Chapter 32 32
”FREYA POV
“What if I refuse?”
The words left my mouth, and a terrifying silence followed—a heavy, suffocating one.
My heart slammed hard against my ribs, loud enough I was sure he could hear it. But I didn’t look away. I forced myself to keep staring at him, waiting for the explosion.
He didn’t answer immediately; after another long silence, his eyes dragged down slowly to the diamond ring on my finger before crawling back up to my face. Then he smiled. I mean, a real dark smile.
“Go ahead and refuse,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
“What?” I blinked. “Go on, Freya… refuse.” He tilted his head slightly, watching me like he was actually enjoying this.
I felt completely thrown out.
God.
“Are you daring me?” I asked, my voice thin.
“Am I?”
He said while his eyes stayed fixed on me. I became completely speechless. I mean, he told me to go ahead, but why did it sound so scary? And more like a dare. A flat-out dare. He knew I had nowhere else to go, and he was rubbing it in my face ... but not only that, because even in this terrifying state—caught right between anger and fear—I hated that my body still reacted to him. There was this stupid heat spreading in my chest, a spark I couldn't shut off no matter how hard I tried.
I looked back at him and tried to say something. I mean something strong or bold. I really tried. But all that came out was a broken whisper.
“Monster.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “You are a monster.”
Even with that, he didn't flinch. His brow just rose, that dark, annoying smirk still tugging at his lips. He stretched out his hand, his voice returning to that cold "boss" tone that made my skin crawl.
“The car is waiting,” he said. “Let’s go home.”
“Home?” I managed to breathe out.
“Yes”
He moved closer to help me up, but I snapped his hand away. I didn’t want his help. I tried to stand on my own, but the second I put weight on my legs, my knees buckled. I felt myself falling; I didn't even hit the bed, and a hand grabbed me and scooped me up while my head snapped against his chest.
He didn’t say another word. He just grabbed my shoe and coat, draped them over me, and walked out of that hospital room. He kept a totally straight face—cold, hard, and focused—but my eyes? My eyes refused to let go. I kept looking up at him, staring into those storm-gray eyes of his. Every time I looked, that electric heat in my chest just got worse. It was a deep, pulsing ache that made me feel heavy and light all at once. It was a mess.
We got to the car, and this time it wasn't the flashy Bugatti. It was a massive black SUV. He opened the door and put me gently into the passenger seat, his hands lingering on my waist for just a second before he walked around to the driver's side.
The drive was a blur. I can't even describe the streets we passed because it was so hard to keep my eyes off him. I hated it. I hated how much space he took up, how his large hands gripped the steering wheel, and how he looked so damn calm while my world was upside down.
When we finally pulled up to the estate, I tried to get my act together. I reached for the door handle, wanting to show him I could walk on my own, but Steve was already there. He opened the door before I could even touch it and scooped me up again, not giving me a single inch of room to complain.
"Steve, I can walk—"
"Quiet, Freya," he muttered, his voice a low rumble against my ear.
As he headed inside, far off on the lawn, I caught a glimpse of Luna. She was sitting on a mat with Diana, playing with some toys. My heart leaped. I wanted to scream her name and run to her.
Diana noticed us first; she started to turn, but Steve caught her gaze. He immediately gave her a look—a silent command—that told her to keep Luna’s attention away from us, and Diana also blocked Luna's direction from seeing us.
"Luna! Steve, put me down; I need to go to her!" I struggled, trying to wiggle out of his grip.
But he didn't budge. He held me firmer, pulling me so close against his chest I could feel his heartbeat.
"Luna is fine," he said, his voice dropping into that possessive, dark tone that made my blood turn to liquid. "Right now, you’re doing exactly what I say. You’re going to rest like the doctor said. I didn’t bring you back here so you could run off. You belong in that bed until I say otherwise."
He didn't just sound like he was worried. He sounded like he was marking his word.
"She needs me," I whispered, my voice breaking.
"She needs a mother who isn't collapsing," he snapped, his eyes locking onto mine as we reached the top of the stairs. "And I need you healthy."
He carried me all the way to my room—his room, whatever
When we got inside, he placed me on the bed like I was something fragile. He didn't just drop me and leave; he stayed there, adjusting the pillows behind my head so I was comfortable.
He grabbed the remote for the air conditioner, clicking it until the room felt cool, then walked over to the wall and dimmed the lights—turned them low until the room felt soft and shadowy, like it was trying to hug me to sleep.
He straightened up. Looked at me for half a second—long enough that I felt it in my chest—then turned toward the door.
My throat closed up.
I knew I should just let him go. I should be glad for the space. But as I watched his shadow against the door, I found myself calling out to him before I could stop myself.
“Steve.”
He stopped. He didn’t turn around immediately, but then he slowly looked back at me, his face half-hidden in the shadows.
“Thank you,” I said.
I hated saying it. I really did. Everything was so messy, and I was still terrified of who he really was, but I couldn't just ignore this. No one had ever pampered me like this. No one had ever actually taken care of me without wanting something gross in return.
I looked away fast. Couldn’t hold his stare. My cheeks burned.
He didn’t move for a second. Just watch me.
Then he stepped back toward the bed—just one step. Close enough that I could smell him again.
His voice came out low. Rough. Almost gentle.
“You’re welcome, princess.”
He paused. Let the word hang there.
“But don’t thank me yet.”
He didn't wait for me to respond.
He turned.
Opened the door.
And stepped out.
The door clicked shut behind him.