Chapter 63

AIDEN

I woke up alone in bed. Freya wasn't in the room. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, cutting sharp lines across the duvet. The clock showed I'd slept in, which meant Freya had already left the room, possibly even the house. But it was Sunday. Freya didn't work Sundays unless she had one of her standing lunch dates with Reyni.

I ran a hand through my hair. Memories of last night came rushing back. The perfectly built walls I'd spent years constructing had crumbled, and I'd laid my past bare in front of Freya. I had bared the most vulnerable part of my life, and she'd stayed. She'd held me through it.

But that was yesterday. In the light of a new morning, it all felt too raw, too exposed. The clarity of daylight brought with it a starkness I wasn't ready for. What if it changed things between us? What if she saw me differently now? The questions circled like vultures in my mind as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

I freshened up and headed downstairs. The whole place smelled like bacon and fresh bread. On cue, my stomach rumbled. I found my way to the kitchen, and there she was.

Freya stood at the counter, her hair pinned up in a messy knot, focused on the task at hand. The sight of her—calm, collected, and entirely in her element—momentarily quelled the unease coiling in my chest.

"Hey," I said, my voice rough and hesitant.

She turned, a small smile lighting up her face before she returned her attention to her work. "Hey, did you sleep well?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Did." My eyes roamed over the counter, taking in the spread of food: sandwiches, crisp bacon, golden muffins, and bowls of fresh fruit. It looked elaborate, even by Carlos's standards. And Carlos wasn't here. "What's all this?"

"Food. Good food," she replied, setting a plate of syrup-drizzled pancakes on the counter. Then she rounded it, closing the distance between us. Her gaze softened as she stood in front of me. "How are you feeling?"

The question was simple, but it triggered something sharp inside me.

"What are these for?" I countered, dodging her concern.

Her brow furrowed slightly. "For you."

"You cooked for me?" My toes flattened; the weight in my chest pressed harder. The vulnerability from last night flared like an open wound. I could feel my defenses rising, locking me back behind walls I thought I'd abandoned.

"Yes. What's wrong?"

"Is this because of yesterday?"

"Yes."

My stomach dropped. There it was—confirmation of my fear. Sharing my past had changed things. I was starting to feel suffocated. I breathed out.

"I don't need you to feel sorry for me. I don't need your pity," I snapped.

Her eyes widened, a confusion etched in every line of her face. "Sorry, what?"

I gestured toward the food, my voice colder than I intended. "Your pity. I don't need it."

Her expression shifted; her brows drew together as her voice wavered with incredulity. "You think I got up at six in the freaking morning and made all this because I want to show you pity?!"

Her words hit like a slap. I held my ground, the knot in my stomach tightening.

Chapter 63 (continued)

"I cooked for you because you were upset and could use a little pick-me-up. I was trying to lift your mood, do something nice for you. Good food makes me happy." Freya's voice rose slightly.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say. My chest ached with the tension between us. It took me a few more long seconds to let go of my assumptions and see things for what they were.

She did something nice for me, and I'd probably ruined it.

"Thank you," I muttered, though the words felt insufficient. She just stared at me for a long moment before walking closer. She circled her hands around my neck, and my hands automatically wrapped around her waist.

"After hearing your story, I felt a lot of things. I felt angry at your parents for failing you so terribly; I felt sad and hurt for that little boy whose childhood was destroyed. I was horrified imagining how scary it must have been for you at such a young age. But never pity."

She emphasized the last three words. Her right hand came down to run soothing circles on my chest.

"I admire your strength. After everything they did, you have enough love in your heart for your brother to not expose them to him. And to do that, you've had to see their faces every once in a while, which is pretty brave."

"I mean, I wouldn't have been able to do that. So no. No pity for you."

Freya's eyes shone with sincerity. I touched my forehead to hers and let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry," I muttered.

I was overwhelmed by everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours. My mind was a chaotic mess. Cillian's anger gutted me in a way I hadn't thought possible. The thought of him hating me gnawed at me, and I couldn't shake the heaviness in my chest.

As if Freya could hear my spiraling thoughts, she tilted her head and looked at me with those perceptive eyes of hers.

"He'll come around, you know," she said softly, her voice a soothing balm.

"You think?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes. Give it some time."

I pressed my lips together and shook my head. "If she dies, he's going to hold it against me forever." The words came out brittle, the apprehension palpable.

Freya didn't flinch. "We'll see when it comes to that."