Chapter 12
Harvey POV:
I opened my eyes to the morning light.
For the first time in two years, I didn't want to get up.
Freya was curled against me, tucked into the curve of my body.
A stray lock of hair lay across her face, dancing in the morning breeze until she pouted in her sleep.
I tucked it back, my fingers lingering as they brushed her cheek.
Her long, curled lashes fluttered, and a faint frown creased her brow.
Seeing her again, I couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't the same girl from two years ago.
Back then, she wore her heart on her sleeve.
She was all tears and laughter.
And her entire world revolved around loving me.
That was why I’d hesitated when the firm offered me that overseas position.
I knew she wouldn’t be able to handle it.
But I wanted to give her the world.
I knew she’d cry, and at the time, I thought that was childish.
I was a man; of course I was going to choose my career.
Besides, five years was nothing.
I’d be back and we'd pick up right where we left off.
----
That night at the restaurant, she had dressed up, looking breathtaking.
I thought she knew what I was going to say.
I thought she’d accept it gracefully.
Instead, she cried until her heart broke and walked away without looking back.
She blocked me on everything.
I tried calling from different numbers, but she never picked up.
It hurt like hell.
Three years of love isn't something you just walk away from.
But I still boarded that flight.
The whole way to the airport, I kept expecting her to jump out from some corner, smiling and telling me she’d wait.
But she never showed.
Not even in the final minute before the gate slammed shut.
I thanked God for this reunion, for the chance to hold her again.
But even though she seemed so present last night—moaning my name over and over—I still felt like she was miles away.
So far... it was like we were on different planets.
In the dawn light, I tightened my grip on her waist, pulling her flush against my chest. I couldn't bring myself to let go.
I was terrified that if I did, she’d vanish into thin air, and I’d never find her again.
I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
The woman she had become fascinated me even more than the girl she used to be. She still had shadows of her old self, but she had grown into exactly the kind of woman I desired.
When she was focused on a proposal, or when we were head-to-head arguing over project details...
I couldn't keep my eyes off her.
But I didn't understand.
She used to play tennis with me—she was actually damn good at it.
Now, it was like she was suffering from a sickness that never quite healed.
Even getting in and out of my car seemed like a struggle.
I thought of that scar on her thigh.
I had kissed it last night.
Even in the dim light, I could feel how jagged and angry it was.
She seemed so intentional about keeping me away from it.
Fine.
I’d find a way to figure it out eventually.
She stirred then, her eyes slowly blinking open.
"Morning, babe," I whispered.
She buried her face in my chest.
"I'm exhausted. I hit two clients yesterday, and then you kept going... over and over..."
I laughed softly, kissing her temple.
"I was actually holding back."
She gave my waist a sharp pinch.
"Go to hell. I still have to go to work today and keep slaving away for you."
Seeing her in a good mood, I let my hand rest on her thigh, slowly sliding upward.
"Babe... what's this?"
She went rigid—an absolute, physical freeze.
Her breath hitched, then stopped altogether.
She swiped my hand away with a frantic sharpness.
"It’s nothing," she snapped. "Just an old scar."
The mattress shifted, and the warmth beside me vanished as she scrambled out of bed.
"You should leave."
Her voice was no longer soft.
It was encased in a layer of permafrost.
I sat up, stunned by the sudden whiplash.
"What happened? Look, if I overstepped, I take it back. I’m sorry."
She ignored me, already grabbing her work clothes and retreating into the bathroom. When she came out, she was fully armored in her professional gear.
"Just go, Harvey. Whatever this was—whatever we were doing—it ends here."
Her eyes were twin shards of ice.
But behind the frost, there was a raw, jagged streak of pain.
I reached out, my hands open, wanting nothing more than to pull her back into my space.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried into your past.
“Freya, I won't ask again. I promise."
She recoiled, taking two steps back to avoid my touch.
"Harvey, you really need to leave.
“Now."
"Are you just exhausted, Freya? Is that it?"
"Get. Out."
The look in her eyes sent a phantom chill straight down my spine.
I gathered my things and left her apartment.
A crushing sense of defeat—the worst I’d felt in two years—hit me like a physical blow.
I went home, changed, and dragged myself to the office.
By the time I’d waded through the morning's fires, the bullpen was full.
Freya was there, too.
On the surface, she looked composed, identical to her usual professional self.
I wanted to call her into my office, but the words felt stuck in my throat.
Later, I told myself.
Give her some space.
But when I finally looked up from my desk and glanced through the glass partition, her seat was empty.
My heart sank.
I pulled up the tracking system immediately.
She was out on client visits again.
Another unapproved trip.
I dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail.
I leaned back in my chair, a cold sense of dread pooling in my gut.
She was desperate for that bonus, yet there was nothing expensive in her apartment. Why?
The image of that scar flashed in my mind again.
I turned to my computer and typed a description of the mark.
The AI's response flickered onto the screen:
[...Likely a surgical scar from the internal fixation of an intramedullary nail.]
My vision blurred, the room suddenly dimming as the world tilted on its axis.
An intramedullary nail...
How was that possible?
My heart began to throb against my ribs, a violent, irregular beat.
I felt a phantom, sympathetic ache in the exact same spot on my own thigh.
Outside, a light rain began to fall, streaking the window in grey lines.
It hit me then—she was terrified of driving in the rain.
The realization felt like a sledgehammer to my chest.
Just as I was reaching for my phone to find any way to track her down, the administrative secretary knocked and walked in.
"Harvey, there's an emergency meeting. You're expected in the conference room."
I looked at her with pure impatience.
"What’s the agenda? Why wasn't this scheduled?"
"It’s a last-minute executive session called by the President. I'm sorry, sir."
I had no choice but to stand up, but the anxiety was clawing at my throat.
A nerve was twitching, pulling at me.
I walked over to Emily’s desk.
"Emily, get a hold of Freya. Now."
She looked up, startled.
"Did something go wrong with a client?"
I hesitated, my voice tight.
"It’s important. Just get her back here as fast as you can."
The meeting was an agonizing, endless drone.
I checked my watch every thirty seconds, my eyes glued to my silent phone.
Emily hadn't buzzed me back.
When it was finally my turn to brief the President on the sales forecast, I was mid-sentence when the heavy conference doors slammed open.
Emily was standing there, gasping for air, her face pale.
"Harvey—it’s Freya—"
My stomach dropped.
I was on my feet before she could finish.
"What is it?"
"A car accident. She's at the hospital!
"Excuse me, everyone. I have to handle this."
I didn't wait for an answer.
I was already moving toward the door when the CFO cut me off.
"Send someone else, Harvey. There's no reason for you to be personally involved in a staffer's fender-bender."
I turned, looking at him with a gaze so cold it stopped him mid-sentence.
"I’m sorry, but I don't share your capacity for indifference."
Emily had to break into a jog just to keep pace with me as I strode toward the elevators.
"She called me, Harvey. She said she hit a guardrail. She sounded terrified.
“But she specifically told me not to tell you. I didn't know what to do. You two..."
We stepped into the elevator.
I hit the button for the garage and turned on her.
"Tell me the truth. What’s wrong with her leg?"
Emily’s lower lip trembled.
"Freya she..." She clamped her mouth shut, her eyes darting away. "I can’t. I promised."
I crowded into her space, my eyes flashing with a dangerous, icy light.
"Why the hell can't you say it? Do you want to be the reason she ends up in a grave?"
Emily flinched, backing up until she hit the elevator wall.
"I would never hurt her!" she shouted, her voice cracking. "When that bastard nearly got her killed, I was the only one who stayed by her side—"
She cut herself off, her eyes widening in sheer terror as if she’d just leaked a state secret.
My heart gave a violent, sickening lurch.
I clenched my fists until my knuckles turned white.
"What bastard?"
My jaw was so tight the words felt like they were being squeezed through my teeth. Emily turned deathly pale, her hand instinctively clutching the handrail for support.
"Freya... she was hit by a semi two years ago. She almost died, Harvey."
The pain in my chest intensified, a sharp, suffocating pressure.
I struggled to keep my voice steady.
"Two years ago? When? Give me a date."
"She said...she was on her way to find her boyfriend.
“She wanted to say goodbye to him before his flight."
I closed my eyes.
Hard.
The truth pierced through me like a thousand needles, each one finding a nerve.
The elevator doors slid open.
I didn't wait for Emily, and ran for my car like a madman.
I slammed the car into gear and floored it, weaving through the traffic with a reckless desperation.
I had known, deep down, that this was all connected to me.
But I never imagined I was this unforgivable.