I've got a plan

Chapter 18

Freya's pov

I couldn't shake off the feeling; I think I love Michael Smith. But this was wrong; it broke the first rule. I avoided his gaze, unable to face him after Ambrose's call interrupted our moment.

"Miss Rogers, won't you at least pick up the phone?" Michael asked, his voice surprisingly calm. He didn't seem embarrassed or shy, which only confused me. I thought love was supposed to make you vulnerable and self-conscious.

"And...we were wrong to have...done this," he said, his voice trailing off. His words cut deep, and I felt a pang of disappointment. Didn't he realize I wasn't angry about what happened? Didn't he see that I wanted more?

"Yea, I'm sorry too," I said, meeting his gaze. Our eyes locked, and a sharp pain pierced my chest.

"Can you...leave me here for tonight?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Michael exhaled a low chuckle, his finger brushing against his lip in a gesture that made him look endearingly sexy.

"You know, Rogers, it's fine if you don't want to continue. I won't force you, because you won't be able to keep up the facade," he said, his eyes searching mine.

I shook my head, clarifying, "What I meant was...I need to speak to my mom about everything tonight. Besides, we had an agreement, and that's what it'll be for six months."

Michael nodded softly, his expression unreadable. "I'm giving you a chance to back down, Rogers," he said, his voice low and husky.

I closed my eyes, unsure what to make of his statement. Was he having second thoughts, or was this a test? Either way, I knew I had to stick with him if I wanted to get my son back from Ambrose.

"A deal is a deal," I said firmly, my voice steady. I caught a glimpse of a stifled smile on Michael's face before he nodded and turned to leave. The sound of his car screeching away echoed through the air, and I was finally alone.

Without hesitation, I prepared myself to storm into Ambrose's home, my mind consumed by thoughts of Waylen's whereabouts. Even with Michael by my side, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. I felt a pang of guilt for deceiving him, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

****

Forty minutes later...

As I stepped into Ambrose's mansion, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Three years had passed, and yet, the memories still lingered. My gaze wandered, and my heart skipped a beat as I spotted a small portrait of Waylen, taken probably when he was just a year old. A smile spread across my face, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I ached to hold him, to kiss him, to feel his tiny hands wrapped around my finger.

But my reverie was shattered by Ambrose's venomous words. "How dare you, Freya?" he spat, his eyes blazing with anger.

I turned to face him, my own rage simmering just below the surface. "Where's my son?" I demanded, my voice low and deadly.

Ambrose sneered, his expression twisting into a cruel smile. "Your son is missing, and yet you're frolicking with another woman's man? I never thought you'd stoop so low, Freya. You're cheap, just like the company you keep."

"When was the last time you saw him?" I asked, ignoring Ambrose's sneer. "Have you checked his room, where he usually goes?" My hand instinctively rose to my chest, as if to calm my racing heart.

Ambrose's nonchalance was infuriating. His son was missing, and yet he seemed utterly unconcerned. I felt a surge of anger toward this heartless man.

"Were you with Michael?"

"Never mind that," I said, brushing off his question about Michael. "Have you found Waylen?" I asked, my voice trembling with urgency.

Ambrose's grip on my left hand tightened, his eyes boring into mine. I felt a shiver run down my spine as he held my gaze.

"Freya, stay away from Michael. He doesn't love you," Ambrose warned, his voice dripping with malice.

I flashed a defiant smile, yanking my hand free from his grip. "Your opinion means nothing to me, Ambrose. I don't answer to you anymore."

Ambrose's laughter echoed through the room, sending a shiver down my spine. A part of me regretted coming to his mansion alone, without anyone's knowledge. Ambrose was unpredictable, and I feared he might harm me without hesitation.

"Don't forget you're in my home," he sneered, his eyes glinting with menace. "Until Waylen is found, you're not leaving this house. Not a single inch."

My heart constricted, alarm bells ringing in my mind. What was Ambrose insinuating? "You can't do this, Ambrose. You have no right to..."

"I know you still love me," Ambrose said, his voice dripping with confidence.

I laughed, a harsh sound that masked the turmoil within. Ambrose's expression faltered, taken aback by my amusement. He had always been accustomed to my trembling submission, my fearful obedience.

But I had changed. And in this moment, I saw an opportunity to extract information from him. Yet, I was bound by my promise to Michael ; to return to him in the morning.

"Do you have to do this?" I asked, my voice softening, a deliberate ploy to manipulate him.

Ambrose's laughter sent shivers down my spine. "Oh, dear Freya, look at you. You're like a bird, caged and helpless. This is the Freya I know ;the one who would do anything for me, the one who gave me the sweetest love, the mother of my son."

His emphasis on the last word hung in the air, a subtle reminder of the leverage he held over me. If he had shown this vulnerability three years ago, perhaps I would have succumbed to his charms, giving my body to him again, with him hitting me with objects all in the name of lovemaking.

But time had healed my wounds, and I felt nothing for him now. Our only connection was Waylen, and I would do anything to ensure he acknowledged me as his mother.

"Come to me, Freya," Ambrose whispered, his voice low and husky.

I met his gaze, sincerity etched on my face. "I love him," I whispered, referring to Michael. "I love my husband, Ambrose."

Ambrose's expression darkened, and he hurled his phone at the wall, the shards shattering on impact. I flinched, closing my eyes, bracing for the worst. I knew he wouldn't hesitate to hit me.

"Does he know about me?" Ambrose sneered. "I bet he'll hate you for being a whore."

My eyes snapped open, and I faced him, my voice trembling with rage. "How dare you! I'm not a whore. You made me your whore. You chose to treat me like a possession, a plaything for your twisted desires."

My face burned with anger, but I refused to shed a single tear. I had wasted too many precious tears on Ambrose already.

"What happens to all your whores, Ambrose?" I spat, my voice venomous. "They weren't as good as your little submissive Freya Rogers, were they? What did I ever do to deserve your cruelty?"

"I have evidence that your marriage to Michael is a sham," Ambrose sneered, his words dripping with malice. "If Grandpa finds out, Michael will lose everything. This is deception, Freya. If you truly love him, you'll end this charade."

My heart froze, icy fear gripping my chest. Ambrose had something on us, and I knew exactly what it was. He had sent those exact words I had spoken to Michael alone, and now he was using them against us.

I made a split-second decision. I would stay in Ambrose's mansion, pretending to play along, all while secretly gathering information about what he had on us. I would become a spy in his own home, just like Alexis and Raymond were in mine.

But this was a perilous game; so complicated. I have to return to Michael in the morning.