Chapter 51 51
FREYA POV
My mind was completely blank. Nothing in this life had prepared me for the sentence I had just read on that screen.
The words sink through my chest and turn my entire body cold.
Steve was still standing directly in front of me. He didn't move to cover himself; he remained exactly where he was, naked and dripping with water.
“Mark,” I tried to speak, but only air came out.
"Did he really stab her?" I finally whispered.
Steve didn't answer immediately. He moved then, stepping around me with a slow, predatory grace until he was standing behind me. I could feel the heat radiating from his damp skin against my back, a stark, terrifying contrast to the chill that had settled over me.
"Yes," his voice was low, vibrating right against the nape of my neck.
I looked back sharply, needing to see his face to know if this was some sick joke, but seeing him still completely naked forced me to jerk my gaze away just as quickly.
“It can’t be.”
“Did he really do it?” I asked again slowly.
“Did you think he was capable of it?” Steve countered.
“Is he capable of doing it?” I said back as I searched my memories, my head starting to spin.
Mark had always been an aggressive person. I knew that better than anyone; I had been the target of that aggression more times than I could count. He was the type to lash out in a fit of rage, acting like a bloody coward when he felt he was losing control. But stabbing someone? Taking a blade and physically piercing another person? That sounded too extreme, even for a man as broken as Mark. It was a level of darkness I hadn't wanted to believe he possessed.
"What if he did do it?" I asked, my voice trembling as I stared at the wall, refusing to turn around. "What do you plan to do to him?"
I held my breath, waiting for Steve to respond. I knew Steve had been looking for a reason, a perfect opening to finally deal with Mark once and for all.
“I’m holding a Big party," he said.
"A party?" I repeated, my voice barely a whisper.
"Is that supposed to be a joke?"
"No," Steve said, his voice flat and devoid of humor. "We have a reason to party."
"Steve, this is not funny," I snapped. I turned back toward him, finally finding my fire, only to find he had pulled on a pair of shorts.
He didn’t put on a shirt; he just stood there while his gaze locked onto mine. It was intense—suffocating, even. I could see the water still dripping from his chest, the droplets tracing the muscles of his torso before disappearing into the waistband of his shorts. It was insane. My body stayed on high alert, refusing to get used to him. After everything we’d done, after nights where he’d taken me apart piece by piece, my body still lit up like this was the first time he’d ever touched me.
I had to force myself to swallow hard just to keep my breath steady.
"I just want to know about Mark," I said, trying to anchor myself. "You promised not to keep me in the dark again."
I knew as the words left my mouth that it wasn't true. He hadn't promised. I had only pleaded with him not to leave me wondering, but I used the word like a shield anyway.
Steve nodded slowly and began to move toward me. I instinctively took a small, shaky step back.
"Did I promise?" he asked.
While he took another step, pinning me with that dark, heavy stare.
Then, his eyes shifted. His gaze moved past me, landing on the door.
"So," he said, his tone shifting into something sharper, "can we talk about how you got into my room?"
The question brought me crashing back to reality. The adrenaline from the message about Mark evaporated, replaced by the cold weight of what I had just done.
I knew I had trespassed.
I stared back at him and stammered for a second, my mind scrambling for a lie, but then I forced a sudden, desperate boldness into my posture.
"Don't I have the right to enter your room as your woman?" I asked, my voice louder than I intended.
“At least your ring is still stuck right here,” I said, raising the diamond ring. My hand trembled slightly, the forced smile straining my lips as I fought to keep my voice steady.
Steve paused. He looked like he hadn't expected that response—the sheer nerve of it. For a heartbeat, the tension changed, and then he let out a small, dark smirk that turned into a dry smile.
"Wow," he breathed.
But the smile didn't last. His eyes dropped to the brown envelope I had forgotten I was still clutching. I instantly turned the envelope to the floor as if dropping it would somehow make it invisible.
"I—I—" I started, trying to find any words to defend myself, but it only made me look like a fool.
Steve looked down at the envelope, his jaw tightening, then lifted his gaze to meet mine with a dark, unyielding stare.
“You’ve committed two offenses now,” he said, his voice low and edged with warning.
"You lied," he said, his voice a low, dangerous hum. "And you also went hunting for things that don't belong to you."
He stepped closer, until I could feel the damp coolness of his skin. He tilted his head, his eyes searching mine.
"Do you think you deserve to be forgiven or - ," he asked, "or do you think you deserve to be punished?"
My knees trembled.
I didn’t answer.
I couldn’t.
Because deep down—terrifyingly, thrillingly—I already knew exactly what I wanted the answer to be.
I stood there, paralyzed. Steve was so close now that the heat from his body acted as a second skin, wrapping around me while his eyes stayed locked on mine.
"You're not answering, Freya," he murmured, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle right in the center of my chest. "Usually, when people are caught red-handed, they beg for mercy. But you? You’re just standing there, waiting, I hate that. I NEED YOU TO TALK."
I forced myself to meet his gaze, even though my heart was hammering against my ribs.
"What… what kind of punishment?"