Chapter 64 64
FREYA POV
I watched them from a distance. Steve was standing close to Lila, looking down at her while they talked. A sharp, hot ball of anger sat in my chest. I wanted to storm out of the room right then.
I couldn’t wrap my head around what this party was even supposed to be. In my head, I’d mapped out a dozen scenarios—maybe Steve was parading me at a Mark company event just to flex his possession, to make Mark burn with jealousy. But a “Recovery Party”? Seriously? The absurdity of it made my skin crawl.
"I’m Victor. It’s nice we finally got to meet," a voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. It was the man who had physically steered me away from the center of the room moments ago.
I didn't even grant him the courtesy of a look. I kept my eyes fixed on the back of Steve’s head. "It is not nice to meet you. Why did you pull me away like that?"
Victor cleared his throat and glanced around the room, making sure no one was listening. "Because it is not your time to play your role yet," he said simply. Then, he just walked away.
Role? Am I a joke to these people? I’m standing here in a $500,000 dress just to be told I have a "role"? I looked around and saw people still whispering about my dress. Some women were giving me fake, tight smiles, while men were staring a bit too long.
A man in a flashy suit approached me. He had a smug look on his face.
"I don't think we've met. I’m Julian," a man in a flashy, over-tailored suit said, sliding into my personal space. He smelled of expensive cologne and desperation. He looked me up and down with a slow, predatory grin. "That dress is doing things for you, Are you here alone, sweetheart?"
Before I could snap at him to get lost, the air behind me turned cold. A shadow fell over us, heavy and suffocating. Steve appeared, his presence manifesting like a reinforced wall between me and the intruder.
"This is a recovery party," Steve said. His voice didn't rise, but it dropped to a frequency that made the floorboards seem to vibrate. "If you don't leave, yours might be a funeral."
The man’s face went pale. He froze for a second, then quickly tucked his business card toward me and stumbled away. I actually smiled for a second, even though I was still pissed off.
"You will soon have your role to play, Princess," Steve said, stepping up beside me. He didn't look at me, but I could feel the heat radiating off him.
My blood began to boil all over again. I turned to him, my voice a sharp whisper. "What stupid role are you talking about? I'm not an actress, Steve."
But before he could answer, the speakers buzzed. Lila was standing on the stage.
"Hello, everyone," Lila said into the mic. She thanked everyone for coming and started talking about her career. She even started crying, saying that if she had died, she was worried about who would continue the "kids' favorite show."
It was a farce. I hated being judgmental, but looking at her now, it felt like a cheap Broadway performance. Lila ended her speech by framing the party as a celebration of life, a way to say thanks for still being alive. Remarkably, she didn't utter a single word about the reason she was in the hospital. She didn't mention Mark stabbing her. Not once.
"I thought Mark stabbed her," I whispered to Steve, leaning in so only he could hear. My confusion was starting to outweigh my anger.
"You said Mark couldn't do that, so he didn't," Steve replied.
"So what is this then?"
Why the lies?"
"Anything to get attention, promotions, and pity views. Money," Steve said, his lip curling in a faint, cynical sneer. "So I assisted her by giving her this idea for a party."
I recoiled slightly, shocked. "Wait... you asked her to throw this party?"
"No, not directly me," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched the stage.
The party went on with music and drinks until the host took the mic again. "Now, is there anyone else who would like to say something about our celebrant?"
The moment the host said that, Steve leaned into me.
"It is finally your time," he said.
I blinked, my heart jumping into my throat. "Me?"
"Me?"
I whispered the word, but it felt like I had screamed it. I looked at Steve, my eyes wide with a mix of fear and pure confusion.
"Steve, what are you saying? I can’t go up there," I hissed, leaning closer so only he could hear me. "I’m in a five-hundred-thousand-dollar dress that I’m still dizzy from hearing the price of, my stomach is turning somersaults, and you want me to give a speech for her?"
I looked at the stage. Lila was still there, dabbing at her eyes with a silk tissue, looking like a fragile angel. The crowd was eating it up. It was the most disgusting performance I had ever seen. She was soaking in the pity, the fame, and the money, all while the truth was buried under her designer heels.
"Is there no one?" the host asked again, his voice echoing through the speakers. "No one has a word for our survivor?"
The silence in the room was getting heavy. People were looking around, waiting for a friend or a family member to step up. Lila’s smile was starting to look a little strained as the seconds ticked by.
I looked back at Steve, my breath coming in short, shallow gasps. "What 'role' is this, Steve? Victor said it wasn't my time to play my role, and now you’re pushing me toward a microphone? I don't understand any of this!"
I felt like a puppet. I was dressed up like a queen, but I felt like I was being moved around on a chessboard I couldn't see.
"Is this why I'm here?" I demanded, my voice trembling with a sudden rush of anger. "To be a prop in whatever game you and Victor are playing with her?"
Steve didn't look at the stage. He looked down at me, his expression dark and steady. He didn't seem bothered by my outburst. He just stood there, his hand resting firmly on the small of my back, a solid weight in the middle of all the chaos.
"It’s not a game, Freya," he said, his voice dropping to that low, vibrating tone. "It’s your time.
“You need to do this, because someone else is watching