Page 53 of Checks & Bonds

Rebecca knew that.

And then it clicked—Rebecca and Jensen.

What if they plotted something together to do something to Freya to get to me?

The thought sent a surge of adrenaline through my veins. I floored the gas pedal, the engine roaring in response as I sped up. The streets blurred past in a dizzying rush, my focus narrowing down to one singular goal—get home. Get to Freya.

Every red light felt like an eternity, every slow car in front of me an obstacle I wanted to ram out of the way. The city's usual hum was a distant buzz, drowned out by the pounding in my ears.

I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white with tension. If they touched her... if they hurt her...

The mansion came into view, its looming structure casting long shadows under the moonlight. I barely managed to park before jumping out of the car and sprinting toward the front door. My breath came in ragged gasps, muscles burning with each step.

I threw open the door and barreled inside, my voice echoing through the empty hallways.

"Freya!"

No response.

Panic clawed at my throat as I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The west wing loomed ahead, dark and foreboding. I burst through the door to her room, chest heaving with exertion.

Empty.

My heart pounded harder as I scanned the room for any sign of struggle, any clue as to where she might be. The bed was neatly made, her belongings undisturbed.

Think, Henry.Think.

I stood in the middle of Freya’s empty room, my breath ragged. The silence felt oppressive, like the walls were closing in on me. Panic gnawed at my insides, but I forced myself to take a breath, then another. I needed to think clearly.

Maybe I was being paranoid. Maybe Rebecca's manipulations had twisted my thoughts so much that I couldn't see straight. Freya could have just gone somewhere in the house. She could be safe, tucked away in some corner, unaware of the chaos raging in my mind.

I closed my eyes and tried to steady myself. Where would Freya go? Did she leave? The thought of her leaving without saying anything felt like a knife twisting in my gut. But she could have, especially after everything that had happened between us.

Still, I couldn't let myself jump to conclusions.

Not yet.

I needed to search the house first, make sure she wasn't somewhere within these walls before spiraling into worst-case scenarios.

The west wing seemed like a logical place to start. It was where I found her before, wandering those old hallways, curious and defiant. Maybe she'd gone back there to escape me, to find some solace away from the tension that had been building between us.

I moved quickly through the mansion, my footsteps echoing in the vastness of the halls. Each step felt like an eternity as I approached the west wing. The memories of our last encounter here flashed through my mind—our argument, the anger and confusion in her eyes.

The door to the west wing creaked open under my hand, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. The air felt cooler here, almost untouched by the warmth of the rest of the house. I stepped inside, letting the door close softly behind me.

I moved through the hallways with purpose, checking each room methodically. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist with each turn, playing tricks on my mind. But I pressed on, determined to find her.

Room after room yielded nothing but silence and emptiness. My heart pounded louder with each empty space I encountered.

Finally, as I reached one of the last rooms at the end of the corridor, a faint sound caught my attention—a soft rustle, almost imperceptible against the quiet.

I stepped closer to the door and pushed it open slowly.

And there she was.

But she wasn't alone.

17

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