Page 87 of Checks & Bonds

The west wing had always been a place of solace for me, a sanctuary within the sprawling estate. As I walked, memories of my grandfather flooded my mind—his stern but kind demeanor, the way he'd always seemed to have an answer for everything. Maybe his study would hold some answers now.

I pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside. The room smelled of old leather and polished wood, a comforting scent that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. My grandfather's desk stood at the center, an imposing piece of furniture that had seen countless hours of work and contemplation.

I approached it slowly, running my fingers along the smooth surface. Papers were neatly stacked on one side, and an old-fashioned fountain pen lay beside them. I could almost see him sitting there, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked on some important document.

Sinking into his leather chair, I let out a sigh. The weight of everything that had happened—the fights with Freya, the tension with my family—pressed down on me. I needed clarity, direction. Something to cut through the fog that clouded my mind.

Something I decided myself.

27

Freya

Asharp knock on my door dragged me from a restless sleep. I blinked against the afternoon light streaming through the thin curtains, groaning as I sat up. My eyes felt swollen and tender, remnants of this morning's tears. Part of me hoped it was Henry, though I wasn't sure why.

Slowly, I climbed out of bed and shuffled to the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. A breath hitched in my throat. What would I even say to him?

What would he even say to me?

I turned the knob and pulled the door open. Ivy stood there, holding a bag of takeout. Her eyes flicked over my face, taking in the red, puffy eyes and the crumpled clothes I hadn't bothered to change out of. She forced a smile, lifting the bag slightly.

"Thought you might be hungry."

I tried to mask my disappointment, but my stomach betrayed me with a loud growl. I stepped aside to let her in, offering a weak smile. "Thanks, Ivy. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to," she replied, setting the bag on the small desk by the window. She began unpacking the containers, the smell offried rice and dumplings filling the room. "Besides, I figured you could use some company."

I sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes. "Yeah, I guess."

Ivy handed me a pair of chopsticks and a container. "Eat. You look like you haven't in days."

I accepted the food, my stomach rumbling again as I dug in. The first bite was a relief, the warmth spreading through me. "It's been a rough few days."

"Want to talk about it?" Ivy settled into the desk chair, her eyes searching my face.

I hesitated, then shook my head. "Not really. Just... everything with Henry. With the… other stuff. It's a mess."

"Yeah, I heard about the pictures," she murmured. "I'm sorry, Freya."

I swallowed hard, looking down at the container in my lap. "Thanks."

For a few minutes, we ate in silence. The food helped, grounding me, but my mind kept drifting back to Henry. After Dan. After all of it. The anger, the hurt.

Ivy reached across the desk, touching my arm. "Freya, you know I'm here for you, right? Whatever you need."

I nodded, forcing another smile. "I know. And I appreciate it, Ivy. Really."

She squeezed my arm, then leaned back in the chair. "So, what are you going to do today?"

I sighed, setting the empty container aside. "I don't know. Figure out how to fix this mess, I guess."

I needed the subject off of me, away from my own mess of emotions. “How’s Liam doing?” I asked, hoping to steer the conversation.

“Sleeping,” Ivy said flatly. “It’s the Championship game today, so he’s trying to get his pre-game nap. He had tons ofchow mein and fried rice. I can’t believe he eats the amount of calories he does and still looks like that.”

I tried to muster some interest, picking at the last few grains of rice in my container. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” Ivy replied, raising an eyebrow.

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