23. Freya

23

Freya

W hen I woke up the next morning, Henry was already gone. The emptiness of the bed beside me was a stark contrast to the heat of his body from last night. The sun filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. I stretched, feeling the ache in my muscles from our encounter.

I knew he had the game tonight. It probably explained his early departure, though a part of me wished he'd stayed. My fingers brushed against the spot where he had lain, and I couldn’t help but blush at the memory of our time together.

Last night... it had been intense. More than I expected, but not something I regretted. If anything, it awakened something within me, something that craved more.

I slid out of bed, my feet touching the cool floor. The room felt too big without him in it, and I wrapped my arms around myself as I made my way to the bathroom. Splashing cold water on my face did little to chase away the vivid images from last night.

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. My hair was a tangled mess, my eyes a little puffy from the lack of sleep. The events of last night played in my mind on a loop, each moment more vivid than the last.

I considered taking a shower, the thought of warm water cascading over me seemed appealing. But then, I paused. The scent of him still lingered on my skin, a mix of his cologne and sweat, mingling with my own. It was intoxicating, a reminder of what had happened between us.

Not yet. I wasn't ready to wash him off.

Instead, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to tame the wild strands. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself.

Leaving the bathroom, I wandered back into the bedroom. His side of the bed looked untouched now, as if he had never been there. But I knew better. The indent where he had been was still visible if you looked closely enough.

I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my knees to my chest. The room felt too quiet without him in it. The silence was heavy, pressing down on me with each passing second.

What was I supposed to do now? Henry and I were far from resolved. Last night had been... something else entirely, but it didn’t change the fact that we were still at odds about so many things.

Dressed in comfortable clothes, I wandered into the kitchen, hoping to find some semblance of normalcy. The house was eerily quiet without Henry's presence. His absence loomed large in every corner of the house. The clock ticked on the wall, each second dragging by painfully slow. Would he come back before the game? Would he even go?

Part of me hoped he'd walk through the door any minute now, a smirk on his face as if last night had never ended. But for now, it was just me and my thoughts in this vast house.

I shuffled into the kitchen, the cold tile floor a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bedroom. My hands moved almost on their own as I reached for the coffeepot. The machine clicked on, and I watched as water began to drip through the grounds. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, a small comfort in the otherwise silent house.

As I waited for the coffee to finish, I leaned against the counter, letting my mind wander. The kitchen felt too big, too empty. Every creak and groan of the house seemed amplified in Henry's absence. The quiet was unsettling.

Suddenly, my phone rang, breaking through the stillness like a jarring alarm. I frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was early—too early for most people to be calling.

I reached for my phone, curiosity mingling with a touch of annoyance. My mother's name flashed on the screen.

"Mom?" I muttered under my breath.

It wasn't like her to call unless something was wrong. My heart skipped a beat as I hesitated before answering. What could she possibly want?

The coffee pot gurgled behind me, the smell of brewing coffee filling the air. With a deep breath, I answered.

"Mom?"

"Freya," she said, her voice cold and clipped. "We need to talk."

I could already feel the weight of her disapproval through the phone. "About what?"

"Don't play dumb with me. Your engagement. You've ruined everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't act like you don't know," she snapped. "You're supposed to be engaged to Henry Mathers, and here you are, slumming it up with some soccer player? How could you be such a slut?"

The word hit me like a slap in the face. My blood went cold.

"What are you saying?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"What am I saying?" Her laugh was bitter and harsh. "Everyone knows what a slut you are now."

My hands began to shake, the phone feeling heavy in my grip.

"Your father insisted on this engagement as a way to find someone to take care of you," she continued, her tone icy. "He wanted to guarantee someone would be with you forever. But now? Now you've ruined it. You've embarrassed us, Freya. I wouldn't be surprised if he calls off the whole thing. If I saw the photos, I would. And then, you'll be all alone."

Before I could respond, the line went dead. I stood there, the silence in the kitchen deafening. The coffee pot finished its cycle with a final hiss, but I couldn't move.

Her words echoed in my mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

I stood there, my mother's words echoing in my mind. Photos? What photos? My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to piece it together.

I never sent photos of myself to Dan. But had he taken photos of me? To remember me by?

A memory surfaced—Dan with his phone out, snapping pictures of us during our time together. At the time, I didn’t care. I was rebelling, living in the moment, desperate to carve out a piece of happiness for myself. It seemed harmless then.

But now, with my mother's venomous words still stinging, my heart skipped a beat. If those photos got out...

I sucked in a breath, my fingers trembling. My mother was right. She hadn’t spoken to me in months, but she was right about this. I might have ruined everything.

I needed to see those photos.

With shaky fingers, I pulled up my phone and typed in Dan's name. They popped up instantly. Pictures of Dan and me together. Smiling, laughing, caught up in the thrill of our forbidden romance. And there they were—the photos that could destroy everything: intimate moments captured in pixels.

My breath hitched as I stared at them. It was like looking at a different person—someone carefree and reckless, oblivious to the consequences of her actions. That girl had no idea what kind of storm she was inviting into her life.

The first picture I pulled up made my stomach twist. It was a close-up of Dan and me, our faces inches apart, eyes closed, lost in a kiss. His hand rested on my cheek, fingers splayed out gently, while my hand clutched the back of his neck. The intensity of the moment was palpable even through the screen. The light from the sunset behind us cast a golden glow, making everything look almost ethereal.

The next image was even more intimate. We were lying on his bed, tangled in sheets. My head rested on his bare chest, his arm wrapped around me protectively. The soft light from the bedside lamp highlighted the contours of our bodies. My fingers traced invisible patterns on his skin, and there was a peaceful look on my face—one that seemed so foreign to me now.

Another photo showed us in the kitchen of his apartment. I sat on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist as he kissed my neck. The carefree laughter evident in our postures made it clear how much I had been living in the moment, completely unaware of the consequences.

But it was the last picture that made my breath catch in my throat. We were in his shower, steam rising around us, water droplets clinging to our skin. His hands were on my waist, lifting me slightly as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. Our faces were close, lips barely touching, eyes locked in an intimate gaze that spoke volumes.

I could almost hear his voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear as I looked at that photo. The tenderness in his eyes contrasted sharply with the cold reality I now faced.

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in my throat. These images were more than just pictures; they were memories of a time when I felt free and unburdened by expectations or responsibilities. But now they were weapons that could be used against me.

When had he taken these? It was like he set it up because he was in the shower with me and no phone –

How did I not know?

My fingers hovered over the screen as I debated what to do next.

I needed to talk to Dan. Confront him about these photos and find out how they ended up where they did.

But first... first I needed to breathe.

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes for a moment, trying to steady myself. My mother’s voice echoed again in my mind: "You've embarrassed us."

No matter how much I wanted to rebel against her control, I couldn't deny the truth. These photos could shatter everything I had left—my engagement with Henry, my family's reputation, even my future.

As I scrolled further, my breath hitched. More photos appeared, each one more incriminating than the last. Naked photos of me. Photos of us together in moments I thought were private. Moments I didn't even know Dan had captured.

My fingers trembled as I continued to swipe through the images. There was one of me standing in front of the mirror, completely exposed, with Dan's reflection visible behind me, a satisfied smirk on his face. Another showed us entwined on his bed, the sheets barely covering our bodies. My face was turned towards the camera, eyes closed in what I thought was a moment of intimacy.

The more I saw, the more a wave of emotions crashed over me—embarrassment, shame, and a deep sense of betrayal. How could I have been so na?ve? How could I have let myself be so vulnerable with someone who would do this to me?

I felt used. Every photo was a reminder of how I had let my guard down, believing that Dan genuinely cared about me. Instead, it seemed like he had been documenting our time together for his own twisted amusement.

My stomach churned as the reality of the situation sank in. This was my fault. I had thought I was taking control of my life by rebelling against my parents' wishes and engaging in this secret affair. But now it was clear—I had made a mess of everything.

I thought back to all the times I had justified my actions to myself, convinced that I was doing what was best for me. But now? Now all I could see were the consequences of my choices laid out in front of me in stark detail.

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. How could I ever face Henry after this? How could I explain what I'd done?

This wasn't just about breaking off an engagement anymore; it was about trying to salvage whatever pieces were left of my life.

And as much as it hurt to admit it... I'd brought this upon myself.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the bitterness rising in my throat. My fingers trembled as I held the mug, staring into the dark liquid as if it could offer answers.

Dan. I needed to talk to Dan.

Why would he do something like this?

Dan broke up with me. He chose to do that.

The memory of our breakup replayed in my mind like a cruel joke. It had been sudden, out of nowhere. One minute we were laughing, sharing inside jokes, and the next, he was cold and distant. He said he couldn't handle the secrecy anymore, that it was too much for him. I remembered standing there, stunned, as he walked away without looking back. I had felt abandoned, like I wasn't worth fighting for.

But now, as I stared at the incriminating photos on my phone, none of it made sense. Why would Dan release these photos? If he was done with me, why go to such lengths to destroy what little I had left? The betrayal stung even more because I couldn't find a logical reason for his actions. It felt vindictive and unnecessary.

I racked my brain, trying to understand his motives. Was it revenge? Did he want to hurt me because I moved on with Henry? But no—he knew the engagement was arranged. He knew it wasn't love but obligation.

As I sat there in the quiet kitchen, coffee growing cold in my hands, the confusion only deepened. Dan's actions were a puzzle with pieces that didn't fit together.

My phone pinged, the screen lighting up with texts. Ivy's name appeared first, then Brooke's. My heart stopped when I saw Minka's name.

Would Henry's sister be understanding? She had had her own scandal at the start of the year, but still. Did I even deserve it?

My finger hovered over Minka's name. I took a sip of coffee, the last bit of warmth doing little to soothe the chill in my chest. I couldn't bring myself to click it. I wasn't ready to face anyone, not even those who might be supportive.

The weight of everything crashed down on me, and before I knew it, my hand moved on its own accord. The coffee cup flew from my grasp, smashing against the wall. The dark liquid splattered everywhere, staining the pristine white tiles and running down in messy rivulets.

I burst into tears, my shoulders shaking as sobs wracked my body. How had everything gone so wrong? How could I ever fix this?

I sank to the floor, my knees pulled to my chest as I cried uncontrollably. The room around me blurred through my tears, every sound amplified in the oppressive silence that followed my outburst.

I didn't know how long I sat there, feeling utterly lost and alone. But one thing was clear: I'd made a mess of everything, and I didn't know if I could ever come back from it.