Freya

"This is the nicest fucking thing I've ever done for you. Never forget that," Freya hissed in Danielle's ear as they followed Seth toward his big, white house.

"I can't believe you made me do this," she muttered, her voice dripping with resentment. Danielle didn't respond, offering nothing but a sly smile.

"I'm never going to forgive you for this," Freya snapped again, her pulse quickening with every step closer to the house.

"Don't be ungrateful. You get to live rent-free, stay close to Nova and your work. Stay close to your life," Danielle retorted sharply.

"And how long is that going to last, huh? He's going to throw us out. You know that," Freya shot back, throwing Danielle a sharp look.

"You know what? I'm so fucking tired. I'm so fucking scared of what's coming next. You almost fucking died tonight, Freya. And I don't even own a toothbrush or underwear right now. I've got nothing. I almost lost you. If money is one less thing I need to worry about, I'll take the risk of living under the same roof as Seth," Danielle snapped, her eyes blazing.

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I won't mention it again," Freya said softly.

Danielle had never cursed at Freya like this before, and Freya decided not to push her further.

Still, her stomach churned with nausea as Seth opened the front door for them.

"Welcome," he said, extending one arm toward the hallway. Their eyes met—his were bright, paired with a grin to match. Hers, on the other hand, wore a sour expression, and she knew her eyes betrayed nothing but irritation.

They stepped into the hallway and continued into the living room. The rooms were spacious, but as she already knew, they were nearly empty. Barely any furniture, and certainly no decorations or personal touches. The house was old, but the walls and wooden floors carried a rustic charm.

The three of them stood by the beige sofa in the living room. It was a nice sofa, but not particularly large.

"You can sleep here, Danielle. There's a blanket you can use," Seth said, offering her a faint smile.

"Thank you so much, Seth. Really," Danielle said, sinking into the sofa. "This day... I'm completely drained. If it's okay, I think I just want to sleep," she added, rubbing her hands over her face.

"Of course," Freya said, walking over to her and placing a kiss on the crown of her head. "See you tomorrow."

Freya followed Seth up the stairs to the second floor. For some reason, her pulse was annoyingly fast, as if she were nervous. Maybe she was. She'd never imagined herself under the same roof as him, in his personal space. The whole situation was awkward, to say the least.

"Can I use the shower? I need to wash off the smell of smoke, and honestly, nothing sounds better than feeling the water wash over me—washing this night away," Freya said.

Seth turned to her. "Of course, the bathroom's here," he said, opening the door to the room in the hallway they were standing next to.

She peeked inside, surprised by how nice the bathroom was.

She stepped into the bathroom and was immediately enveloped by its rustic charm. The warm, honey-toned wood dominated the space, covering the walls and ceiling in rich, natural textures. A large, clear-glass shower stood in one corner, framed with stone tiles that added a touch of rugged elegance. The vanity, with its smooth white countertop and wooden drawers, held neatly folded towels.

Nothing in the world was more tempting than stepping into that shower and staying there forever.

Seth had disappeared while she'd been studying the bathroom. She peeked her head out into the hallway.

"Seth?"

"Yeah?" she heard from farther down the corridor.

"I have nothing," she said, biting her lip the moment the words slipped out.

He came back into the hallway, dressed in gray sweatpants and a tight black t-shirt.

"What do you need?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"Uh, well... a t-shirt, and you don't happen to have an unused toothbrush lying around, do you?" she asked, giving him an awkward smile.

Deep down, all she felt was irritation, but part of her couldn't bring herself to be rude to him—not after he'd literally saved her life a few hours ago. She wasn't heartless, after all.

Seth stepped into the bathroom and actually found a toothbrush still sealed in plastic in the cabinet.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

"Of course you have one. Never know when you might get company," she muttered to herself, even though she had promised herself to contain her rudeness.

"What was that?" he asked, and her eyes widened.

"Nothing. T-shirt?" she said quickly, and he left the bathroom.

"Oh, and by the way, I don't have underwear either," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

He didn't respond, but a moment later, he returned with an oversized white t-shirt and a pair of black boxer shorts.

He handed her the clothes, and when their hands met, their eyes did too. But there was something different about his gaze. Softer. Maybe even humble. She couldn't tell.

Breaking the eye contact, she took the clothes, shut the door, and locked it.

She desperately needed cold water to wash everything away.

Standing in front of the mirror, wrapped in a towel, Freya barely recognized her own reflection. Her eyes looked exhausted, tired. She bit her lip gently, her hands tightening into fists.

It had been a lot lately. Too much.

The last few weeks had taken a toll on her, and it felt like she could barely remember what her life had been like before Seth walked into the stable on that first day. Before everything changed.

She opened the cabinet and found a men's deodorant. Maybe it wasn't entirely appropriate, but the thought of going without deodorant was even less appealing. She put some on, and of course, it smelled like him.

She pulled on the boxer shorts. They were... uncomfortable. But also weirdly comfortable.

Freya reached for the t-shirt, but before she could pull it over her head, she brought it to her face, inhaling deeply.

Why the hell did she just do that?

And why the hell did it smell so insanely good?

She tiptoed out of the bathroom, assuming he might have fallen asleep. The shower had been comforting, keeping her in it far longer than she'd planned. But he must have heard her footsteps, because he stepped out of a room.

"Where am I supposed to sleep?" she asked, brushing one hand over her arm.

"Here," he said, walking back into the room he'd just come out of.

What the hell?

She followed him and peeked her head inside—the room was his.

His bedroom.

"You're kidding, right?" she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

He scoffed. "No, I'm not kidding," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I can't sleep here, Seth," she hissed. "You said you had plenty of beds for us." Her heart started pounding harder and faster as her jaw clenched at what she'd just learned.

"No, I said I had plenty of space for you. I have one sofa and one bed," he said calmly. And the calmer he was, the more her irritation grew.

"For fuck's sake, I can't deal with this. You don't even have a king-sized bed?" she snapped, her fists tightening at her sides. "Why the hell couldn't Danielle and I share the bed while you take the sofa?"

"Why should I take the sofa? Haven't I been kind enough, offering you a place to stay?" he said, completely unfazed by her outburst.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the adrenaline surging through her veins. "You can sleep on the floor," she said, her tone just as calm.

"Are you stupid?" he asked, shooting her a sharp glare.

"I've never been more serious in my life," she snapped. "Ahh, Seth, please. Can you just fix this?"

He stood abruptly, taking a step closer to her. His height towered over her as he looked down, his gaze hard.

"What the fuck do you want me to do, huh? Believe me, Freya, this isn't what I want either. You're a fucking pain in the ass, always thinking about yourself and no one else. But I'll admit this much—I feel a shred of guilt. I shouldn't have screwed up the contract, but that's who I am. That's why I offered you and Danielle a place to stay. But if you'd rather blow tens of thousands on a hotel, be my guest. I couldn't care less," he said, his glare burning into hers.

Freya went silent, her face tightening with tension as his words settled over her. The muscles in her jaw clenched, and her eyes burned, threatening to release something she refused to let him see. She was so damn tired. So damn done.

Seth stepped away from her and pulled off his t-shirt. Freya spun around so fast she surprised even herself.

"For God's sake, give me a warning first," she hissed over her shoulder.

"Stop being so uptight, Freya. It doesn't suit you," he said, and she heard the sound of him pulling off his sweatpants before settling into the bed.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the image of his abs now burned into her memory.

She turned back toward the bed. Seth was lying on the far side, near the wall, scrolling on his phone. She shook her head lightly. How the hell had she ended up here?

"Fine," she muttered, taking a step closer to the bed. Her gaze landed on the single duvet covering Seth.

"Can I at least have a blanket?" she asked.

"Sure. Just head downstairs and grab the one your best friend's using," he replied, not even glancing up from his phone.

She let out a sharp, ironic scoff. "You only own one fucking blanket?" she snapped, feeling the adrenaline surge through her again.

"What the fuck do I need more for?" he snapped back, still not bothering to look at her.

Now it was getting harder to hold back the tears. Her frustration threatened to consume her entirely.

"Don't be so difficult, Freya. Just get in bed," he said, his voice low and hard.

And then, finally, his eyes locked on hers. For a moment, the weight of his gaze made her stomach twist in a way that infuriated her. She froze, her pride screaming at her not to back down.

But she turned off the light anyway, plunging them into darkness.

She yanked back the duvet and slid under it, her movements jerky and stiff. The mattress dipped as she carefully edged herself as far away from him as possible, practically dangling off the side.

"You should be grateful I have two pillows," his voice cut through the dark, smug and sharp. "And why the hell do you smell like a guy?"

"I used your soap and deodorant," she muttered and turned her back to him, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"That's fucking weird," he said flatly.

"You're fucking weird," she snapped back.

The tension between them pulsed like a vein. Every tiny sound—the rustle of fabric, his breath, the creak of the bed—felt magnified, suffocating.

She had trouble lying still.

"Relax, Freya," he said, his voice closer now, sharper. "You're acting like I'm about to jump you."

She whipped her head toward him, though she couldn't see anything in the dark. "Trust me, Seth, that thought never even crossed my mind," she hissed.

"Good," he shot back, his tone colder than before.

The bed shifted, and she felt the weight of him moving closer—closer than he needed to be. Her breath hitched, and she hated how obvious it sounded.

"What's your problem now?" he muttered, his voice low but edged with frustration.

"You're in my space," she bit out, her fists clenching around the duvet.

"Your space?" he scoffed. "This is my bed."

Her jaw tightened, her heartbeat drumming in her ears. "You could've just slept on the couch," she said, her voice quieter but still shaking with anger.

"And let you and Danielle take over my house?" he snapped, his words sharper now. "I've already done more than enough for you tonight, Freya. Or did you forget that part?"

His words hit harder than she wanted to admit. Her lips parted to throw something back at him, but the mattress shifted again, and this time, his knee brushed against her leg.

She flinched like she'd been shocked, yanking her leg back. "Stay on your side."

"I am on my side," he snapped.

"Well, stay farther away, then," she muttered.

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. The bed was too small, the space between them nonexistent. She could feel his presence—the warmth radiating off him, the sound of his breathing far too close to her ear.

Her pulse quickened, and she hated the way her body betrayed her.

"Goodnight, Freya," he finally said, his voice softer but no less infuriating.

Her nails dug into the pillow as she muttered, "Fuck off, Seth."

He let out a low, humorless chuckle, and the sound sent a ripple of heat down her spine.