maybe something inside me has. Brandon’s dinner still lingers in the air—warm spices, melted butter, the faint sweetness of candles he lit. The table was set just right, plates half-eaten, glasses barely touched—everything about it felt perfect. Careful. Thoughtful. Gentle. And that’s where the difficulty lies. It feels like he’s really trying, but trying too hard—like when someone apologizes without saying sorry. I stood at the kitchen counter, looking at the sink, my hands resting on the edge, my reflection faint in the dark window above. Behind me, I could hear Brandon shifting slightly in the living room. Even that sound feels different now—measured, controlled—like he’s afraid of disturbing something fragile, maybe even me. A f

Chapter 58 — Freya’s POVPoisoned IntentionsI woke up tired.Not the kind of tired sleep fixes.Not the kind coffee touches.Not the kind a quiet morning cures.This was the kind of tired that lived in your bones.The kind silence creates.I lay there for a long time staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft hush of the curtains shifting in the breeze. My body was awake, but my thoughts lagged behind, heavy and tangled like they didn’t want to face the day.Because facing the day meant facing everything.Brandon’s careful kindness.Miya’s watchful presence.Rachelle’s smile that never reached her eyes.Secrets no one would name.Truths no one would say.It all pressed down on me at once.I felt like I was drowning in things no one else could see.When I finally turned my head, Brandon was already awake beside me, propped up against the headboard. He looked like he’d been watching me for a while.“Morning,” he said softly.I nodded. “Morning.”He studied my face.Concern. Always c

Chapter 60 — Freya’s POVWounds and WhispersI woke up cold.Not freezing.Not shivering.Just… cold in that hollow, internal way that sleep sometimes leaves behind when rest never really comes.For a moment I didn’t move. My cheek was pressed against the couch cushion, my neck stiff, my limbs heavy like they belonged to someone else. The room was dim with early morning light, pale gold slipping through the curtains and stretching across the floor in thin lines.My journal was still tucked loosely against my chest.I blinked slowly, staring at nothing.Then I felt it.That familiar sensation.Being watched.I lifted my gaze.Brandon stood near the doorway.He must’ve been there for a while, because he didn’t react when I looked up. He was just… watching me. Quiet. Still. Careful.Too careful.“Morning,” he said softly.His voice sounded like it was afraid to be loud.I pushed myself upright. “Morning.”He rolled closer, slow and deliberate, like he didn’t want the wheels of his chair