Elena arrived within hours. The moment she received Freya's call, she booked the first flight. After a month apart, she practically tackled her best friend in a hug.

"Freya!"

Freya's guarded expression softened as she returned the embrace.

"About time you showed up."

They caught up on the couch, but as they prepared to leave, Elena couldn't shake her guilt.

"God, I'm so sorry about this mess. I never should have told him where you were. What was I thinking?"

Freya squeezed her shoulder.

"Don't beat yourself up. If you hadn't told him, Jasper would have hired someone to track me down anyway. Better to get it over with. Clean break and all that."

Despite Freya's reassurance, Elena felt awful. She never imagined her brother would descend into full stalker-movie mode—spending the night in a thunderstorm outside Freya's apartment like some deranged Romeo. She glanced at Jasper, who pretended not to stare at Freya while obviously memorizing every detail. Elena couldn't help asking the question everyone was wondering.

"Real talk though… if Mia had never come back, would you two have ended up together?"

Jasper's attention snapped to them, desperate to hear the answer. If Mia had never reappeared, would Freya still be his?

Freya's smile held no warmth. She'd asked herself this question countless times. But after everything, she finally understood: if not Mia, it would have been someone else eventually. Jasper's sudden declaration of love was just panic at losing her—nothing more.

She brushed her hair back and answered with startling certainty.

"Not a chance."

Nobody asked why. They didn't need to.

Elena took a nearly catatonic Jasper back to New York. The Whitemore empire was hemorrhaging cash—with Jasper mentally checked out, Elena reluctantly stepped in to stop the bleeding. She'd barely unpacked her suitcase before having to wade through her brother's corporate disaster. Thank god for that business degree she'd actually put to use during her time in Paris.

Before diving into full damage control, Elena handed Jasper a manila folder.

"Found some stuff while you were having your breakdown. Thought you should see it."

Inside were files on Mia. Elena's investigation revealed that during her European years, Mia hadn't been studying abroad at all. She'd been party-hopping between wealthy men, juggling multiple affairs, even terminating several pregnancies. She'd become unrecognizable from the girl in Jasper's memories.

What had she even been like back then?

Jasper realized he couldn't remember. After ten years apart, that teenage infatuation had completely evaporated. Now, when he closed his eyes, he only saw Freya—laughing, crying, working late, bringing him coffee—vivid memories that twisted in his chest.

But would the next decade do the same to his memories of Freya?

A wave of hopelessness crashed over him, followed by the brutal acknowledgment that he'd orchestrated his own misery. He'd known what Mia was doing all along, yet for the sake of some half-baked nostalgia he'd labeled "love," he'd tossed aside the only woman who truly mattered.

Looking at the photos now, he felt absolutely nothing. His heart had flatlined alongside his relationship with Freya.

"Thanks for this. I'll pull myself together soon."

His voice was sandpaper. Suddenly remembering something, he gave his sister a grim smile.

"Almost forgot—I owe you this."

Before she could react, he slapped himself across the face with shocking force. His cheek immediately swelled, startling Elena.

"Jesus Christ! What the hell?"

Jasper swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth.

"For slapping you over Mia. I'm sorry, sis. Consider us even."

Elena's expression crumpled, unsure how to respond. She started to reach out, then pulled back several times before finally sighing.

"Just… don't be such a moron anymore, okay? Who knows, maybe someday you'll meet someone else. Next time, try not to completely self-destruct."

Elena attempted a reassuring smile before heading out. Jasper remained silent, watching her leave. He didn't have the heart to destroy her optimism, because they both knew the truth: there would never be another Freya.

The bitter emotion that rose in his throat was quietly swallowed as he gathered the photos and headed toward the basement where Mia was still being held.