Chapter 6

Before Freya could say a word, Francis stormed in with a dark expression, the air around him radiating cold fury.

"Freya! Did you leak this to the internet?"

Freya rose to her feet, instinctively positioning herself between him and the hospital bed.

"Francis, let's talk outside."

In the corridor, Francis's eyes were as dark as ink.

There was a time when he looked at her with an unspoken dependence, subtle but always present.

She couldn't pinpoint when that had changed—when his gaze had turned to nothing but cold indifference.

Not that it mattered anymore.

"What did you want to say to me?"

Francis faltered at the question. He had expected her to mock him, to be defiant.

He hadn't expected her to be this calm.

Something sharp twisted in his chest.

His voice softened without him realizing it. "Freya, I was impulsive—I'll admit that. But you should never have exposed this online. I can handle the backlash, but Chloe can't."

"She's fragile. When she saw the comments today, she tried to kill herself."

"To control the narrative, you need to record a video clearing this up!"

Freya couldn't believe what she was hearing. He wanted her to publicly declare that her master was a rapist? That would destroy her more than death itself.

"Francis, he was your master too!"

Francis's fingers twitched, but the image of Chloe dragging a razor across her wrist hardened his resolve. "If you won't cooperate, then wait for those photos from when you were eighteen to go public."

Freya's mind went blank. Ice crawled from her feet to the top of her skull, spreading through every limb.

When she was eighteen, she had given herself to Francis as a gift.

The teenage Francis, ears flushed red, had wanted her all night long, as if he could never get enough. Afterward, he suggested they record it.

To capture our first time together, he'd said. It's too special not to remember.

What had once been precious was now a blade aimed at her throat.

"You'd really go that far? Francis, I regret ever giving myself to you."

As Freya brushed past him, he grabbed her wrist.

"Freya..."

She wrenched free, her voice cold as frost. "You're asking me to do something inhuman. Never."

Francis watched her walk away, and something inside him hollowed out.

It's fine, he told himself. He'd already decided—once he smoothed things over with Chloe, he'd cut ties with her for good.

Freya was easier to win back than Chloe anyway. A little sweet-talking, like before, and they'd be back to normal.

That same day, intimate photos of Freya shot to the top of the trending searches.

The online mob pivoted from Chloe to Freya in an instant.

But strangely, the post stayed up for only thirty seconds before vanishing from every platform.

The name Freya Gilbert was like a pebble tossed into a lake—it sent out a few ripples, then sank to the bottom, never to resurface.

When Freya stepped out of the hospital, she spotted a sleek black Maybach parked by the curb. She hesitated for a moment, then opened the door.

"Thank you."

Kieran stubbed out his cigarette and reached over to pinch her cheek.

"Thanking me? Since when are we that formal?"

Freya lowered her eyes. Didn't he care about what people were saying online?

Kieran seemed to read her mind. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "My only regret is not meeting you sooner. But it doesn't matter now—the rest of your life belongs to me."

"Come on. Let me show you our home."

Freya nodded, resting her head against the window as the scenery blurred past.

Before leaving, she had given Francis one last gift.

She wondered what he'd think when he found out the seven moles on Chloe's back had been tattooed on by hand.