Chapter 65 65
Freya pov
"Someone else is watching, Steve," I said, my voice rising a bit.
"Who is it?
"Who is the audience for this show?"
Steve opened his mouth to reply, but a booming voice from the speakers cut him off. A man in a tailored suit had taken the microphone on stage.
"Lila is a rare soul," the man began, his voice booming through the hall. "She is an amazing creator for our children. She brings joy to the youngest generation. To think we almost lost her… her death would have been a pain felt for generations to come. She is a treasure."
I felt a sharp, sickening twist in my stomach. I stared at her, my breath cut. This was the same Lila who had whispered lies into my daughter’s ear. The same Lila who had manipulated a child to get to her father.
Then, a woman stepped up to the mic, her eyes misty. "Lila’s heart is her greatest gift. She cares so deeply for the innocent. We are so blessed she is still with us."
I gripped the railing of a nearby cocktail table. My heart is beating against my ribs. I had always told myself that fighting Lila over Mark was beneath me. A man isn't a piece of paper; he can’t be "snatched" unless he wants to go. Mark had made his choice, and I had accepted that long ago. But hearing these people rain praise on her for being a "guardian of children"? That was a lie I couldn't swallow.
She had nearly ruined Luna for me. She had used my own flesh and blood as a pawn in her sick game with my ex-husband.
"Now I understand my role," I thought. I didn't say it out loud, but the realization was a cold, steady flame in my chest.
I let go of the table. Without looking at Steve, I began to walk.
I moved past him, my heels clicking rhythmically against the marble. I finally understood why this dress was necessary. It wasn't just a dress; it was a statement of power. As I moved through the crowd, the emerald fabric caught every light in the room. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. The sheer presence of the dress was a head-turner, carving a path through the elite guests until I reached the base of the stage.
The media noticed me first. The lenses shifted away from Lila, the flashes becoming a strobe light that followed my every step.
Lila’s eyes landed on me. She gasped, her body jerking back as if I had struck her. She actually stumbled, her hand catching the edge of the podium to keep from falling. She looked at the host, her eyes wide with panic, silently begging him to stop me. She reached out to grab the microphone, but I moved with a speed I didn't know I possessed.
I stepped onto the stage, my hand closing around the mic before she could touch it.
The silence in the hall was absolute. Every eye was on me. I looked toward the back of the room and caught Steve’s gaze. He was watching, perfectly still. I turned back to the crowd, my voice steady.
"Hello, everyone," I said. "I wanted to take a moment to greet Lila. Escaping death is a heavy thing. It changes a person."
I turned my head slightly to look at her. She was trembling under her makeup.
"I’ve heard a lot tonight about what a 'survivor' Lila is. And I wanted to speak on what I know about this survivor, and the 'good' she has done for me."
I paused, letting the tension stretch until it felt like it would snap.
"This survivor killed my home," I said.
The words rang out with lethal clarity. The media rushed forward, the clicking of cameras sounding like gunfire.
"This survivor almost killed my child," I continued, my voice growing colder. "Just to find a way into my ex-husband’s heart, she used my daughter. It was fake love. It was manipulation of the worst kind."
Lila’s mouth hung open, but no words came out. The crowd began to murmur, a low, chaotic sound that filled the room.
"She speaks of children and joy," I said, looking back at the cameras. "But what she did was ensure my home was shattered. She led me down a road where I was broken. She led me to a place where I was... tempted."
I looked at Steve as I said the word. He didn't move, but a slow, dark smile spread across his face.
"So yes, she survived," I finished. "But the truth is finally breathing, too."
By the time I stopped speaking, the hall was in an uproar. The murmurs had turned into loud, shocked conversations. I looked back at Lila one last time. Victor was standing near her in the wings. He caught my eye and gave me a subtle, sharp wink—a "well done" that only I could see. Lila looked utterly broken, her mask completely shattered.
I didn't wait for a reaction. I turned and walked to the edge of the stage. Steve was already there, standing at the final step. He didn't say a word; he just held out his hand.
I took it. His grip was firm and protective. As we walked toward the exit, I felt a strange, deep sense of fulfillment. I had never realized how much I needed to say those words until they were out in the air.
The guests stepped aside, clearing a wide path for us. We walked out with our heads held high, leaving the chaos behind. Behind us, I could hear the media swarming. They were no longer praising Lila; they were choking her with questions.
“Nice one”
By the time we reached the car, my legs felt heavy. Steve opened the door for me, and I slid into the back seat. The driver quickly got into the front and started the engine. I leaned back against the leather and let out a long, deep breath. I looked back at the hall one last time through the window and smiled. The lights were still flashing inside, but I was finally away from it.
As the car began to move, I turned my head to watch the city pass by. I told myself I should be happy. I had stood on that stage and told the truth. But as the car got quieter, my chest began to ache. I didn't mean to, but I felt a hot tear roll down my cheek. Then another one followed. I wasn't making a sound, but the tears kept dripping onto the green silk of my dress.
I felt a hand on my chin. Steve moved my face so I had to look at him. He saw the tears on my cheeks and narrowed his eyes.
"You are disobeying the rules again," he said. His voice was deep and very quiet.
I looked at him, my vision a bit blurry. "What rules?"
"You are bringing out tears the wrong way," he said. He didn't move his hand. "I did not tell you that you could cry."
I looked into his dark eyes. I felt a mix of sadness and a sudden spark of defiance. I didn't want him to talk about rules or the past anymore. I leaned toward him and gave a small smirk.
"Why can’t you just punish me instead?" I whispered. "And stop being so talkative."
Steve’s expression changed. His eyes got darker, and a small smile appeared on his face. He didn't say anything to me. Instead, he looked at the driver and spoke a few words in a language I didn't understand.
The driver immediately pulled the car over to the side of the road in a dark area. He put the car in park, opened his door, and stepped out. He walked a short distance away and stood with his back to us.
The car was silent and very warm. Steve reached out and pulled me toward him. He grabbed my waist and dragged me across the seat until my body was pressed hard against his.
"You want a punishment, Freya?" he asked, his breath hot against my ear. "Be careful what you ask for."