Chapter 28 28
FREYA POV
The ringing in my ears was louder than the explosion of the bottle.
I stood frozen. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, and for a split second the old me wanted to curl into a ball and scream. I could feel the cold sweat breaking out on my skin while my hand still hovered near the door handle, trembling just a fraction. I didn't let it drop, though. I forced my spine to stay straight even though my knees felt like water. I couldn’t breathe or move; I suddenly felt it. A warm, slow tickle started at my hairline and began to roll down my forehead. I reached up, and my fingers grazed the skin. It’s blood. A tiny piece of glass must have flown and slid across my skin.
I looked at the red on my fingertips, and a dark, slow smirk moved at my mouth as I realized what just happened. One inch to the left. If he had aimed just one inch to the left, that bottle wouldn't have hit the wall. It would have hit me.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"Mark," I whispered. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
Mark was panting now, his chest heaving under that stained shirt. His hand was still outstretched and trembling. The anger in his eyes was being rapidly replaced by a flickering, pathetic fear. He looked at the glass on the floor, then at the blood on my face, realizing exactly what he had just done.
"Freya, I... I didn't mean to. Hey... You have... You have been away for days!" He started to stammer, trying to find a way to make it my fault. "Now you just... you can't just walk in here with a car like that and tell me I'm nothing! You're my wife!" He yelled, but his voice cracked at the end.
"Mark," I cut him off.
"This is Freya. The same woman that lost shape. I am a woman you haven't touched in a year, Mark. I am the mother of the child you let your mistress play house with to manipulate my daughter against me," I said, stepping toward him. I wasn't shaking. To my surprise it seemed like the heat of the Bugatti's engine had transferred into my blood. I felt cold and purposeful.
"And as of today I am saved. Not that same shattered woman. I am standing tall."
"Freya?" he sneered, trying to regain his footing. He gestured wildly toward the window, his eyes darting back to the sleek car.
"What changed you?"
He reached out, and for a second he gazed at the car again. He looked briefly and then turned back at me with a face full of venom.
"That car? Who the hell gave you that, Freya? What did you have to do to get a seat in something like that... Did you finally sell yourself? Is that it? You’ve been away for a week spreading your legs for some old man with a deep pocket just to get back at me?"
He took a step closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee and bitterness as he looked me up and down with pure disgust.
"Is this the payback? You’re some high-priced whore now? ...he stopped. His eyes traveled slowly over my body from my head down to my heels and back up again. A nasty slow smile crawled onto his face.
"You look different now," he said, his voice dropping into a mocking tone. "Do you now warm the bed for old folks? Is that how you got the car? Is that why you're suddenly so bold? Because you found someone who likes charity cases?"
Slap.
My palm flew to Mark's cheek with all the aggression of every word I had been holding back.
The sound of the impact echoed louder than the bottle shattering.
My palm stung “How dare you”, I thought, my eyes blurring with hot, angry tears. But the sight of Mark’s head snapping to the side was the most therapeutic thing I had felt in years.
"Don't you dare project your lack of worth onto me," I hissed.
Mark stayed there hunched over, clutching his cheek. But then his eyes suddenly locked onto my hand. He froze. His gaze moved to my ring finger and stayed there. He reached out and snatched my hand, pulling it toward his face with a rough, desperate grip.
"What... what is this?" he whispered, his voice trembling with a new kind of rage making him look totally different from the Mark I know. He looked at the diamond so desperately.
"Who gave you this? This isn't a gift, Freya. A man gave it to you, right? You're wearing another man's ring on the finger where my ring used to be!" He looked at me, his eyes bulging with a mix of disgust and jealousy. "You really are a traitor. You let someone buy you in a few days."
As he held my finger, staring at that ring, a sudden wave of agonizing sadness crashed over me. It hit me so hard I almost lost my breath.
For a brief few seconds I just thought... maybe things can still work. A small stupid part of my heart whispered that maybe if I had walked in here and Mark had just looked at me. If he had seen the woman he once loved and vowed forever with, he would have fallen to his knees. If he had just apologized and admitted he was wrong and pleaded for a second chance... I might have broken. Maybe he would have put me in a condition to make me hate whatever I have done with Steve. Maybe I would have chosen this familiar pain over that new terrifying good life. I was looking for a reason to blame myself for fucking another man. Just one.
But he didn't give me one.
I fought back my tears and swallowed hard against the lump in my throat. I pulled my hand back from his greasy grip, feeling a coldness settle deep in my bones. The "what if" was dead. He killed it.
"You should do your part in the divorce letter," I said, my voice thick and shaky. "And let’s have another sensible day to talk about Luna."
I turned, ready to leave this nightmare behind to go back to a man who actually looked at me. But to my shock I felt a rough hand grab my shoulder and spin me around. I was dragged back with a force that made my heels skid on the floor.
Mark scrambled past me toward the door. With a loud metallic click, he turned the lock and shoved the key deep into his pocket, his eyes looking completely unhinged.
"You aren't going anywhere," he growled.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I screamed, my voice echoing…