Chapter 7

It was the next morning, and Freya still hadn't made an appearance for breakfast. The whole family had planned this gathering, and their absence was conspicuous. Damien had woken up earlier than usual after getting a call from Asher regarding a deal that was supposed to be finalized, but complications had arisen due to some authority's delay.

His grip tightened around the phone, knuckles turning white with tension. The frustration that had brewed in his chest was now at a boiling point. He couldn't remember the last time a deal had spiraled so out of control. Asher's laugh boomed on the other end, only fueling his anger.

"Listen carefully, Asher," Damien said, his voice low and edged with authority. "I don’t tolerate failed deals. If you keep letting me down like this, I will take action that you won't like."

Asher’s tone was playful, laced with amusement, but Damien could detect the underlying mockery. "Relax, Damien. The deal went through; I was just messing with you. Tried to call you last night, but it seems you and Freya were busy with something else?" Asher chuckled, but the lightheartedness only deepened Damien's frown.

A strange feeling gripped Damien's chest, a knot of unfamiliar emotion. He couldn't quite identify it.

"We had a good time," he muttered, almost surprised by his own admission. The words weighed heavily; he hadn’t intended to reveal that. But the thought of Freya sent a rush through him. She had always been his anchor in turbulent waters, but last night things had undeniably shifted. A wave of warmth cascaded through him at the mere thought, and he quickly masked the smile that threatened to break free.

"She’s remarkable," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. As soon as the words escaped him, he found himself staring up at the staircase that led to their room. The memory of her lingered, and he couldn’t shake the image of their kiss from his mind. That moment of intimacy was far more profound than mere physicality.

Asher, ever perceptive, picked up on the change in Damien's tone. "Hmm… something's definitely going on," he observed.

Damien opened his mouth to retort, but Luna's voice rang out from below, slicing through the tension like a sword.

"Your breakfast is getting cold, Damien. Get in here now," Luna called, her tone a blend of warmth and authority, as if she had anticipated this moment.

Damien exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a brief second. The weight of his conversation with Asher, his swirling thoughts about Freya, and Luna’s directive all collided within him. He needed to head downstairs, but the gravity of his thoughts about Freya pressed on him.

“Alright, I’m on my way,” he said decisively, cutting off the call with Asher without a moment's hesitation. His pulse remained high, but he couldn’t ignore that unsettling feeling. Asher was right—something definitely wasn’t right.

Damien made his way downstairs, the house unsettlingly quiet except for the soft hum of the kitchen. He could hear the clink of plates and the faint shuffle of feet as Luna prepared breakfast. But something felt off. Freya’s usual presence was missing.

"Mom," Damien called as he entered the dining room, his tone firm, "where’s Freya?"

Luna looked up from setting the table, her smile faltering as she placed a plate down. "She hasn't come downstairs yet. I thought she might’ve been waiting for you." Her voice was light, but concern flickered in her eyes.

Damien’s brow furrowed. Freya never missed breakfast, especially after they made plans. He weighed his options briefly before turning toward the stairs, an urgency taking hold. He needed to check on her.

"Thanks, Mom. I’ll go see," he replied, his voice steady as he headed for the stairs, not waiting for a response.

Moving up the stairs quickly, Damien’s thoughts raced. What could be wrong? Freya was never one to avoid him, yet this felt different. A gnawing unease tugged at him as he reached the top. Her door stood closed.

He paused outside, taking a breath. He rapped lightly on the door, but his voice bore the weight of concern as he called, "Freya? Everything okay?"

When silence answered, Damien’s frown deepened. He knocked again, this time louder. "Freya, are you alright?"

A faint shuffle came from inside, followed by her soft, hesitant voice. "Damien… I’m not coming out right now."

Her words hit him with unexpected force, tightening the knot in his stomach. The door was locked—strange, as she never did that. Was she... hiding?

"Why?" he demanded softly but firmly, his hand instinctively moving toward the door handle. "Freya, open the door. It's just breakfast; everyone is waiting."

Another pause. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she replied, "I... I don’t want to see you right now."

His heart raced, and confusion flooded him. Why wouldn’t she want to see him?

"Why not?" he pressed, his tone soft but unwavering. "We’re married, Freya. There's nothing to be embarrassed about."

As silence stretched between them, he felt the distance she had created in that room, blocking him out. It didn’t make sense; this wasn’t like her.

"Freya," Damien said, his voice low but resolute. "I’m not leaving until you open this door. We need to talk."

He waited, hearing only silence from the other side. Finally, frustration seeped in, but he wasn’t about to let her shut him out. Not after everything they had faced together.

"I will break down this door if I have to, Freya," he declared, his determination surging. He wouldn’t let her hide. She was his wife, and if she needed him, he would do whatever it took to reach her.

A soft, shaky breath came from her side of the door, and for a split second, he thought she might respond. But the silence returned, thickening the tension in the air. His hand brushed the door handle again, gripping it tightly.

"Freya," he reiterated, his words firm and commanding. "Open the door. Now.”