Freya POV 

I looked up at his face. His Storm-gray eyes locked on mine, intense, unblinking, like he was memorizing every millimeter of my face. And for the second time, it's just like my pain personally offended him.

And in that instant something inside me cracked open.

Just this once, I thought. I want to feel like a woman again. Desired. Seen. Commit a sin and pray not to regret it.

After all, after tonight I would file for divorce. I would pack Luna's things and mine, leave this city, run my business remotely, and leave the house that still smelled like Mark, leave the woman who had quietly taken my place in my daughter's stories and my damn husband's bed. 

I will go for a clean break. A new start somewhere the neighbors didn't know my shame.

And right now, just one reckless night with the man who looked at me like I was worth ruining for... it didn't feel like betrayal anymore. It felt like survival.

I lifted my chin, met his gaze, and let another tear fall on purpose.

"Yes," I whispered. "It is."

The words barely left my mouth before I moved.

I grabbed the back of his neck with both hands and pulled him down hard. My mouth slammed into his-with zero hesitation, no second thoughts. 

He groaned low in his throat the second our lips met. His arms locked around my waist instantly, yanking me flush against his bare chest so tight I could feel every ridge of muscle pressing into me. My breasts crushed against him, nipples already hard and aching through the thin fabric of the dress. I opened my mouth wider, tongue pushing against his.

He kissed back just as rough-teeth grazing my lip, tongue stroking deep, like he was ready to devour every corner of my mouth. One of his hands slid down to grip my ass, his fingers digging in, lifting me until my thighs wrapped around his hips. The hard length of him pressed right between my legs, thick and insistent through his joggers, rubbing against me with every shift of his hips. I moaned into his mouth, shameless, hips rocking forward on instinct, chasing that pressure.

My nails raked down his shoulders, hard enough to leave marks. He hissed but didn't pull away-only kissed me harder, walked us forward until my back hit the mirrored wall with a thud. The cold glass made me gasp, but I didn't care. I arched into him, grinding down, feeling how wet I already was, how soaked my panties had become just from his mouth and his hands and the way he held me like he couldn't get close enough.

His other hand came up, rough palm cupping my breast through the dress, thumb brushing over my nipple in slow, firm circles. I whimpered while my head fell back against the mirror. He dragged his mouth down my throat, sucking hard enough to bruise, teeth scraping the sensitive skin just above my collarbone.

"Fuck," I breathed, fingers tangling in his short hair, holding him there. "Don't stop."

He didn't. Kept sucking my neck. Licking. Biting lower. His hips rolled slowly against me. Deliberate. Grinding his cock right over my clit. Every drag sent heat shooting through my pussy. My thighs started trembling around his waist. I couldn't control it. My legs start shaking badly. Pussy clenching on nothing. Dripping so much I felt it run down my inner thigh.

His tongue moved up. Found my ear. Slid inside. Wet. Hot. Rolled slowly around the shell. Licked the sensitive spot behind my lobe. Then sucked the earlobe between his lips. Bitee gently. Tongue pushed back in. Fucking my ear with slow strokes. Breath hot against my skin.

My whole body jerked. Legs shook harder. Pussy throbbed. Clit swollen and aching against his grinding cock. I only wanted one thing now. Him inside me. Fucking me hard. Right here. Against the wall. Filling me. Stretching me. Making me come on his cock.

I reached down fast. My fingers fumbled at his jogger's waistband. Wanted to feel him. Wrap my hand around that thick length. Guide him inside my pussy. I need it now.

But his hand caught my wrist. Tight. It stopped me cold.

I froze. Breathing raggedly. Staring at him.

He pulled his mouth back just enough and looked at me. Eyes dark. Pupils are huge. Lips wet and swollen from mine. Chest rising fast.

"Not tonight," he said. Voice rough. Firm.

I blinked. "What?"

"Not while you're still married."

The words hit hard. Like ice water dumped on me.

I stared. My legs are still wrapped around him. My dress bunched at my waist. Pussy still pressed to his cock. Body screaming for more. And he said no.

"Are you serious?" My voice cracked. Angry. Hurt. Humiliated.

"Yeah." He didn't move. Didn't flinch. "I want you. Bad. But not like this. Not when you go home to him after."

I shoved his chest. Hard. He let me slide down. My heels hit the floor. My legs shook so bad I almost fell. Had to grab the mirror to steady myself.

"You're fucking kidding me," I spat. Hands trembling. Body on fire. Freezing. Aching.

He dragged a hand over his jaw. Exhaled roughly. "I'm not going to be the guy you use to get back at him. When that marriage is really done-come back. Then I'll fuck you until you forget his name. Until you can't walk straight. Until all you can say is mine."

Tears burned my eyes. Angry ones. the fact that he put the dot together already and figured out it's my broken marriage that flushes me out this way

I laughed once. Bitter. Broken.

"Fuck you, Steve."

I yanked my dress down. Hands shaking. Turned. Stormed to the door. Heels clicked loud and mad across the floor.

I thought he would call me back, but he didn't call my name.

Didn't try to stop me.

I shoved the glass door open so hard it banged against the wall.

The night air slapped my face.

I got in the car, slammed the door, and gripped the wheel until my knuckles hurt.

My thighs were still slick.

My lips still tingled from his mouth.

My body still ached for him.

And I hated him for stopping.

But mostly I hated how right he felt.

I started the engine.

And right at that moment, I made up my mind; I knew exactly what I was going to do next.

Divorce papers.

New city.

New life.

And maybe-just maybe-when it was all over, I'd come back here and let him finish what he started, but I prayed not.

FREYA POV

I kept driving, but my mind stayed back at the gym, and I still kept feeling as if his hand was still on my throat. I know it is not there, but I felt the pressure. How his thumb is pressing right on my pulse. My skin remembered it exactly.

The ache between my legs got worse. My panties were soaked. The black dress stuck to my thighs. I pressed my legs together, but that only made it throb more.

I suddenly slammed the brakes. The car jerked. My body pushed forward then back against the seat. My breath came out hard. I looked around. The street was empty. I pulled over, put the car in park, and left the engine running.

I sat there breathing fast with my eyes closed. His fingers wrapped around my throat again in my head. Thumb on my pulse. Counting every beat. My heart raced under that spot.

It made me crazy. Wet. My nipples were still hard against the dress. I opened my eyes once to check the road. Still quiet. I closed them again.

My right hand left the wheel. I cupped my left breast through the dress. The fabric was thin. My breast filled my hand. Soft. Heavy. I squeezed it slowly. My nipple pressed against my palm. I rolled it between my fingers. It felt good. My breath got louder.

I kept squeezing my breast while my left hand moved down. I pulled the dress up higher on my thighs. The air hit my skin. I spread my legs wider in the seat. My fingers hooked the edge of my panties and pulled them to the side. The lace scraped my thigh.

My middle finger touched my clit. It was swollen and slick. I rubbed slow circles at first. Light pressure. Then a little harder. My hips lifted off the seat a tiny bit each time I circled.

Two fingers slid down. I pushed them inside my pussy. They went in easily. I was so wet. I pushed them deep. Curled them forward. Hit that spot inside. I started pumping slowly. In and out.

My right hand stayed on my breast. Squeezing. Pulling at the nipple. My left hand kept working. Fingers thrusting deeper. Thumb on my clit now. Rubbing tight circles. Wet sounds filled the car.

I thought about his hand on my throat again. Thumb pressing my pulse. That made my pussy clench around my fingers.

"Steve," I whispered.

I added a third finger. The stretch burned in a good way. I pushed them all the way in. Thrust faster. Thumb rubbing my clit harder. My thighs started shaking.

"Steve... fuck... Steve."

My back arched against the seat. My pussy gripped my fingers tight. The orgasm hit. Hard. My walls pulsed around my fingers. Wetness coated my hand. I kept thrusting through it. Slow. Until the last spasm stopped.

I slumped back. Breathing heavily. Fingers still inside me. My panties were twisted and wet. The car smelled like sex. My hand was sticky.

I pulled my fingers out slowly. Wiped them on my thigh. Fixed my panties. Pulled the dress back down. My legs felt weak.

And used tissue to clean up.

I started the car again. Drove home slower this time.

But I still felt his hand around my throat. And my pussy still ached for him.

****

I'm now right at the doorstep of what I should call my home.

I pulled into the driveway slowly, the house lights still on downstairs.

I know I looked a mess, but I didn't check the mirror to see; my pussy still felt swollen. 

After killing the car engine, I sat there for a while and let out a breath before I finally stepped out. My heel was loud on the concrete, but I managed to walk slowly. The moment I reached the door, I put the key in the lock, turned it slowly, and pushed it open quietly, and the dim living room lamp spilled yellow light.

But I noticed a figure, and that was Mark. He sat on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his head down; he looked like he'd been stuck in that position for a while, and the moment he heard the door click, he stood up so fast and turned right in my direction, and then he froze.

His eyes started at my face and dropped slowly, taking in the tight black dress hugging my hips and cleavage, the high hem, the short red heels, the messy hair, and the swollen lips. I don't know if he saw the mark on my neck as well.

"Freya"

His voice sounds low and rough, like it hurts to say my name.

He didn't step closer but just stood staring, jaw locked, eyes narrow, questions burning behind them. 

I shut the door and locked it; it clicked loud in the silence.

He took half a step, stopped, and scanned me again, slower, from heels to legs to dress to face, brows tight.

"You're dressed like that," he said, confused and angry. "Where the hell did you go?"

I stepped further into the living room fully, but my first instinct wasn't to look at him but to look straight at my daughter's room. I focused on the sliver of darkness under her bedroom door. The nightlight was on-her sleeping light. 

I'm sure she's fine.

Only then did I turn back to Mark.

"Hi," I said. I didn't even know why I said it. 

"Hi??" He threw the word back at me, his face twisting, more like he wasn't expecting that.

He still looked at me for a while, then let out a breath more like he put himself in control.

"Did you even check the time?" He said,

"Time," I repeated flatly. Then my eyes drift to the wall clock. 11:20 PM. I didn't respond. I just stood there. 

Mark took another step, his eyes fixated on me. 

"You look like you've been rolled in a gutter, Freya," he spat, the anger finally overtaking the confusion. He crossed his arms, trying to reclaim the authority he thought he still had. "Where were you? Who were you with? I called you twenty times. You don't just walk out of this house dressed like a whore and come back near midnight acting like nothing happened."

I felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up in my chest, but I kept my face a mask of indifference. I reached up, slowly tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

"I was out, Mark," I said, my voice steadier than I expected. "Is that a problem? I thought we were a family that didn't ask too many questions about where people go at night."

His jaw worked, a vein pulsing in his temple. "Don't play games with me. Look at you. You're... you're a mess."

"Well... maybe," I said. "What about we say goodnight now?" I added, turning to walk away.

I'd only taken one step when his voice cut in again, sharp and low.

"I asked you a question," he hissed. "Where the hell did you go?"

I didn't turn back, just kept moving, but his hand caught my arm and yanked me around hard. He looked furious-eyes wild, jaw clenched tight-and that pissed me off deep. What the hell was this? A man who fucked his college friend and kept the videos on record like trophies and now stood here acting like he had any right to be possessive?

I forced myself to stay calm, looking straight into his eyes.

Then I let the words slip out slowly, the same way he'd let his slip out the morning he broke me.

"You know what, Mark..." I said, voice quiet and steady. "Instead of giving yourself a hard time..."

"...why don't you just start thinking about divorce?"

He froze for half a second, eyes wide, then I snatched his hand away from my wrist like it burned.

"Good night."

FREYA'S POV

"Freya..." Mark called out.

I stopped halfway up the stairs, but I didn't give him the satisfaction of looking back. I squeezed my fists until my nails dug into my palms, trying to keep my breathing steady. I took another step, ready to walk away and end this, but then he screamed.

"FREYA!"

The volume of his shout made me jump. I quickly looked up, staring at the thin line of light under Luna's bedroom door at the top of the landing. If this shit woke her up, I was going to lose it. She shouldn't have to hear her father sounding like a monster.

I slowly turned to face him. He looked pathetic standing in the middle of the living room, but his ego was as loud as his voice.

"Divorce," he muttered. He rubbed a hand over his face, pacing like a caged animal. Then his face did that thing-that twitch-where shock curdled into a nasty sneer in a split second. A dry, jagged laugh broke out of him.

"Divorce? Are you serious right now? Over one fight?" He shook his head, looking at me like I was a child failing a math test. "God, Freya. You're overreacting because I pointed out what my wife needs to fix, and now you're spiraling. It's embarrassing."

Fix. It was funny how he kept repeating that word.

He moved faster than I expected. Before I could blink, his hand was a vice around my arm. The grip was tight and cold.

"Sit down. We're going to talk about this."

A surge of heat hit my chest. It wasn't fear-it was pure, unfiltered annoyance. I looked at his hand, then up at his smug face, and I actually smiled before I swung my other hand and slapped his arm away.

"I'm not doing this with you, Mark."

I turned and scrambled up the rest of the stairs, my lungs burning. I made it into the guest room, slammed the door, and shoved the lock home.

Click.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my breath coming in shallow, jagged stabs. Tears fell uncontrollably, but they felt weirdly light. I felt like I was floating. I wasn't crying because I was sad; I was crying because I could finally see the horror of the man I'd been married to. It all made sense now. In the past, I never let a single misunderstanding breathe-I would always be the one to apologize, to beg, to try harder.

But looking at that locked door, it was so obvious. Mark couldn't even recognize the pain in my eyes. He was just a piece of shit who genuinely believed he was always right.

Tears kept hitting my lap as I thought about how foolish I'd been for years. I pulled my phone out, hands shaking so hard I almost dropped it. I opened the chat with Steve. My thumb hovered over the letters.

Steve, I'm-

"Wait." I stopped and stared at the screen. A bubble of laughter forced its way out of my throat. It was so stupid, so pathetic and funny.

Texting Steve. Really?

I looked at his name at the top of the screen, then looked around the empty guest room. It was darkly hilarious. I'd spent my entire life being "Daddy's Girl," a quiet shadow following a powerful man. Then my dad died, and I just stepped out of his shadow and straight into Mark's. Then came Luna. My whole world was a tiny map where I was always the one being guided, being told who I was and what I lacked.

The fact that I was even sitting here, thinking of "texting someone" like a normal person with a life, felt like a joke. I leaned my head back against the wall and laughed into the quiet room, the sound bright and hysterical.

****

I don't know how I managed to get through the rest of the night, but I woke up to the sound of a bird outside the window. I was still wearing the clothes from yesterday-the black dress twisted around my hips, a wrinkled reminder of the gym, the car, and the mess I'd walked into.

I stayed still for a second, staring at the ceiling before I reached for my phone. It was 6:00 AM.

I ignored the missed calls from Mark-the ones he'd sent from his other phone, I assumed. Instead, I opened my messages with Rebecca.

Me: Rebecca, I'm giving you the day off. No need to come in. Take care of yourself. I'll handle Luna.

The reply came almost immediately; she was always an early riser.

Rebecca: Are you sure, ma'am? Is everything okay?

Me: Positive. Thank you. Enjoy the day.

Next, I looked at the empty text box for Steve. I deleted the draft I'd started last night. He didn't need to be my lifeline. Not yet. I needed to stand on my own two feet first.

I stood up, my body aching in places that made my face heat up for a split second, and stripped off the black dress. I threw it in the corner of the room like it was trash. I found an old pair of leggings and a plain t-shirt in the dresser, pulled them on, and splashed cold water on my face. My lips were still a little swollen.

I headed downstairs.

The house was quiet, but it felt heavy. I could smell the stale scent of Mark's whiskey from the living room. He was probably passed out on the couch or slumped in his office.

I walked straight into the kitchen. I didn't look for him. I had one goal today: Luna. If Lila thought she was going to play happy family and swoop in as the "fun" second mom while Mark tore me down, she was dead wrong. I had been the shadow in this house for too long.

I started pulling things out of the fridge. Flour, eggs, blueberries. Luna loved blueberry pancakes. I worked quietly, the rhythmic crack of eggs and the sizzle of butter on the pan acting as my meditation.

I was going to build a wall around my daughter starting today. A wall that neither Mark nor his "college friend" could climb over.

By 7:15 AM, the stack of pancakes was high, and the kitchen smelled like sweetness instead of resentment. I was pouring the orange juice when I heard the floorboards creak upstairs.

"Mommy?" Luna's sleepy voice called out.

Today was the start of the separation. Not just legally, but emotionally.