Chapter 49 49
FREYA POV
The way Steve asked that question, combined with the way he is looking at me now, makes me want to start explaining myself immediately. I need him to know it’s not that I’m worried about Mark; it’s just that everything feels so heavy, so uncertain.
"You don't have to be worried," Steve said.
"Hmmm," I let out, the sound vibrating in my dry throat. "I shouldn't be worried."
I never expected him to shut the conversation down so bluntly. I looked back at him, the silence between us stretching, and decided to use this as an opening to push. If I wasn't allowed to worry, then I deserved to know what he was hiding.
"Why can’t you just tell me everything then?" I asked.
"No," he said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous crawl that made the hair on my arms stand up. "I would love for you to watch everything instead."
"Watch?" The word felt like a trap.
I felt my brain begin to spin. I watched his lips move, trying to process why that sounded so terrifying. It shouldn't have been scary, but with that small, dark smirk playing on his face, my mind went to dark places. Was he talking about a slow way to ruin Mark? Was I going to have to watch Mark’s life get dismantled piece by piece?
Before I could spiral further, my eyes landed on one thing: the phone he was holding.
That phone would have everything I was looking for. I felt like everything I needed to know would be right there on that device. But I know Steve. Requesting to check his phone is the kind of thing that sounds easy but is actually the hardest task of all. If I wanted the truth, I was going to have to use my brain and find another way.
"Goodnight, Freya."
His voice snapped me back to reality. He didn't wait for a reply or a "goodnight" back. He just turned and walked away, leaving me standing frozen in the middle of the living room.
I eventually found my way back to our room, but sleep was a ghost I couldn’t catch. It was indeed a long night. I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling and listening to the silence of the house. Leaving the cottage felt like leaving a memory I desperately wanted to hold onto—a fragile peace we had built in the middle of a storm. I had genuinely thought that getting back home would help us build something new and solid.
But "Hell Mark" had followed us back. He had become like sand in my rice—unseen at first, but impossible to ignore once you take a bite, ruining the entire meal.
I tossed and turned, my mind looping back to Steve’s phone. I needed to find out the truth. If I didn't want to just sit and wait to "watch" the worst happen, I had to act. For Luna’s sake, I couldn't be a spectator. It would be too hard to watch Mark be destroyed, not out of pity for him, but because of what that darkness would do to me—and my daughter.
The next morning, the gray light of dawn filtered through the curtains. I reached out a hand, expecting to feel the warmth of my daughter, but the space beside me was cold. Luna was not by my side; she had clearly woken up before me.
I dragged myself to the bathroom to wash up, moving like a sleepwalker. As I splashed cold water on my face and looked into the mirror, my breath hitched. There it was—the bite mark. The hickey I had gotten from him back at the cottage was still there, a vivid, bruised reminder of the passion we had shared just a day ago.
I smiled softly and walked out of the bathroom. I pulled on a short jumpsuit and stepped out of the room to look for Luna.
Naturally, the first place I checked was Diana’s room. I gave a soft knock, but when I pushed the door open, the space was empty. The bed was perfectly made, and the morning air felt still. They must be outside, I thought.
Walking through the hallway, my mind drifted toward our routine. Luna needed to get back to school soon. Ever since she was brought here, it had been an endless cycle of fun and distraction. While it was nice to see her so happy and carefree, I knew she needed to get back to her life soon—but I also knew I couldn't wait any longer for answers.
"Are you looking for Luna?"
Nana’s voice came from the end of the corridor, startling me.
"Good morning, Nana," I said, offering a small, respectful bow as I greeted her.
Nana smiled kindly, though her eyes were sharp. She informed me that Diana had left early this morning to sort out some urgent business.
"So, where is Luna?" I asked, my maternal instincts kicking in.
Nana gestured toward the East Wing. "She's in the training hall."
I headed in that direction, my heart light yet curious. Even though I knew Luna’s safety was guaranteed within these walls, I couldn't help but wonder what she was up to at this hour. Usually, she’d be pestering someone for breakfast or playing with her dolls.
I hadn't even caught sight of her when her voice drifted down the hall. She let out a playful, high-pitched scream. "Run! You have to run faster!"
When I finally reached the entrance, I froze. The room was a massive training hall, filled with mats and equipment. In the center of it all were Luna and Steve. My little girl was draped in oversized gear, focused intensely as she swung her small fists at a heavy bag that Steve was holding steady for her.
I watched from the doorway, a sudden, selfish surge of joy washing over me. For a fleeting second, I pictured them just like this—a father and a daughter, a complete unit with no shadows of the past. In that mental picture, Mark didn't exist. It was just us.
But reality quickly pulled me back. It wasn't that easy. Luna was a smart little girl, far too perceptive for her age. She deserved to know the truth eventually—why her "Daddy" was being replaced by "Uncle Hulk," and why her world had shifted so violently.
I moved to step into the room, my foot hovering over the threshold, but I stopped midway. A sudden realization hit me: Steve was occupied. Diana was gone. Nana was busy.
This was it. This was my opportunity.
Just as I was about to retreat, Luna’s head snapped toward the entrance. I ducked back behind the doorframe, pressing my back against the wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. I held my breath, waiting for the sound of her voice to return to the punching bag.
"Steve's room," I whispered.