Freya

"He's completely insane..."

Danielle ran her hand gently up Freya's arm—a soft, almost maternal touch, desperately trying to comfort her. But it was useless. The cold Caleb had instilled in her wasn't something that could be soothed away. It clung to her like a shadow, ever-present. As long as he was here, she couldn't escape him.

"He wants me to take him back," Freya choked out, her voice breaking with the weight of it.

Danielle's hand stilled, her expression darkening with a fierce determination. "Not while I'm here. I would never let you do that. I'd—I'd damn well kill him before that happened."

Her words burned with conviction, but Freya could only manage a hollow laugh in response. There was safety in Danielle's presence, yes, but Freya knew better than to depend on it too much. Danielle couldn't be by her side every minute of every hour, every day. Eventually, Freya would be alone again, and Caleb would find his moment.

"And I think... I think things might be worse now," Freya muttered, her words hesitant, barely above a whisper.

Danielle frowned. "How so?"

"I saw it in his eyes... the anger. The rage when he saw me with Seth. I'm scared that—"

"Seth can take care of himself," Danielle interrupted, her tone sharp. But Freya's gaze dropped to the ground, her unease unshaken.

Freya nodded absently, her mind already wandering, spiraling into thoughts she didn't want to confront. She glanced toward Nova, grazing peacefully nearby. The sight of her horse usually brought her comfort, but not now.

A fleeting but suffocating thought clawed its way into the back of her mind.

Maybe the best thing for her—and Nova—was to leave. To run away from all of this. Let Seth win. Let him destroy the stable. At least then she'd be free of Caleb. She could escape far, far away and never look back..

But no. No way.

The thought was there, heavy and tempting, but her heart and soul gripped it tightly and threw it out. She shook her head as if trying to physically rid herself of the idea. Was it really this bad? Was she really considering letting these men—these bastards—ruin her life? To scare her so much that she'd give up everything that mattered to her?

Her fists clenched at the thought, her nails biting into her palms. No. She wouldn't let them win. She wouldn't let them take everything from her. If she gave in, they'd destroy her completely.

The sound of Danielle standing broke the spiral of her thoughts. Freya blinked and quickly scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding as though she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice shakier than she intended.

"I have to get to work," Danielle said softly, her gaze flickering away, almost apologetic.

Freya frowned, her panic bubbling just beneath the surface. "But what about—damn it," she muttered, frustration and tension tightening her chest. "I can't hide in the house either. If I do, I'll break the contract with Seth."

Danielle hesitated for a moment before offering a suggestion. "Why don't you go meet him now? Isn't it your turn to ride the bike?"

Freya blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah, but I don't even know where he is..."

Danielle nodded toward the hay shed. "He's over there."

Freya followed her gaze and saw him—Seth, striding past the shed, heading toward them. In his hand, he carried a helmet and her leather riding gear.

Her stomach tightened instinctively. His pace was steady, deliberate, his expression unreadable. There was something about the way he moved that made her uneasy, like he was carrying more than just her equipment.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Who would have thought she'd actually feel grateful for the chance to ride his terrifying death machine instead of staying here, at the stable?

Danielle had just said her goodbyes when Seth approached them. He was wearing his black leather biker jacket and matching pants. He looked... fine as hell.

Freya hated that she noticed.

"Hey..."

The word caught in her throat.

She didn't know what to say—or if she even wanted to say anything at all. The temptation to stay silent was strong, because if she spoke, it would only bring more sharp, cutting words. And she still stood by what she had said the night before.

He was no better than Caleb.

With her ex-boyfriend, she could see it clearly—he was a psychopath, a man without empathy for others.

But Seth? Seth wasn't a psychopath. He had the capacity to feel, to care, and yet he was relentless in his determination to destroy her and her world.

So she stayed silent.

Seth's eyes narrowed slightly, as if he could feel the weight of her unspoken words. He held out the helmet and gear without a word, his expression unreadable, yet something about his stillness unnerved her.

Freya hesitated, then reached for the gear. The moment her fingers brushed against his, a spark of tension rippled between them—hot and sharp, leaving her breathless.

She froze, caught off guard by the sensation, her pulse quickening against her will.

What the hell was that?

Her jaw tightened as she snatched the gear out of his hand, the contact leaving an uncomfortable warmth on her skin. It was infuriating. How could she feel anything other than rage toward him? He was destroying her world piece by piece, and yet—

Her gaze flickered to his face, his features calm, unreadable, yet unshakably steady. There was something maddening about how sure of himself he seemed, like he had already won.

No, she thought. This wasn't attraction. It couldn't be. It was anger. Frustration. Nothing more.

"I hope you're ready," he said, his voice low and deliberate, breaking the silence.

Freya glared at him, hating the way his words settled into her chest, the way they stirred something she didn't want to feel. Without waiting for her response, he turned and strode toward the bike, his movements calm but brimming with purpose.

Her heart raced, her mind spiraling with a thousand emotions she couldn't untangle. Anger, resentment, fear—and something she didn't want to name.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus. This wasn't about him. This ride wasn't just an escape—it was a reminder. Of everything she was fighting to keep, and everything she couldn't afford to lose.