I barely heard the door slam behind me, its echo swallowed by the harsh pounding of rain. My belongings were scattered all around the wet pavement. For a long moment, I stood frozen, too numb to move. The cold rain had already soaked through my clothes, but I barely paid it any mind.
Releasing a deep breath, I bent down, my fingers trembling as I reached for the first item—a shoe. My mind barely registered what I was doing, I started gathering each of them piece after piece, even as the rain fell harder. Each item I picked up felt heavier than the last. My vision blurred from the tears mixing with the rain, my body moving on its own.
Then, just as I reached for the last of my things, I felt the first real drop of rain hit my skin. I froze, my hand hanging in the air. The sky seemed darker, the droplets falling heavily. I dropped to my knees, clutching my soggy belongings closer to my chest, and sobbed.
I cried for everything—for the years of pain, the rejection, the loneliness. For every moment I had spent trying to be something to a people that never wanted me. My cries were muffled by the rain, my voice silent in the pouring rain, but I didn't care. I hugged my knees to my chest and let the tears flow, rocking back and forth again.
How long I sat there and cried, I didn't know. Minutes? Hours? I couldn't tell. All I knew was the cold. The cold that seeped into my bones, chilling me from the inside out. My fingers felt numb, my clothes clung to me like a second layer of skin. The rain drenched me through and through, but I had no strength left to care.
I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking as I managed to pull it from my pocket. I hesitated for a moment, then scrolled down to Sylus's number. My heart ached at the thought of burdening him, but I needed someone—anyone—to save me from drowning in this hell.
I called him.
The phone rang. Once, twice. No answer.
A hollow chuckle escaped my lips, bitter and dry, despite the rain. Of course, he wouldn't pick up. Maybe it was better this way. I shouldn't drag him into this mess. I didn't try calling him again. Instead, I curled into a tighter ball on the wet pavement, the cold biting at my skin.
As I sank back into the silence, hugging myself tighter to block the cold, my phone buzzed weakly in my hand. I fumbled with the phone, managing to answer the call.
"Ms.Sinclair?" His voice was nice to hear after the eventful night. I could barely speak, my throat raw from crying. "Sylus…" I breathed out, my voice shaky and weak.
But before I could say anything more, the phone screen went black. It was dead. I stared at it, the weight of everything washing over me again, and my chest tightened as a new wave of emotions hit me.
The world blurred, and I felt myself slipping into the darkness. I didn't know how long I had been unconscious, but when I came to, I was being lifted. My heart raced in panic, and I started struggling against the firm grip that held me. I fought against the stranger, trying to break free, when a familiar voice cut through my haze.
"It's okay, Freya. It's me. You're safe."
Sylus.
Hearing his voice, I sagged into his arms, my body relaxing and exhaustion took over. I blinked up at him, his face blurry in the rain-soaked night, and whispered his name, my throat too dry to say anything more. I tried to get as close as I could in my current position, his body heat countering the cold I felt. He held me tighter.
I slipped in and out of consciousness, only slightly aware of being placed in the passenger seat of a car. I stirred again as Sylus strapped me in, his hands gentle as he secured the seat-belt. I met his eyes, and for the first time all night, I felt safe.
"It's okay, Freya," he said softly. "I'm here. Let's get you home."
"Home! I can't go home. Please anywhere but there." I whined.
"Freya, Freya, look at me. I was talking about my place, is that okay with you?"
I nodded weakly, unable to form words as my body trembled from the cold. Sylus turned the heater on, his hands briefly brushing against mine, sending warmth through me. He glanced at me once more before pulling away from the curb, the steady hum of the car lulling me into a dreamless sleep.
Throughout the drive to his place, he kept his eyes on me switching between looking at me and the road.
By the time we reached his house, I was only half-awake, my body too heavy to move on my own. Sylus carried me inside, his footsteps soft against the marble floors as he led me to a large, warm room. He gently woke me, his voice low and kind.
"Freya, you need to get out of these wet clothes," he said. "There's a warm bath ready for you. My maid will bring you fresh clothes. I'll be back in a bit to help with your wounds."
I blinked up at him, too tired to argue or ask questions. I simply nodded, letting the warmth of the house seep into my frozen body as I slipped into the bathroom. The bath was hot, the steam rising around me. I sank into the water, closing my eyes as the heat soothed my aching muscles.
When I emerged, dressed in the soft, fresh clothes Sylus's maid had left, I found him waiting by the door, a first aid kit in hand. He didn't say anything as he approached, gently taking my hand and sitting me down on the edge of the bed.
His fingers worked carefully as he cleaned the cuts and bruises on my face and arms. The silence between us was thick, but not uncomfortable. I winced as he applied some antiseptic, and he glanced up, his expression dark with concern.
"Freya, who did this to you?" he asked me softly.
When I only looked away and gave no reply, "Was it Alexander?" he asked again with barely contained anger.
I shook my head quickly, not wanting him to think that. "N—No, it wasn't him." My voice wavered, the events of the night catching up to me all over again. I told him everything—the confrontation, the fight, the way my stepfamily had turned on me.
As I spoke, tears welled up in my eyes again, and I couldn't hold them back. They spilled over, my shoulders shaking as I cried, unable to stop the flood of emotions.
Sylus set down the first aid kit and, without hesitation, pulled me onto his lap. His grip was firm yet gentle, like he felt I'd break if he held me harder.
It felt nice, so I buried my face in his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calm the wave of emotions inside me. He didn't say anything—he didn't have to. His presence was enough.
I clung to him, my fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt, craving the warmth he offered. The heat from his body seeped into mine, and I could feel his muscles beneath the clothes.
His hand moved to my back, tracing slow, comforting circles. I inhaled deeply, filling my senses with him—the scent of spice, wood, and something darker. My pulse quickened.
Slowly, he pulled back, his hands gently sliding down my arms in a way that left a trail of warmth where his fingers lingered. He cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear, but the touch lingered, sending a shiver racing through me. His fingers rested softly against my skin, and I couldn't look away from him.
Our faces were close—too close. I could hear the hitch in his breath, shallow and uneven, matching the flutter in my chest. The space between us seemed to shrink. I couldn't help it—I leaned in, my lips parting just slightly, wanting to close the distance.
His gaze flickered to my lips, and I saw the same hunger mirrored in his eyes. His lips hovered just above mine, so close that I could feel the heat radiating off them. It was like I was hyper aware of my surroundings desperately wanting him to close the distance.
I knew this was wrong—after all, I was still legally married. Just when I was about to pull away, Sylus's hand slid to the back of my neck, holding me in place, and he leaned in, his lips brushing mine faintly. A soft gasp escaped me, my heart stuttering in my chest. The world around us disappeared—it was just him, just us, in this moment. Nothing else mattered.
But before our lips could fully meet, he froze. His breath caught, and he pulled back, just an inch, his forehead resting against mine. His eyes were dark with longing, but I could see the war raging in them.
"You drive me crazy Ms.Sinclair," he whispered, his voice low and commanding, thick with want. His thumb traced my cheek, but his grip loosened, though he didn't let go. "But when I finally taste your lips, I'm going to take all of you, every damn piece of you. Not just a moment fueled by lust."
I swallowed hard, heat pooling low in my stomach, disappointment mingling with the deep ache I felt between my legs. But I understood. I nodded, though part of me ached for him to pull me back, to kiss me, to let me lose myself in him, just a moment.
He stood slowly, his hand slipping away from my skin like it hurt him to let go. His fingers brushed mine for a moment longer before he stepped away completely.
"Get some rest," he said, his voice thick like he was holding himself back. "We'll talk tomorrow." He glanced down at himself, then threw me a wicked, knowing smirk. "Though, by the looks of it, I'll be thinking about you long after I leave."
My gaze instinctively followed his, and I noticed the unmistakable bulge in his pants. My cheeks burned as I looked up at him, only to find him throwing me a wink.
"Goodnight, Ms.Sinclair," he whispered, his eyes lingering on mine, full of promises left unsaid.
I managed a soft, breathless, "Goodnight, Mr.Thorn," as he walked to the door, his presence still heavy in the air.