Chapter 27 27
FREYA POV
Driving the latest Bugatti around the city is definitely a head-turner.
I could feel every single pair of eyes on me as I cruised through the streets. People were literally stopping on the sidewalk, pulling out their phones to take videos of a car they’d probably only ever seen on a poster. And honestly? I didn't blame them. The engine had this low, aggressive growl that made people clear the way before I even got close.
I gripped the steering wheel, my palms a little sweaty. It felt weird. A week ago, I was just a woman trying to keep my head above water, and now I’m sitting in a cockpit that costs millions. Every time I hit a red light, I could feel the heat of people staring, trying to peek through the tinted glass to see who was behind the wheel.
They probably expected some billionaire or a celebrity.
I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and straightened my posture. I had to stop looking like I was scared of the car. I needed to look like I owned it. Because in a few minutes, I was going to pull up to that house, and I needed Mark to see a version of me that he couldn't even touch, even if I’m still personally damn shocked about the reality of my life, but I still need to fake it in front of Mark.
The closer I got to the neighborhood, the more my heart started to hammer against my ribs.
"Get it together, Freya," I whispered to myself.
I turned the corner onto the street where the house stood. My old life. There it was. And right there, parked in the driveway, was Mark’s car.
I didn't slow down. I wanted him to hear me coming. I wanted the sound of this beast to shake the windows of the house he thought I’d never leave.
I swung the Bugatti into the driveway, the engine giving one last, loud roar before I cut the power. The silence that followed was deafening.
I sat there for a heartbeat, my hands still glued to the steering wheel. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel it in my throat. Fake it, Freya. Just fake your confidence and boldness. I looked at the front door of the house—
I noticed the curtain twitch, but I didn’t see anyone.
I took the last deep breath and stepped out of the car, my heels clicking on the pavement. I didn't see anyone. I looked around, half-expecting to see Rebecca lurking in the yard or one of the neighbors staring, but the place looked weirdly still.
I walked up to the front door—the same door I used to enter with groceries and a heavy heart—and knocked.
But no one answered. No footsteps, no voice.
“Rebecca?” I called out, glancing toward the side of the house. But no answer.
I turned back to the door and tried the handle. It wasn't even locked. It creaked open just a crack, so I pushed it further and stepped inside. The house smelled stale.
I stood there for a second, just taking in the house. This was the place where I had imagined my "forever." I used to picture walking through this door to a daughter running into my arms and a husband welcoming me with a warm smile and a hug. Even though my new reality with Steve isn’t bad—honestly, it’s far from it—I still felt... something. A heaviness. A ghost of the life I thought I wanted.
I was getting deep into those thoughts, almost losing myself, before I noticed a figure.
Mark.
He was standing by the large front window with his back to me. He looked like a complete wreck. He was wearing a stained t-shirt that looked like he’d slept in it for three days, and his hair was a total bird's nest. He didn't even hear me come in. He was leaning against the glass, staring out at the driveway with a look of pure, pathetic obsession.
I wondered if he even saw me step out of it, or if he was just blinded by the metal. He was just watching the Bugatti.
I stood at the entrance for a while, just watching him. It was a trip, for real. This man used to make me feel so small, so insignificant, and now he looked like a ghost haunting his own living room. He looked totally messed up. Did I feel pity for him? Actually, a little bit.
"It's a Bugatti Tourbillon, Mark," I said.
My voice cut right through the quiet. I don't even know why I said it. I think I was trying to put on this "no-care" attitude, but the second the words left my mouth, I felt a bit petty.
He jumped, nearly tripping over his own feet as he spun around. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was pale. He looked at me, then back at the window, then back at me again. I could practically see his brain struggling to connect the dots.
"Freya?" he stammered, his voice sounding raw and thin. He looked at my sharp clothes and the expensive trench coat, and then his eyes flew back to the car outside. "That... that car. Who is out there? Did you... did you come with that?"
A sad smile touched my lips. I couldn't help it. I knew that car was enough to make anyone salivate, but seeing it happen with him was different. For a man who hadn't seen his wife—well, ex-wife—for days, you’d think he’d look at me first. But maybe I shouldn't blame him. I'm still in shock over how my life looks right now.
"I'm the only one in the car, Mark," I said quietly, watching the realization hit him like a physical blow.
Mark looked like his brain was short-circuiting. I could see him struggling to connect the dots, thousands of questions probably spinning around in his head until he finally seemed to find his voice. He straightened up, trying to shake off the shock of the Bugatti.
”Where the hell have you been, Freya?” he asked, his voice getting that old familiar edge to it, even though he still looked like a mess.
He looked past me, staring at the open door like he expected someone else to walk in. ”And Luna? What about her? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Do you know Lila has been the one taking care of Luna while you’ve been God knows where? She’s been the one going to the school and doing everything. Then the school tells me you suddenly signed a consent to take Luna from school this morning? And now you just walk in here like a fucking freak hidden heiress? What is this?”
I didn't say a word. I just stood there, watching him try to play the concerned father.
A bitter smirk crawled onto my lips. God, he really hadn't changed at all. He sounded exactly like the Mark I remembered—the man who always found a way to make me feel wrong. To him, Lila was some saint doing me a massive favor, and I was the bad mother. I had to swallow hard, fighting back the hot sting of tears. He had no idea what I had to do or who I had to become to protect my daughter.
I forced my face to stay cold. I composed myself, pulling my coat tighter around me.
“I just want you to know I’m not lost, and I’m not a runaway,” I said, my voice low and steady. To make this official, you’re going to receive the divorce papers. Sign them. Then, and only then, we’ll see if co-parenting can even work. Because I’m not having my child anywhere near that bitch you call Lila.”
I didn’t wait for him to respond. I turned on my heel and started walking toward the door.
“Freya!” Mark yelled.
“Just sign the papers,” I said over my shoulder, not even slowing down. “And let my name die in your mouth.”
I heard him call my name again, more desperate and angry this time, but I kept moving. I was only two steps away from the threshold.
Suddenly, a frustrated, primal scream ripped out of Mark’s throat.
The next thing I knew, a heavy glass bottle flew through the air. It smashed against the wall right next to my head with a deafening explosion. Shards of glass sprayed everywhere, raining down on my hair and my coat.
Everything went silent.