Page 83 of Checks & Bonds

I stood there, watching him go, feeling an emptiness settle over me like a heavy fog before turning away. I walked across campus, the familiar pathways of Crestwood stretching out before me. The spring air was filled with the scent of bloomingflowers, their vibrant colors painting the landscape in shades of pink, yellow, and purple. It was a Saturday, so the usual hustle and bustle of students rushing to classes was absent. Instead, the campus felt almost serene, with only a few groups of friends lounging on the grass or strolling leisurely.

As I made my way past the library, memories of countless late-night study sessions and whispered conversations flooded my mind. The ivy-covered brick buildings stood as silent witnesses to my time here, each one holding its own set of stories and secrets.

I continued down the cobblestone paths, my footsteps echoing softly in the stillness. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, their petals drifting lazily to the ground like delicate pink snowflakes. I paused for a moment under one of the trees, watching as a petal landed on my hand before brushing it away.

The farther I walked, the more I felt the weight of recent events lifting from my shoulders. There was something comforting about being back on campus, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of a place that had once been my sanctuary.

Eventually, I found myself standing in front of my old dormitory. The building looked just as it had when I first arrived at Crestwood back in August—red brick walls, tall windows, and a sense of history that seemed to seep from every corner. I hesitated for a moment before pushing open the heavy wooden door and stepping inside.

The lobby was quiet, with only a couple of students lounging on the worn couches or chatting quietly near the bulletin board. I made my way up the staircase, each step bringing me closer to my old room.

When I reached my floor, I couldn't help but smile at the sight of familiar door decorations and posters that adorned the hallway. It felt like stepping back in time, to a period when lifehad been simpler and my biggest worries had been midterms and term papers.

I stopped in front of what used to be my room and ran my fingers over the nameplate beside the door.Freya.

Me.

I reached into my bag, fingers brushing against the cold metal of my old dorm keys. Pulling them out, I stared at the familiar keychain—a small, worn-out leather tag withCrestwoodembossed on it. It felt heavy in my hand, a tangible link to a past that seemed so present now, in this moment.

Taking a deep breath, I slid the key into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open, revealing the room that had once been mine. Stepping inside, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.

I hadn't been gone for very long, but it felt like an eternity.

Everything was as I remembered it. The bed against the far wall, the desk cluttered with books and notes, the tiny kitchenette that had seen countless late-night snack runs. It was like coming home after being gone for so long.

And it was mine.

I closed the door behind me and walked over to the bed. The sight of it—rumpled sheets and all—brought tears to my eyes. It was here that I'd spent countless nights dreaming about a future that now seemed so uncertain.

Collapsing onto the bed, I buried my face in the pillow. The tears came then, hot and unstoppable. Sobs wracked my body as I cried out all the frustration, hurt, and confusion that had been building up inside me.

The weight of everything—Henry's coldness, the leaked pictures, this marriage I hadn't even wanted, my own doubts and fears—pressed down on me until I couldn't breathe. I clung to the pillow like it was a lifeline, letting the tears soak into its fabric.

Eventually, exhaustion took over. My sobs quieted to hiccups, then faded away entirely. The room around me blurred as sleep pulled me under, offering a temporary escape from the storm raging inside me.

As I drifted off, one thought lingered in my mind: for now, at least, I was home.

26

Henry

Freya’s silhouette disappeared out of the parking lot, her steps echoing in the stillness. Anger bubbled inside me, mixing with something else—something I refused to name. I clenched my fists, feeling the sting in my knuckles from the earlier fight.

How could she just walk away? Every instinct screamed at me to call her back, but my voice stayed lodged in my throat. She never wanted this marriage, not truly. The pictures had given Richard the perfect ammunition to challenge my inheritance. Clever trick if that was her game.

But then, I remembered how she reacted when she saw the photos. The way her face twisted in horror and betrayal, and how she punched Dan squarely in the jaw without a second thought. Freya wasn’t one to plot behind closed doors; her emotions were raw and exposed for everyone to see.

Still, I accused her. Spat words laced with venom, watching as they tore through her defenses.

Deep down, I knew she was telling the truth. The shame on her face wasn't feigned; it was too real, too painful. And yet,instead of comforting her, I lashed out. The guilt gnawed at my insides like a parasite.

I turned back towards the car and leaned against the door, exhaling sharply. This wasn’t just about inheritance or family honor anymore. Something deeper was at stake, something neither of us understood fully.

I rubbed my knuckles absentmindedly. Freya had been the one to clean them up after I beat Jensen to a pulp—another moment where she saw past my rage and into whatever lay beneath it.

And then I had fucked them up again, this time, with Dan.

Damn it all.

---