Seth

He slammed the door so hard the sound cracked through the empty courtyard. The sharp echo carried into the stillness of the morning, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything except getting away from the storm raging in his head. His boots crushed the gravel as he stalked toward the motorcycle. The air was cold, sharp, biting at his skin, but it wasn't enough to cool him down.

Freya's voice was still there, slicing through him like shards of glass. Her words, her fury—they clung to him like a second skin, suffocating, inescapable. And then his own words. He hated himself for them. Hated her for pushing him there. He hadn't meant to go that far, hadn't meant to say those things about Caleb. But he had. He'd seen the way her face had shattered, the flicker of something he couldn't name before she turned cold. The memory made his chest ache, but he pushed it down. He didn't have the time or energy to sit with it now.

He reached for the motorcycle, jaw tight, when the sound of tires on gravel pulled him up short. A truck rumbled into the courtyard, the engine grumbling low and steady. Seth stilled. His stomach turned cold.

Tom.

The truck rolled to a stop beside him, and Seth let his hand drop. His helmet hung loose in his grip as he stood there, watching the door creak open. No greeting. No words. No hesitation. Tom climbed out with the quiet, deliberate movements of someone who knew he didn't need to say a damn thing to make his presence known. On the truck's bed, two of Seth's dirt bikes were strapped down tight. The sight made Seth's gut twist. Tom never left things unsaid. He delivered his messages loud and clear.

Tom walked straight to him, his boots crunching over the gravel, and grabbed Seth by the back of the neck. The grip was rough, firm, too tight to pull away from. Seth's body stiffened, his instincts screaming at him to shove the hand away, but he didn't move. He let Tom drag him forward, pulling him across the yard toward the hay shed. The grip didn't loosen, didn't falter, not even when they passed the entrance.

Inside, Tom released him with a shove. Seth stumbled, his shoulder hitting the wall hard enough to scrape through his jacket. The sharp pain jolted through him, but he stayed quiet. He turned, his heart hammering against his ribs as he faced the man who had loomed over him his entire life.

"You've got some fucking nerve," Tom said, his voice low, calm, the kind of calm that carried more threat than a shout ever could. "Dragging me out here for this."

Seth straightened, rolling his shoulders back. "I didn't drag you anywhere. I didn't ask you to come."

Tom tilted his head, a sneer curling at the corner of his mouth. "Didn't ask?" He took a slow step forward, closing the already narrow space between them. "You think this is a game, boy? You think you've got this under control?" His voice sharpened, cutting through the shed. "You don't answer calls. You don't respond to emails. You don't show up to meetings, and you think you're running the fucking show?"

"I've still got time," Seth said, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. He crossed his arms over his chest, the posture more shield than confidence. "The contract is airtight."

Tom's laugh was sharp, short, and humorless. "Time? Time is a luxury you don't fucking have." He gestured to the barn, to the stable grounds beyond. "You've been sitting on your ass, pretending this place is some kind of sanctuary, and you think the investors are going to let you play house here? They gave you a deadline, and it's today. You start tearing this place down, or you lose everything. Everything."

Seth's mouth felt dry, the weight of his father's words pressing against his chest. He felt his arms tighten against himself, felt his body stiffen under the scrutiny of Tom's gaze. "The contract with Freya," he said slowly, carefully, "is airtight. She doesn't stand a chance. The stable was never legally mine to give her. The contract is in the name of the company."

Tom's eyes didn't soften. If anything, the coldness in them deepened. "And you think that matters? You think your clever little tricks are going to save you? This isn't about Freya. This is about you doing your goddamn job."

Seth clenched his jaw. His pulse pounded in his ears, but he forced himself to stay still. To hold his ground.

Tom moved fast. His hand snapped back to Seth's neck, the grip harder, pulling him forward with enough force to strain his shoulders. "You think you can screw me over?" he hissed, his breath hot against Seth's ear. "You think you can fuck up everything I've built because you can't follow orders?"

Seth didn't answer. His body locked under the weight of the words, under the grip that refused to loosen.

"You've got one last chance," Tom said, his voice dropping lower. "Tear it down today, or you're finished. For good."

The blow came without warning. Tom's fist collided with Seth's face, the impact reverberating through his skull. Pain exploded across his nose, sharp and blinding, and blood spilled instantly, dripping down his lips and onto his shirt. He stumbled back, catching himself against the wall, his vision blurring.

Tom stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the space between them. "You think this is a joke?" he shouted, his voice filling the shed. He raised his fist again, and Seth flinched, his arms coming up too late. The second hit knocked him to the ground. His head snapped back against the floor, and the taste of blood filled his mouth.

"You think you can play me?" Tom stood over him, his chest heaving, his fists clenched. Seth didn't answer. He couldn't. Blood pooled in his mouth, and he spit to the side, his arms trembling as they tried to push him upright.

"What the fuck is going on here?"

The voice rang out, sharp and angry. Seth forced his head up, his vision still blurred. Freya stood in the doorway, her eyes blazing.

Tom turned to her, his sneer spreading into something cruel. "Ah, so you're the bitch who thinks this place is hers."

Seth pushed himself to his feet, his body swaying. He stepped in front of Freya, blocking her from Tom's view. "Don't," he said with a warning tone.

Tom ignored him. His gaze stayed fixed on Freya. "Did he tell you?" Tom asked, tilting his head, his smile sharp. "About the bet? About how it doesn't mean a damn thing?"

"What?" Freya said, her voice sharp but trembling.

Tom smirked. "It's worthless. Even if you win, you lose. The stable was never his to give. You've been wasting your time."

Freya turned to Seth, her eyes wide, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Is that true?" she asked, her voice quiet, trembling.

Seth opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"Is it true?" she demanded.

"Yes," he finally whispered. 

Her face fell, her shoulders sagging under the weight of his answer. She didn't cry. She didn't yell. She just looked at him like he was a stranger, like she didn't know him at all.

"Freya—" he started, his voice cracking, but she cut him off with a sharp glare. "Don't. Don't you fucking dare."

She turned and walked away. Seth stared after her, frozen, the words he wanted to say caught in his throat.

Tom clapped him on the back, the force of it jolting Seth out of his daze. "Too bad. She might've been a good fuck," Tom said with a grin that made Seth's stomach twist.

"Get it done," Tom added, his tone flat, final, as he walked away.

Seth stood there, blood dripping onto the floor, and let the silence swallow him whole.