Freya Arsov sits on top of a world of diamonds and sports cars. Her father is a billionaire, head of a world-renown company, her mother, an esteemed lawyer. She attends the most prestigious boarding school in England. She has four amazing best frien...
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THEY WERE CAUGHT IN LIGHT TRAFFIC on Piccadilly.
Freya was actively ignoring her mother's stare and throwing glares at Pierre's watchful gaze in the rearview mirror. The butler pretended not to see.
All Freya wanted was to curl up into a ball and cry but she could not do that while her mother sat a few centimetres away, red lips pursed.
Finally, Victoria Calvert spoke, tone clinical, "Interesting choice of attire."
Freya didn't look at her, merely focused her eyes out the window, blinking back burning tears. Still, her fingers touched the fabric of Matthew's shirt shakily and she found that she wanted nothing more than to tear it from her skin.
"Talk to me, Freya," came her mother's soft, yet commanding voice.
Freya dutifully remained silent. She could not find words anyway. Her heart was in pieces.
But her entire body froze when her mother's hand found her own.
She did not want to be touched. Her skin was crawling. She kept recalling Matthew's hands, his lips, and the ache in her chest that would not subside. She wanted to scrub him from her skin. She wanted to scream until her throat was raw and had forgotten how to speak his name.
She yanked her hand away, inhaling sharply. "Pierre," she said, "stop the car." She was going to walk to Arrowsmith if she had to.
Pierre did no such thing.
Freya didn't care. She pulled at the door anyway. But, of course, it didn't budge.
Her mother levelled a stare at her. Freya couldn't bring herself to return it.
"Don't look at me like that," snapped Freya, crossing her arms over her chest tightly.
"So, I take it Julian is out of the picture," commented her mother, still looking at Freya exactly as she had been before. Of course, she was. Victoria Calvert was never one to listen to her daughter. Even when it was all Freya had wanted at one point.
Her cheeks flamed. "You don't get to talk to me about Julian."
Her mother's eyes were merciless. Not unlike the unrelenting glint that had taken over Anakin's as he'd tortured her with the truth.
She didn't think she could take anymore. Especially not from her mother.
"I do, actually," continued Victoria. "I get to talk about Julian. Especially, when you moved on from him to a gang leader."
Freya didn't dare react.
"Did you think your father and I would both work in London and not know about Matthew, Freya?"
"You're not as smart as you think you are, daughter."
She closed her eyes. God. She knew. Oh God. Freya fucking knew.
