Chapter 29 29
FREYA POV
“What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed, my voice cracking against the walls like glass.
Mark’s eyes were wild—pupils blown wide, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air in the house. He pocketed the key with a deliberate slowness that made my stomach lurch.
“You’re not leaving,” he repeated, lower this time, almost like he was convincing himself. “Not again…”
I backed up a step, my heel catching on a shard of glass from the bottle. Pain flared sharp across my calf, but I ignored it. Blood was already drying on my forehead; a thin trickle had reached my eyebrow. I could taste copper on my lip where I’d bitten it.
I glanced toward the kitchen and the stairs, my eyes searching for any sign of life. Where was Rebecca? Where was anyone? The house felt unnervingly hollow, as if the walls had swallowed every other living soul, leaving me alone with a ghost who refused to stay dead.
“Unlock the door, Mark,” I said, forcing my voice steady even though my heart was slamming so hard I thought it might crack a rib. “This isn’t you.”
He laughed—a short, bitter sound that didn’t reach his eyes. “Isn't it me? The same thing goes for you. You show up here in a car that costs more than our house, wearing another man’s ring, telling me to sign divorce papers like I’m nothing… and you think this isn’t me?”
He took a step forward. I took one back. The living room suddenly felt too small, the furniture too close, the windows too far.
“You think I don’t know?” he hissed. Just tell who he is, Freya. Did you spread your legs for him the second you left? Is that how you got the upgrade?”
The words hit like slaps, but they didn’t land the way they used to. Now it just made me tired. And angry.
“Stop projecting,” I said quietly. “This isn’t about what I did or didn’t do. This is about what you did. You cheated. You lied. You neglect me. You body-shamed me in our bedroom. You did a lot to ruin this marriage. And now you’re mad because I won’t stay broken for you?”
His face twisted. For a second, I thought he might cry. Then the rage swallowed it.
“Then let’s talk about it. That's what we should do, not run away,” he said, his voice shaking.
He lunged.
Not to hit me. To grab me.
His fingers clamped around my wrist, hard enough to bruise. I yanked back, but he was stronger, fueled by whatever cocktail of desperation and alcohol was running through him.
“Let go!” I twisted, slamming my free palm into his chest. He staggered but didn’t release.
“You don’t get to walk away,” he growled, dragging me toward the couch. “Admit this is revenge. That you did this to hurt me.”
I kicked out, my pointed heel connecting with his shin. He grunted, grip loosening just enough for me to wrench free. I stumbled back, knocking into the coffee table. A photo frame crashed to the floor—our wedding picture, glass spiderwebbing across our smiling faces.
We both froze for a heartbeat, staring at it.
Then Mark’s shoulders slumped. The fight drained out of him like air from a punctured tire. He looked… small. Pathetic.
“I loved you,” he whispered. “I still do. I fucked up, okay? I know I fucked up. But we can fix this. For Luna. For us.”
I laughed. It came out harsh and broken. “You don’t get to say that now. While I was here breaking myself to keep this family together, you asked me to disappear and made my daughter hate me.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not in front of him.
“I want a divorce,” I said. “I want custody. And I want you to stay the hell away from us until you’re sober and stable. Unlock the damn door, Mark. Or I swear to God, I’ll scream until the neighbors call the police.”
He stared at me like I’d slapped him again. Then slowly, he reached into his pocket.
The key glinted in his palm.
For a second, hope flickered—maybe he’d actually do the right thing.
Then he clenched his fist around it.
“No,” he said softly. “You’re staying. We’re talking this out. Like adults.”
I felt a cold shiver of dread. I realized then that I should have paid more attention to Gladys when she told me Mark was not in the right state of mind. He wasn't just sad. He was unhinged. His ego was not ready to accept this reality, and that made him dangerous.
I realized I was still clutching my bag. I hadn't even noticed I was holding it. My fingers dove inside, and I managed to grab my phone. I tried to pull it out, but Mark noticed the movement immediately.
"You want to call him?" he barked.
Before I could react, he snatched the phone from my hand and flung it across the room. It hit the wall and shattered into pieces. He lunged for me again, his hands grabbing my waist and dragging me back toward the hallway.
"This is your home!" he screamed into my ear. "I own you. I own your damn pussy, Freya!"
My mind was a jagged mess. I struggled and clawed at his arms, but it was all in vain. He was too heavy, and I was losing my strength. Just as I thought about surrendering to the dark, the front door exploded with a loud bang.
The door splintered as it was kicked off its hinges. A guy walked in wearing a loose white T-shirt. Both Mark and I froze in shock. I stared at the man, trying to see if I had ever seen his face before, but my mind was too blurred to know.
In three giant strides, the person was on us. He flung Mark off me with a strength that was terrifying. Mark hit the floor and tried to scramble back up, but the man reached out and struck a heavy blow to the side of Mark's neck.
Mark went limp instantly. He passed out before he even hit the carpet.
"Ohhhhh!" I screamed. I was already shaking so hard I could barely stand.
Then someone else walked into the room. This time it was Steve.
“Steve,” I muttered.
He didn't say a word at first. He just stood there looking at everything. He looked at the broken glass. He looked at the blood on my face. He looked at the shattered wedding photo. His face was a mask of cold fury. He stepped toward me and held my hand firmly to get me out of that place.
I let him lead me. I just wanted to be gone. But then a sound tore through the quiet that made me shriek in pure terror.
The first guy in the white T-shirt didn't follow us. He stayed behind. He reached into the back of his jeans and hooked out a gun. He stood over Mark's unconscious body and pointed the barrel directly at his head.
“Nooo.”