Chapter 15
Freya POV:
The recovery process moved swiftly.
Within days, I was back at the office, navigating the familiar carpeted hallways with the awkward rhythm of my crutches.
Harvey and I had reached a silent, unspoken accord:
A curt nod upon passing, and a second later, we were strangers again.
Only Emily remained restless.
"It’s infuriating," she hissed, leaning over my desk.
"I actually admired the guy. To think he was that prick all along... I swear, I regret not slapping the taste out of his mouth that day."
I gently nudged her back toward her own cubicle.
"Drop it, okay? Just let me have some peace.
“It’s over."
But as the words left my lips, that familiar, dull ache throbbed in my chest.
Is it really over?
I didn't know.
My gaze drifted toward his office.
Behind the glass partition sat a blurred silhouette.
I snapped my eyes back to my screen, my pulse racing, hammering against my ribs.
After work, my Uber pulled up to the curb.
My eyes accidentally swept across the building's entrance, and there he was, watching me from a distance.
Only after I was safely inside the car did he turn to walk away.
As the car merged into traffic, the tears finally came.
It felt like I had taken something priceless and thrown it away with my own hands. But what was the right thing to do?
I didn't know.
I truly didn't.
All I knew was that every meal tasted like ash.
And every night, my dreams dragged me back to the past.
A few days later, I was buried in paperwork when Emily rushed over, her face taut with a look of impending disaster.
She was breathless, her voice a forced whisper.
"Freya, the CFO filed a formal complaint with the President. He’s accusing Harvey of favoritism toward you.
“HR and Compliance are grilling him in the conference room right now."
My heart nearly stopped.
The files in my hand scattered across the floor.
My mind was a chaotic mess.
But one thought crystallized with terrifying clarity:
No.
I wasn't going to let that old vulture in Finance drag my name through the mud to get to Harvey.
I scrambled to gather the documents and grabbed my crutches.
"I'm going in," I said.
Emily tried to block my path.
I gave her a look of absolute steel.
"I’m part of this, Emily. I’m not sitting this one out."
The heavy door to the main conference room was cracked open just a sliver.
Harvey was standing at the head of the table, facing the CFO, the HR Director, and the Head of Compliance.
He held his head high, radiating a cold, formidable power.
Even facing three executives who outranked him in both title and seniority, he didn't flinch.
I hesitated at the door, listening.
"Favoritism?"
Harvey let out a short, dry laugh.
"You’d better have the data to back up that accusation."
He walked over to the room's terminal and pulled up the attendance records on the large screen.
"Freya has clocked more field visits than any other salesperson on the team. And she did it while carrying a surgical steel in her leg.
“Until a few days ago, when her body finally gave out and she had to be rushed to the hospital."
He fixed the CFO with a chilling stare.
"Does that sound like the workload of a favorite to you?"
The room fell into an uncomfortable silence.
The Compliance Director cleared his throat.
"Well... be that as it may, your prior relationship is a conflict of interest that should have been disclosed."
Harvey smiled—a thin, dangerous expression—as he stepped back toward them.
"Correct. Freya and I had a relationship. But we broke up the moment I left for the overseas assignment.
“I had zero contact with her until we crossed paths again at this firm."
The CFO, sensing a weakness, pounced.
"Then the rules apply. You have to recuse yourselves. Either you leave, or she does."
I felt Emily gasp beside me, her grip tightening on my arm.
I patted her hand, trying to offer a comfort I didn't feel.
Harvey squeezed out a contemptuous smirk.
"I was hoping you'd say that. In fact, Freya turned in her resignation the very day I arrived. But I refused to authorize it.
“Because I couldn't get her commissions cleared in full."
"We hold those commissions for a period," the CFO snapped. "That's policy. It's always been the rules."
Harvey shot him a look of pure contempt.
"Then her staying isn't on me, and it isn't on her. It’s on this absurd, broken system that has zero respect for the sales staffs
The CFO snapped upright, eyes bulging.
"That policy is there to prevent turnover! It’s designed to help you maintain your sales force."
Harvey gave a nonchalant shrug.
"Extorting employees to keep them from quitting? You call that a management strategy?
“I’m more than happy to cover that cost myself. Then, I’ll personally walk her over to our biggest competitor."
The CFO slammed his palm onto the desk.
"You wouldn't dare! She’s bound by a non-compete clause!"
"As a junior-level employee," Harvey said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, silky calm, "she never signed one."
The CFO’s face turned a violent shade of crimson.
He shot a frantic look at the Compliance and HR Directors.
Both gave him a slow, reluctant nod of confirmation.
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Harvey turned his gaze toward the door.
He froze for a heartbeat when he saw me, then strode over.
"Freya. Perfect timing."
He gestured for me to follow him.
I leaned on my crutches, moving into the room with a steady, determined rhythm until I stood right beside him in the center of the floor.
"Can you stand?" he asked in a low voice.
I nodded.
Only then did he turn back to the three executives.
"I did love Freya. I loved her deeply."
The room went dead quiet for a second.
"But what you should really be discussing isn't our romantic history. It’s how a woman with a surgical steel in her leg managed to pull the best numbers in the entire sales department."
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
He fixed his gaze on the CFO.
"She didn't get here because of favoritism. Quite the opposite."
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
"This company has been bleeding her dry.
“And as for those backwards Finance policies... I will fight them until they are wiped off the books.
“Permanently."
----
In the end, HR and Compliance ruled that the CFO’s allegations were baseless.
As I made my way out of the conference room, I was stunned to find a crowd of colleagues from the sales department gathered in the hallway.
They broke into applause, whistling and cheering.
"I can't believe you two were a thing! You kept that deep under wraps!" a colleague shouted.
"Not currently." I corrected.
"Oh, come on! You’re perfect together. Just make it official!"
"We’ll see," I muttered with an awkward smile.
My eyes catching Harvey’s, his own smile looked just as forced, just as jagged.
----
The crowd eventually thinned out.
Harvey stayed by my side, looking like he wanted to reach out and support me but didn't quite have the nerve.
Finally, he asked in a low voice.
"Does your leg hurt?"
I don't know why, but that one question made me want to cry more than all his "I'm sorrys" combined.
I stayed silent for a few seconds before answering softly.
"A little."
It was as if he’d finally been granted permission. He slowly reached out and took my arm.
His touch so light and careful it felt like he was afraid I might shatter.
He walked me all the way back to my desk.
For the next few hours, we both buried ourselves in work, neither of us acknowledging the other.
But late that afternoon, Emily came charging in with a massive announcement:
The policy on withholding commissions had been abolished, effective immediately.
Harvey had spent the last few hours in Compliance, tearing the old rules apart.
The entire sales floor erupted.
People were scrambling to call colleagues out in the field to share the news.
Emily leaned into my ear and yelled over the din.
"Harvey is officially the hottest director in this building!"
She let out a final cheer, then lowered her voice, looking at me tentatively.
"You know... aside from that one massive screw-up, he’s not actually a total villain, is he?
“What do you think?"
"I don't know. Maybe."
I nudged her back to her workstation, my mind a chaotic, spinning mess.
And it stayed that way, swirling in circles, until the clock finally struck five.
----
I reached for my phone to call an Uber, but Harvey stepped out of his office.
He watched me in silence for a moment before walking over.
For some reason, my pulse began to quicken.
"I'll drive you," he said softly.
It was so natural, as if we were just ordinary colleagues.
I hesitated for two seconds.
"Okay."
I leaned on my crutches and began the slow, rhythmic shuffle toward the exit.
He didn't try to help me.
He simply walked beside me, matching my pace, only offering a gentle, steadying hand when it was time to climb into the passenger seat.
Once we were both inside, he didn't start the engine.
The air in the car felt thick, pressurized.
I knew he was waiting.
I was, too.
"Finance won't be withholding your commissions anymore."
He said, his hands resting on the steering wheel.
His eyes fixed straight ahead.
"If you still want to resign..."
"...I know," I whispered.
My heart felt like it was being squeezed.
Another silence stretched between us.
When he spoke again, he sounded like he was trying—and failing—to keep his tone casual.
"If you want to stay in the industry, I can give you a list of recommendations.
“Some of the top firms."
My breathing fractured.
It took a long time before I could force a "fine" out of my throat.
Perhaps the atmosphere was becoming too suffocating for him, he finally started the engine.
The low hum of the engine filled the space, masking the jagged edges of our conversation.
"So, have you decided—"
"I'll decide once I'm fully recovered."
He paused, letting out a long, heavy breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.
He turned to look at me, his light blue eyes shimmering with a mixture of guilt and desperate hope.
"Freya, watching you struggle like this every day... it’s killing me.
“Would you... would you give me a chance to take care of you?
“Driving you to and from work, making you dinner..."
The words began to tumble out faster.
"I’m not begging for your forgiveness.
“It’s just that every time I see you in pain, I hate myself a little more."
He looked down, his breathing erratic.
He looked like a man waiting for a sentence to be handed down.
I studied the faint scowl of worry on his forehead, and suddenly, I was back in the past.
Two years ago, he had mapped out my entire future.
When he would leave.
How long he’d be gone.
When he’d return.
He’d even decided, on my behalf, that we would be happy.
But now, for the first time, he was finally asking.
The car hadn't moved yet, and my thoughts were beginning to crystallize against the vibration of the engine.
The wall I had built around my heart for two years—the one I thought was impenetrable—finally showed a hairline fracture.
After a moment, I gave him a faint smile.
"Just drive."
He froze, his head turning slowly to meet my eyes.
"Take me home," I said quietly.
His jaw tightened, the light in his eyes dimming just a fraction.
I looked away, my fingers tightening around the seatbelt.
"I need to go back and grab some clothes.
“And some of my things."
The air stayed still for two heartbeats.
Then, he suddenly ducked his head and laughed.
It was the sound of a man who had been underwater for too long, finally remembering how to breathe.
The engine roared to life as we merged into the heavy flow of traffic.
We caught each other’s gaze in the reflection of the red lights, a quiet understanding passing between us.
This time, we finally didn't let each other go.
——END——