Chapter 9
Freya POV:
I had no idea how much time had passed.
Silence flooded the car.
There was nothing left but the sound of our breath and a lingering heat that still clung to the air between us.
I was still leaning into him—still held in his arms.
As reality began to claw its way back, I froze.
Fragments of what had just happened began to stitch themselves back together in my mind, like a broken film strip—
the warehouse, the forklift, the darkness, the suffocation.
And then... his voice.
His hands.
His... kiss.
My heart constricted violently.
I brought my hands up, bracing them against his chest.
"That’s enough.
“I... I can sit up on my own."
My voice was thin, brittle.
Harvey shifted, but he didn't let go immediately.
His arms remained anchored around me.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, so I focused on a small, sharp crease in his shirt, my breath hitching as the tension tightened.
"Let go," I said again, in a low voice.
Only then did he release me.
His movements were agonizingly slow.
Reluctant.
I scrambled toward the side of the car, pressing my back against the door.
Too close.
Everything that had just happened was too close.
Close enough to throw my heart rate into a chaotic, irregular beat.
I looked down, trying to smooth out my clothes, but my fingers refused to cooperate.
The silence in the car was excessive, heavy with the sound of our forced, controlled breathing.
He didn't say a word, but I could feel it—
His gaze was fixed on me, heavy enough to make the air feel like it was on the verge of exploding.
"About what happened—" I started, but my voice caught in my throat. "It was a stress response. It had nothing to do with you."
"I know," he said softly.
I paused, startled by his composure.
No interrogation.
No insistence.
I risked a glance at him for a split second.
His jaw was set, his eyes dark and unreadable.
He didn’t look like the man who’d just lost control.
Instead, he sat there as if nothing had happened at all.
A strange emptiness opened up in my chest.
"Good."
I nodded, turning my attention back to the window.
"Then let's go."
----
The rain was still coming down.
The glass was a blur of water, slicing the world outside into jagged, broken pieces.
Just like that moment.
I shouldn't have leaned into him.
And I certainly shouldn't have... responded to that kiss.
My fingertips curled involuntarily.
I balled my hands into fists and pressed them against my lap, terrified they might reach for him again if I didn't keep them pinned down.
He didn't move.
He stayed there in the back seat, watching me.
After a few seconds, he finally spoke.
"Freya."
"Yeah?" I didn't look at him.
"Is this the plan? You’re just going to keep doing this?"
I frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
He let out a short, hollow laugh.
"Not a single word about it?"
My breath hitched for a second before I forced myself to recover.
"There’s nothing to talk about."
My voice was so calm it sounded foreign even to me.
"It was just—"
I stopped.
I couldn't say the word.
He finished it for me.
"An accident?"
I didn't deny it.
I didn't confirm it, either.
I just kept my eyes glued to the window, watching the rain tear the world apart.
He didn't push further.
But I could feel it—
That gaze of his, heavier and darker than it had been a moment ago.
----
The drive back was a void of silence.
We walked into the sales department one after the other, a measured distance between us.
Just as I was about to turn toward my desk, I looked back and forced a smile.
"Thanks for taking me along today. I learned a lot."
My tone was polite—
The kind of hollow, professional courtesy that leaves no room for questions.
He flinched, his pupils contracting sharply.
He returned the gesture with a smile so faint it was practically nonexistent, then turned and vanished into his office.
Let it end here, I told myself. There can’t be another chapter.
I sank into my chair, keeping my head low.
But the memories—the ones that had already breached the lockdown—kept surfacing, static-charging my brain.
----
We were supposed to be the happy ones.
When I’d found that ring hidden in his drawer, I truly believed I was looking at our future.
Then came that lavish dinner.
The lighting was soft, and my heart was racing.
But with one sentence, he shattered everything.
"The overseas branch."
"Five years."
All I remember was crying.
It was ugly.
I told him I didn't want the money.
I just wanted him.
...
My fingertips went cold.
I balled my hands into fists, my gaze snapping to the screen on my desk.
My breathing hitched, growing heavy.
I didn't want to go down this road.
But the memory chased me down anyway.
That intersection...
I was so close.
Just a block away from his place, just minutes away from driving him to the airport. But then...
My breath stopped.
I clutched my chest, trying to steady my racing heart.
Every lungful of air felt like a jagged blade.
I looked up, forcing myself to stare at my colleagues buzzing around the office.
It’s over. Don’t go back there.
----
Work was the best cure.
When you’re drowning in tasks, the pain doesn't have room to breathe.
I finished my client analysis, then headed down to the equipment department for a round of meetings.
On my way back, I passed the Financial department.
I hesitated in the hallway for a split second. Then, someone walked out.
My eyes lit up, and I called out to him.
"Ben, hey. Do you have a second?"
"For you? Always. What’s up?"
"My commission... do you know when that’s scheduled to drop?"
He grinned.
"The bonus? I’d have to check, but usually—"
"It won’t be that fast."
A familiar voice cut him off.
My spine stiffened.
I didn't need to turn around to know it was Harvey.
"Once the contract is signed, the project implementation and follow-up maintenance take time," Harvey said, walking toward us with a slow, deliberate gait.
Ben gave him a polite nod.
Harvey continued, his voice dropping into a professional drone.
"Besides, delaying bonuses helps keep the sales team stable. I might not agree with the logic, but it is company policy."
He spoke slowly, almost provocatively.
Ben, standing between us, could already feel the temperature in the hallway plummeting.
He looked at Harvey, then at me.
"Look, your Director is right here. If you’ve got questions, he’s the man to ask."
The guy bolted before I could say another word.
I was left alone in the hall with Harvey.
I glared at him, but he remained cold, utterly indifferent.
This wasn't the man who had held me in the car, the man who had pulled me back from the edge of the abyss.
"My office. Now."
He threw the words over his shoulder and walked away.
I marched into his office and slammed the door behind me.
"What the hell was that? You’re intentionally stalling my bonus to prevent 'turnover'?"
He leaned against his desk, looking as though he’d been expecting the explosion.
He arched an eyebrow.
"You’re in sales, Freya. You should know the drill. It’s standard protocol."
He paused, his voice softening just a fraction.
"And besides, Financial pulls the strings on the payouts. Not me."
His sudden flash of tenderness caught me off guard, leaving me stunned.
A few stray tears escaped, tracing hot paths down my cheeks.
My mind went blank, my thoughts a tangled mess of static.
"What am I supposed to do?" I murmured, staring at him. "Am I really not going to get it?"
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he stepped toward me.
"You’re that desperate to leave?"
His voice was cold—hard as flint.
I stepped back instinctively, my shoulders hitting the wall.
He kept coming, closing the gap until the distance between us was no longer professional.
It was intimate.
Dangerous.
"I need that money," I said, looking up at him.
My voice was fractured, my breath hitching in my throat.
His gaze darkened further, turning into a deep, unreadable abyss.
"Give me a reason."
The tears were coming faster now.
I wiped them away with a messy, frantic swipe of my hand and glared at him.
"You’ll never know.
“Not in a million years."
His hand tightened slowly, the pad of his thumb grazing my chin.
"Then try me," he rasped, his voice so low it sounded like it was being dragged from his throat.
"Let’s see if you can actually manage to get away this time."
My chest constricted.
Then, just as suddenly, he stepped back, acting as though nothing had happened.
"Get out."
I froze for a second.
He had already turned his back to me, burying every trace of emotion in the rigid line of his shoulders.
The tension coiling in my gut slowly began to unravel.
I walked toward the door, but just as my hand brushed the cold metal of the handle, his voice dropped behind me—heavy and final.
"Freya."
I stopped.
"This time," he said, still refusing to look back.
"I’m not letting you go."