"A gazelle and a lion can share a dance,

but they can never lie side by side."

Seth

Seth didn't know how to comfort anyone. He had never been comforted himself.

But every nerve in his body told him to hold her. So he did. His arms wrapped around Freya, pulling her into his warmth. He held her tightly, hoping it would be enough-because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't know what to say, how to make her feel better, or how to fix what was broken.

If it could even be fixed at all.

He wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep. All he knew was that her breathing had slowed, though the damp trail of tears still stained her cheeks. She had cried herself to sleep in his arms, and Seth couldn't bring himself to let go. Her warmth was grounding, soothing in a way he didn't understand, and a selfish part of him didn't want to let her go.

But he had to.

Freya didn't deserve to be held by the man who was destroying her world. She didn't deserve the warmth of his arms, not when he was the one causing her pain. The realization twisted something deep inside him, deeper than guilt-something closer to regret, or shame.

Carefully, he let his arms retreat from her. Freya shifted slightly, curling further into the duvet, her body seeking warmth even in her sleep. Seth swallowed hard and stood, his movements slow and quiet, as if he might disturb her. He moved to the window, sinking onto the bench beneath it.

He lifted the blinds just enough to see the night outside. The moon hung high, its light spilling into the room, catching on Freya's hair as she lay asleep in peaceful oblivion. Seth's eyes lingered on her for a moment, his chest tightening. Then he forced himself to turn back to the window. He didn't deserve to look at her. Not now.

A thought crept into his mind, unbidden but insistent: Wouldn't it be perfect if they could both get what they wanted? If they could both win?

But even he knew that was impossible. Horses and motorcycles didn't mix. He wasn't stupid. The sound of engines would terrify the animals, sending them into panic, spooking them into chaos. They'd bolt, injure themselves-or worse. The stable needed quiet. It needed peace. His motocross track couldn't coexist with that.

And yet, what was he supposed to do? Walk away? Give up his only chance to save his career? His dream? Racing had saved him more than once-dragged him out of a hell he couldn't escape on his own. Without it, there would be nothing left of him.

Seth turned away from the window, his hands bracing against the wall as the walls themselves seemed to close in on him. The air in the room felt too thick, too heavy. His whole life had been a fight. Fighting to escape, to survive, to prove that he was more than his past. Racing had been his savior-the only thing that made him feel alive.

And now he was supposed to give all of that up because Freya had a sad story? Because this stable meant as much to her as racing meant to him?

His jaw clenched as frustration surged through him. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair. Why the hell had he even bought this place? Why had he let himself get involved? Why had he let her get under his skin?

But even as the questions raged in his mind, he couldn't silence the echo of her trembling voice. The hitch in her breath as she'd sobbed, the way her shoulders had shaken when she'd finally broken in front of him. Freya had already lost so much-more than she ever should have. How could he take this from her, too?

Because you don't have a choice, the voice in his head sneered. This isn't just about a stupid track. If you walk away, you lose everything. Your future. Your life.

And that's what terrified him the most. Without racing, without his dream, what was left of him?

He didn't even know why he cared so damn much. Freya was nothing but a stubborn thorn in his side, a fierce, infuriating obstacle that refused to bend. And yet... the thought of seeing her break-watching that fire in her hazel eyes snuff out because of him-made him feel sick.

It made him feel like him.

Like Tom. Like his father, who'd crushed everything he touched and called it survival.

"Fuck this shit," Seth muttered under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.

For the first time in his life, he felt completely out of control. Hurtling toward a crash he couldn't see a way out of-and this time, there was no track to save him.

He couldn't find peace with his own torn thoughts. There was no point in trying to fix this. The only right thing to do was to not care.

He crawled back into bed, trying to slide under the duvet. But that was easier said than done when Freya clung to the duvet like it was hers alone. He grabbed a corner of it, carefully tugging it toward himself. But she was damned strong, even in her sleep-she wouldn't let the damn thing go.

Seth tugged harder this time, using more force. Finally, the duvet slipped from her grasp-but, of course, it woke her up.

"Uhm... what the fuck are you doing?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep, almost like she was drunk.

"You're hogging the whole duvet, and I'm freezing," he whispered back, sliding under the now-shared cover.

"Mmm, really? Cold, you say?" she murmured, her voice dipping into something softer, almost teasing. She wiggled her body closer to his. "Maybe I should warm you, then."

His heart stumbled at her words, the sound of her voice sliding through his veins like temptation.

"I'm fine now. I'm covered," he said, his voice low, controlled.

But Freya didn't stop. Her body shifted closer, her soft skin brushing against his. They were lying on their sides, facing each other, and her hand suddenly slid around the back of his neck, pulling him into her warmth.

"Freya, stop..." he whispered, his voice strained.

"Don't... please. Help me forget," she whispered back, her voice fragile in the darkness. "Help me be distracted."

His pulse started to pound, threatening to spiral out of control. His hand found her hip, brushing over the curve of it. Her face was so close now, her breath warm against his skin, and her grip on his neck tightened-an invitation he wasn't sure he could refuse.

But what was she doing to him? Was this her way of punishing him? Showing him what he couldn't have? Reminding him of what he was destroying?

His thoughts didn't have time to settle, not when her lips met his.

"Freya..." he murmured against her mouth, but she didn't care.

Her lips were fierce, tasting him with desperation, their warmth and wetness blending together. His hand on her hip gripped tighter, and her hand around his neck pulled him closer. Their chests, their stomachs-they pressed together, and he couldn't control the ragged breaths that escaped him. She felt so damn good against him, like their bodies had been made to fit together.

He'd never felt anything like this with anyone else.

Their tongues met, danced together in a rhythm that felt both reckless and inevitable.

His hand slid into her hair, his fingers tangling through the strands as he gently tugged. The temptation had long passed the point of no return. Now, he let himself fall into her embrace, letting her pull him under, drowning in her.

He didn't care. He didn't think about the consequences. The only thing that mattered was how good this felt, and how much more he wanted.

Seth moved his hands back to her hips, gripping her firmly as he shifted her beneath him. In one swift movement, he was towering over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress. She spread her legs, wrapping them around his waist, and he pressed his groin against hers. Her soft gasps and breathy sounds filled the space between them, spurring him on.

He lowered his lips to her neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses. Her skin was warm, and the faint scent of hay and vanilla clung to her, intoxicating him. His lips moved up to her face again, finding her mouth and reclaiming her kiss.

"We shouldn't," he murmured, his voice strained even as he kissed her again.

"Why not?" she whispered against his lips.

"It's not wise," he managed, though his lips didn't stop tasting hers.

"We're fucked anyway," she said, her breath quickening. "Let's enjoy the pleasure while we can."

Her words stirred something feral in him, breaking what little resistance he had left. His mouth trailed down to her chest, leaving heated kisses. Freya reached back, slipping her bra off and tossing it aside, leaving her bare skin exposed to him.

He cupped her breast, his palm firm but gentle, before his mouth replaced his hand. His tongue swirled around her hardened nipple, teasing it before he captured it in a wet, deliberate suck.

Having a part of her in his mouth was intoxicating. The taste of her, the way she moved beneath him-it sent a searing burn through his entire body.

She arched her back as his tongue brushed her skin, a sharp gasp escaping her lips. Her hands gripped the back of his neck, pulling his face back up to hers with a force that made his pulse race.

"I want you now," she murmured, her breaths heavy, her voice edged with need. "I want all of you."

A faint chuckle slipped from him, though his chest felt tight. "We have time, princess," he whispered, his voice low as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "No need to rush."

But even as the words left his mouth, a weight settled in his chest. He couldn't do this. As much as his body ached for her, as much as his mind screamed for more, he couldn't. His heart wasn't in it.

And that had never stopped him before.

But now it did. Seth knew-if he took her body when his heart wasn't with him, it would break him in ways he couldn't recover from. It would be the final crack in a foundation already crumbling.

Freya suddenly pushed him off with a sharp, irritated motion, turning her back to him with a huff.

"Princess," she muttered, her voice dripping with bitterness. "I am not a fucking princess, Seth."

His heart sank, the good burn in his chest replaced with something cold. "I-I didn't mean it like th-"

"Leave it," she snapped, her tone cutting through him. "I don't need you rejecting me. I don't need to feel any worse than I already do."

The words hit him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to speak, to explain, but nothing came out. How could he make her understand? He was only trying to protect her-her feelings, her heart, everything. He didn't want to make things worse, not when everything between them was already so fragile, so doomed.

But in her eyes, he was the bad guy again. The cruel man who couldn't even give her what she asked for.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he forced out, his voice strained and tight. His entire body was tense, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to steady himself.

Freya scoffed, shaking her head. "You don't need to worry about that. I figured you'd understand by now that I can handle the shit life throws at me," she said, her voice cold and distant.

"I never thought you'd look at me and see someone weak."

The words hit him harder than a punch to the gut. Weak? That wasn't what he saw at all.

But how could he make her believe that when he was too much of a pussy to say what she needed to hear?