Chapter 39

Chapter 39


Amelia's POV.

A nasty scowl took up Freya’s face as I approached, and I rolled my eyes internally. She was so predictable.

“What exactly are you trying to achieve by getting close to Damien?” She spat out, her words rushed like water rapidly boiling over a kettle.

I remained silent, trying to pass her by without a word but before I had a second to process what was happening, she stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

With crossed arms and a lifted chin, she glared down at me. That sharp, assessing look in her eyes, like she could see straight through me but I knew; Freya was clueless, grappling aimlessly at the sand till she found what she was looking for.

Well, she wasn't going to find it here. I would torment her till she thought she drove herself mad with her own thoughts.

“What? You can't answer? Or were you sent by someone? If so, who?” The questions poured out of her, her words in a sort of disarray I couldn't explain, but it gladdened my heart.

Every little action I took was affecting her, and it showed.

There was a rush to her words, and the frantic movements of her eyes told me my actions were getting to her more than she cared to admit.

I smiled to myself, satisfied by watching her slowly unravel. Soon, I would bring her to her knees, and she’d be begging and crying for it to stop.

Hatred surged through my veins as I returned her hard stare with one of my own, so pointed and venomous that I watch her gulp slowly, but her stance remained firm.

She wasn't backing down. Well, neither was I.

I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm despite the storm brewing up inside me.

“No one sent me,” I said simply. 

“And I’m not trying to do anything. I simply offered a solution to help the pack grow. Is that so bad?”

She let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it.

“Right,” she drawled, tilting her head. 

“I know girls like you. And I know you're not just getting close to Damien with no ulterior motive.”

I bit my tongue, holding back all the vile words I had for her.

Girls like me? She meant girls like her?

Freya was a horrible person, always has been and always will be. She had so shamelessly clung to Damien who was also a worthless womanizer.

They deserved each other.

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Freya,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

She glared at me, hard and long but I only blinked back, unfazed by her lazy show of power.

I stepped forward, trying to pass the part of the hallway she hadn't blocked but her hands shot out, quickly blocking my way once again. 

Okay. So, we were doing this.

Her eyes flickered with something dangerous, like she was itching for a fight. I could feel the tension rising, thick and suffocating. This wasn’t about Damien—not really. Freya needed control, and I was an unwelcome variable.

Fine. Let her think she’s winning.

In those few seconds, a plan formed in my head and a devious smile played on my lips.

I shifted my weight slightly, feigning a stumble. The coffee cup in my hand tilted, and the steaming liquid splashed onto both of us.

The moment the heat hit her skin, Freya shrieked. I winced in pain also, the sting of the burning liquid searing through my skin as it seeped into the thin material of my dress.

“Ouch! You–” She gasped, clutching at her chest with a wince, her eyes wide with outrage and pain.

I dropped to my knees, pretending to be frazzled as I reached for the broken shards. My fingers wrapped around the glass, pressing just hard enough to slice through my skin.

The sting was sharp and hot. Blood welled up instantly, trickling between my fingers. But I didn’t make a sound.

Freya was too busy wincing and dabbing at her ruined top to notice at first. But when she did, her expression shifted.

She eyed my bloodied hand with apprehension. A flicker of hesitation.

Good. Let her hesitate. Let her wonder if maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t in control of this after all.

She was planning on playing the victim, of winning Damien's sympathy, but the tables had turned swiftly.

Despite the stinging ache in my fingers, I felt victorious. I knew the moment anyone saw this scene, with the blood dripping down my fingers, I would automatically be seen as the victim.

Just then, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming from Damien’s study and my heart leaped in anticipation.

Damien.

He stopped in his tracks as he took in the scene in front of him. Me on the floor with my bloodied hands and Freya staring down at me with disdain and anger.

His voice was firm, laced with concern. “What the hell is going on?”

Freya turned to him with a gasp, her form trembling lightly.

Good. I smiled, cradling my thumb in my hands.

Freya wasted no time, throwing her accusations without hesitation.

“You don't understand. She did this on purpose!” she burst out, her voice pitching high. 

“She threw coffee at me, Damien! I don’t know what game she’s playing, but—”

She reached for his arm, nails digging into his sleeve, desperate for him to believe her.

Her words cut off as she realized that he wasn't paying attention to her.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

His eyes were on me. On my hand.

I didn’t say a word. I just let my fingers tremble slightly, let the blood drip onto the floor. Not too dramatic, just enough. Just enough for him to see.

Damien’s expression darkened. 

“Maya,” he said, his voice lower now.

“Your hands. What happened?”

I opened my mouth, but no words came. Instead, I just shook my head, blinking down at my hand like I was only now realizing the damage.

Freya stiffened beside him. 

“Why are you asking her that? I’m the one who—”

He ignored her.

Instead, he stepped forward, bent down to my level and reached for my hand. His grip was firm, but careful, his fingers brushing against my wrist as he examined the damage.

“This needs to be cleaned,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t have picked up the glass like that.”

He took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket, softly placing it on my hand and applying minimum pressure.

I blinked at him through my lashes, wincing in pain and shivering like his touch had sent a jolt of electricity through me. Damien noticed, and I could see his eyes visibly darken.

I retched internally, but I kept my frontier in place, acting out the part of the damsel in distress perfectly.

Freya saw it too.

Her jaw clenched, and for the first time, she didn’t look angry. She looked afraid. Like she was realizing, right here, right now, that she wasn’t the one in control anymore.

I didn’t smirk. I didn’t gloat. I just let the silence settle between us, heavy and telling.

Because sometimes, silence said more than words ever could.