I just have to let him go

Chapter 16

Freya's POV

I felt overwhelmed, so I soaked in the tub to calm down. But my emotions ran so deep that I didn't even hear my name being called. It wasn't until I sensed someone nearby that I snapped back to reality, finding myself on the floor.

As I struggled to focus, I saw Michael's worried face and felt his hands shaking me. I almost smiled at his frantic efforts, but I was too caught up in my thoughts. I couldn't shake the pain of my mother's actions.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness wash over me. But I couldn't cry anymore. I'd already cried too much.

"Rogers!" Michael's voice echoed from behind the door, louder this time. I thought he'd already left. I didn't have time for him, not now. My mind was consumed by a single thought; storming into Ambrose's home and revealing myself to my son. I'd stop at nothing to reclaim him.

"Rogers!" Michael called out again, his voice insistent. I hesitated, then responded, trying to keep my emotions in check.

"Go away! I'm figuring out how to pay you back. We don't...need to do this, Mr. Smith," I trailed off, my voice barely above a whisper. If I didn't end this now, I'd lose myself completely. The bitter truth echoed in my mind; no one would ever love me.

"Don't be ridiculous, Rogers," Michael said, his voice firm but laced with a hint of desperation. "Open the door and let's talk this through. You can't just back out of our agreement like this. You can't terminate a contract without consequences."

I stood frozen, my back against the door, as I whispered, "I don't have the strength to keep lying, Mr Smith. I don't think I can face everyone and pretend anymore. Besides, I don't wanna hurt Emma, and you're killing yourself".

"It's none of your business if I destroy myself or not. Besides..."

"You don't have to deceive anyone to get what's rightfully yours, Mr. Smith," I whispered, my voice cracking as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. "I'm sorry...I just can't do this anymore. I feel guilty for lying to my mother, for facing her with a mask on."

I took a step back, my heart heavy with emotion. "Please, I'd like you to leave now."

But Michael's words stopped me cold. "At least open the door," he said, his voice low and husky. "Even if it's goodbye, you owe me that much. Don't end it like this. Isn't that unfair to me?"

His words struck a chord, and my frozen heart melted. He was right. Even if I wanted to walk away, I owed him the decency of a face-to-face goodbye.

I unlocked the door, my hand shaking. The scent of Michael's cologne filled the air as he stepped inside. We locked eyes, and I felt exposed, my tears and red eyes on full display.

"Your room is small compared to mine," Michael said, scanning the space. I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his prideful comment.

"But it's beautiful and orderly," he added, his gaze drifting to a framed portrait. I followed his eyes to the photo of me holding my middle school golden medal.

"You run?" he asked, as I didn't say a word. I couldn't concentrate with Michael by my side. "You know, I was also the best runner back in my day," he said. "Bella would always be there to cheer me up; she'd bake chocolate and cookies, and..."

He then paused, taking a deep breath. The name 'Bella' had caught my attention again ; that was the name he had called out that night. I wanted to know who Bella was; my curiosity got the better of me, and I asked, "Bella, who's Bella? You must have loved her." I finally said, looking at him as he gave a painful smile.

"My sister, my precious baby sister," Michael said, his voice cracking with emotion. It was the first time he'd opened up to me, and I wondered what had happened to Bella. I didn't want to pry, but I sensed he'd share more as time went on.

But I knew there wouldn't be a next time. Today was goodbye.

"She was very beautiful," Michael continued, his eyes clouding over. "She was 18 when she died. If Bella were alive, she'd be 23 now." His voice trailed off, and he quickly changed the subject. But that was five years ago, I thought as I froze, does Bella's death have something to do with five years ago? I quickly ward it off as I kept staring at him.

As he glanced around the room, his gaze landed on a particular picture I'd kept on the table. It was one I'd always kept hidden from prying eyes, but somehow, it had remained on display.

"Who's that?" Michael asked, his curiosity piqued. "Do you have a brother?" He took a step closer, reaching for the picture, and I instinctively blocked his way.

It was a photo from my college days, taken during a student's week event. I'd disguised myself as a guy, cutting my hair short, flattening my chest, and wearing oversized pants. I looked ridiculous, but I had played the role perfectly.

"Come on, Rogers, did you really have a brother?" Michael asked, his curiosity getting the better of him. He reached for the picture again, but I blocked his way.

However, Michael's height gave him the upper hand. With a gentle nudge, he pushed me aside and plucked the portrait from the table.

His eyes widened in surprise as he examined the photo. "Wait, is this...?" he trailed off, a mixture of confusion and amusement on his face.

"Give that back!" I demanded, my anger rising. I jumped up, trying to reach the picture, but Michael held it just out of my grasp.

He chuckled, clearly entertained by my futile attempts. "You're short, Rogers. You can't just grab it," he teased, his laughter grating on my nerves.

"I'm not short! I'm 163cm. That's not short!" I protested, still jumping up and down in an attempt to reach the picture.

But my movements became erratic, and I lost my balance, slipping on the floor. Before I could fall, Michael's strong hands grasped my waist, holding me upright. I froze, my eyes locked on his as my heart began to pound.

This can't be happening, I thought, trying to wriggle free from his grip. But Michael's hands remained wrapped around my waist.

"Mr. Smith," I whispered, a hint of desperation in my voice. "Please let me go."

Michael's gaze softened, and he said, "I think I prefer this feisty side of you, Rogers. You've been crying too much lately. It's not your fault. You don't have to feel guilty about what your mother said. She was afraid of you getting hurt."

As he spoke, I managed to break free from his grasp and stepped back, tears streaming down my face.

"Rogers, everyone has a story. Sometimes we let it go," Michael said, his eyes searching mine.

I wanted to confide in him, to reveal the truth about Ambrose and the pain he'd caused me. But fear held me back ; fear that Michael would hate me if he knew.

"Nevertheless, Rogers," Michael continued, "I promise you, for the next six months, no one will question our marriage."

I remained silent, a pang of sadness in my chest. It was going to end after six months anyways.

"Thanks, Mr. Smith," I said softly, "but I quit, remember?"

Michael's expression turned determined. "Rogers, I need this. I have to get married to secure my inheritance, and Grandpa loves you."

He said as his words left me torn. Should I feel hopeful or sad? He was only doing this because he had no choice.

As I wrestled with my thoughts, my phone rang, shrill in the silence. Ambrose's number flashed on the screen, though I hadn't saved it.

"Pick your call," Michael said, his voice low and even. "This is the third ring."

I hesitated, unsure if I should answer Ambrose's call with Michael present. But as the phone rang for the fourth time, I braced myself and picked up.

"What kind of mother are you?" Ambrose's angry voice blasted through the line. "Where on earth did you take Waylen? How dare you, Freya?"

I froze, my heart racing. I didn't want to reveal my shock with Michael watching. But this was my son, and my breath caught in my throat.

"What do you mean? I don't get you," I said, trying to sound calm and nonchalant.

"Waylen's been missing for two hours now!" Ambrose exclaimed.

"What?" I whispered, my breath stopping. My son was missing, and it was late at night.