Chapter fifty-seven
Freya
The house is quiet in that heavy, end-of-the-day kind of way, where everything has settled but nothing quite feels restful, like the air itself is holding its breath.
Theo is asleep upstairs, his door slightly ajar, the soft glow of his nightlight spilling faintly across the landing, and I’m curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over my legs, the TV flickering in front of me with something I haven’t been paying attention to for at least half an hour.
My phone is beside me. Face up. Silent. I keep glancing at it without meaning to, like if I look often enough it might suddenly light up with his name.
It doesn’t. I tell myself it’s fine. Of course it’s fine.
He’s in the city at a charity ball, surrounded by people and cameras and noise and expectations, probably being pulled in ten different directions at once, smiling politely at strangers and making conversation he doesn’t want to be having.
He told me he hates this part of it. So why would I expect him to be sitting in a quiet corner calling me?
It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter.
I shift slightly, tucking my feet further under me, pulling the blanket tighter around my legs like that might somehow settle the restless feeling inside me.
I stayed up for him. I hadn’t planned to, but when Theo went to bed and the house fell quiet, it just sort of…
happened. I told myself I’d wait. Just until he got back to his hotel.
Just a quick call. Just to hear his voice.
Just to feel like I was part of his night in some small way.
My phone lights up suddenly and my heart jumps before I can stop it, my hand reaching for it too quickly, hope flaring up in a way that feels a little bit embarrassing. It’s not him. Just a notification.
I let out a slow breath and place it back down on the sofa beside me.
Don’t be ridiculous, Freya. He’ll call when he can. Or he won’t. Either way, it’s fine.
I pick up the remote again and flick channels without really seeing any of them, landing eventually on something mindless that fills the room with background noise, but my attention doesn’t stick.
It keeps drifting. Back to my phone. Back to the quiet.
Back to the thought of him in a suit, walking into a room full of people who belong to that world far more than I ever could.
My thumb moves to Instagram before I can stop it.
Maybe I can numb my brain with some doom scrolling.
At first it’s nothing. Videos with mums complaining about packed lunches.
Someone showing off a new kitchen renovation.
Completely normal. Completely harmless. And then…
I freeze. My stomach drops so suddenly it feels like I’ve missed a step on the stairs.
I sit up. Maybe that will make it go away.
Because there he is. Looking exactly how I knew he would.
Broad shoulders, sharp lines, that effortless confidence that makes him look like he belongs in that world even if I know he hates it.
And next to him… Sienna. Tall, flawless, supermodel, Sienna.
The kind of woman who looks like she’s been pulled straight from a magazine spread without even trying.
She’s smiling. Looking up at him like she knows exactly how she looks standing next to him.
And in his hands. My heart stops. The bracelet.
I can see it clearly as he passes it to her, the gold catching the light as she slips it onto her wrist, admiring it, turning it slightly so the diamond glints under the chandelier.
The caption sits underneath the photo like it’s mocking me.
Rory Bennett and Sienna Hale reunite at charity ball with ￡15,000 Cartier bracelet
Reunite. My face flushes hot. My stomach twists.
The room suddenly feels darker, heavier, like all the light has been pulled out of it without warning.
I stare at the video for too long, my chest tightening with every second that passes.
I can barely breathe. Of course. Of course this is what happens.
Of course I was stupid enough to sit here on my sofa, wrapped in a blanket, waiting for a phone call like some kind of teenager, while he’s out there in a world that looks like that. With her.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly tight.
How did I think I could compete with that?
A literal model. Who knows how to stand next to him at events like this, how to smile for cameras, how to exist in that space without looking out of place.
And me? I’m sat here in joggers with a blanket over my legs, waiting for him to call.
I let out a shaky breath and press my lips together, blinking a few times as that horrible, sinking feeling spreads through my chest and tears spring to my eyes.
Don’t cry. You are absolutely not crying over this.
I hit share before I can overthink it. It takes about three seconds to get a reply.
Clara: Oh for fuck sake.
Hannah: Are you kidding me??
I stare at the screen, my heart still racing.
Freya: I mean… it’s pretty clear, isn’t it?
Hannah: Have you actually spoken to him?
I let out a hollow laugh.
Freya: What’s there to ask?
Freya: It’s literally right there.
Clara: You don’t know the context.
Freya: He’s giving her a Cartier bracelet, Clara.
Hannah: Or… he bought it and she’s trying it on?
I shake my head, even though they can’t see me.
Freya: That’s reaching.
Clara: Is it though?
A pause.
Hannah: Wait.
Hannah: What if it’s for you?
I blink.
Freya: Why would she be wearing it?
Clara: Omg.
Hannah: Imagine.
Clara: You’re going to have a Cartier bracelet.
I let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
Freya: You two are delusional.
Hannah: No listen.
Clara: Just wait.
Hannah: If he gives it to you tomorrow… then there’s your answer.
Clara: And if he doesn’t…
The message hangs there. I don’t reply. Because suddenly my chest feels too tight. My thoughts too loud.
I lock my phone and drop it onto the sofa beside me, pressing my hands to my face for a second.
I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what’s real.
All I know is that image is burned into my brain now.
The way they looked together. The way she looked at the bracelet.
The way he looked like he fit there. Like he belonged there.
Like maybe… Maybe that’s still his world. Maybe I’m just… a pause in it.
I lie back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, my heart still racing in a way that feels far too much like panic.
I should go to bed. I should sleep. But there’s no chance of sleep tonight because my brain won’t stop replaying it.
Won’t stop asking questions I don’t have answers to.
Where is he right now? Is he still there?
Is he with her? Is that why he hasn’t called?
Has he realised that’s the life he wants?
I turn onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around me, my phone just within reach. Waiting. Even though I don’t know what I’m waiting for anymore.