FREYA’s POV ———————

The silver dagger was beautiful. Polished, intricate, a piece of art meant to inspire awe—but it had always felt heavier in my hands than it should. Damien had given it to me as a gift, to protect myself from him. A part of me wondered if he ever imagined it would end up here, clutched tightly in my grasp, its sharp edge resting against the fragile barrier of my chest.

The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with a soft, warm glow that mocked the storm brewing inside me. Damien sat across from me, his voice steady as he talked about something I didn’t care to follow. I hadn’t been listening to him for a while now. His words melted into the background, drowned out by the thunderous rhythm of my heart. I had already made my choice.

The blade gleamed in the firelight, a sliver of silver in the dim room. The weight of it felt right, an anchor pulling me toward peace. I tightened my grip, breathing in, and as Damien’s voice trailed off, I made my move.

The world erupted into chaos.

“Freya!” His shout was like a clap of thunder, his chair screeching against the wooden floor as he bolted toward me. I barely registered his hands grasping at mine, trying to wrench the dagger away, his voice cracking with panic. I held fast, desperate, but the blade pierced flesh, and an unbearable heat surged through my chest.

Pain. Blinding, all-consuming pain.

Then, nothing. Silence. Darkness.

I thought it was over.

It wasn’t over.

A harsh gasp tore through me, forcing air into my lungs. My chest ached, every breath a struggle. I was alive. Why?

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Damien, his face hovering over mine. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his hands—stained red with my blood—pressed firmly against my chest. His eyes, wide and frantic, locked onto mine as I blinked sluggishly back at him.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice rough, tinged with relief and anger. “Thank goodness.”

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak cough. The metallic taste of blood lingered on my tongue, a bitter reminder that my plan had failed. Damien had stopped me.

The realization hit me like a blow, and tears pricked the corners of my eyes—not from relief, but from the crushing weight of disappointment. I had wanted to leave. I had wanted it to end. But here I was, alive and tethered to the world I had tried to escape.

“Why?” I rasped, my voice barely audible. My throat felt raw, as though I’d been screaming. “Why didn’t you let me go?”

His jaw tightened, his hands shaking slightly as he continued to press against my wound. “Because you don’t get to do that,” he said, his voice low and trembling with restrained fury. “Not in front of me. Not ever.”

The room spun, and I closed my eyes, too weak to argue. When I opened them again, Damien was still there, his gaze fixed on me like a lifeline.

“I gave you that dagger so it could go through me Freya” his voice rising with each word “me… Freya. Not you.” his eyes filled with so much hurt

“You think this was the answer?” he demanded, his voice rising. “You think this was the way out?”

“I needed it to stop,” I whispered. My chest burned, each word scraping like glass. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

“And you think I could?” His voice cracked, raw and unfiltered. “You think I’d be fine watching you slip away, holding you while—” He cut himself off, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep control. “Freya, if you’d succeeded, you’d have killed more than just yourself.”

Tears blurred my vision as his words sank in. “I didn’t ask you to save me,” I said weakly, my voice breaking. “You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t have to?” Damien leaned closer, his dark eyes boring into mine. “Freya, I had to. Because I can’t—” He exhaled sharply, his voice softening as he fought to keep his composure. “I can’t lose you. I won’t.”

His intensity was suffocating. I wanted to turn away, to escape his gaze, but I couldn’t. I was too tired, too hurt, and part of me knew he wouldn’t let me go even if I tried.

“I’m not worth it,” I whispered, the tears spilling freely now. “There would be tons of ladies willing to throw themselves at you.”

His hands stilled, the pressure on my wound steady but firm. “Don’t you dare say that,” he said, his voice low but fierce. “You don’t get to decide what you’re worth to me. You don’t get to make that call.”

I stared at him, my breath hitching as his words cut through the fog in my mind. “I’m tired, Damien,” I said, my voice cracking. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep pretending I’m okay.”

“Then stop pretending,” he said simply. “But don’t you ever, ever try to leave me like that again. Do you understand me?”

His words were a command, not a plea, and the fire in his eyes left no room for argument. I wanted to protest, to tell him that he didn’t get to decide for me. But I didn’t have the strength. Not now.

“Why do you even care?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I love you,” he said without hesitation. “And I’m not letting you go—not now, not ever. If you try to leave, Freya, I’ll follow you. To the ends of the earth, to wherever you think you can escape. Even if it’s the edge of oblivion.”

His words hit me like a punch to the chest, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The weight of his conviction was staggering, suffocating, and yet... grounding. He wasn’t lying. I could see it in his eyes, hear it in the tremor of his voice. Damien would follow me anywhere, even into the darkness I had tried to escape to.

“I don’t deserve that,” I whispered, fresh tears spilling over. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not your call to make,” he said firmly. “You don’t get to decide what I feel or what I do. You think you’re a burden, but you’re wrong. You matter, Freya. To me. To more people than you know.”

I closed my eyes, his words swirling in my mind, conflicting with the dark thoughts that had consumed me for so long. I wanted to believe him, but the doubt was still there, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

“Then let me show you,” Damien said. His voice was softer now, but no less steady. “We’ll take it one step at a time. Together.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He was still there, bloodied and tired but unwavering. He had stopped me, saved me, and even now, he refused to leave my side.

A small part of me hated him for it. But another part, buried deep beneath the pain and despair, felt something else. My line of thought was probably blurred from all the blood I had just spilled.

Hope. Fragile, fleeting, but there.

I didn’t answer him, but when his hand brushed against mine, I didn’t pull away.