He remained silent for a moment longer before finally speaking again. "There's nothing more to say right now." His voice was cold, distant.
I turned back toward the window, feeling a mixture of anger and despair settle over me like a heavy cloak. The road ahead seemed long and uncertain, and for the first time, I wasn't sure if we could navigate it together.
I wasn't going to let him dictate things anymore. The silence, the distance, the way he shut me out—it had to end. I needed answers, even if they weren't the ones I wanted to hear.
"I need to know if I ruined things," I began, my voice steadier than I felt.
He turned to look at me, eyes cold and unyielding. "Of course I'm still going to marry you. I signed a contract, didn't I?"
My mouth dropped open. It shouldn't hurt—his words shouldn't have that power over me—but they did. They cut deeper than any physical wound ever could.
"So, that's all I am to you?" I asked, my voice breaking. "An obligation?"
"What more could you be?" His tone was dismissive, almost mocking. "It's not like I'm anything to you, Freya. Let's not pretend this is more than what it is. My grandfather arranged for us to marry. I'm going to marry you, regardless."
I glanced at him, searching his face for any hint of softness, any sign that he might feel something—anything—for me. "So you're only marrying me because your grandfather told you to?"
"Why else would I marry you?" he asked, eyebrows raised in a challenge. "It's not like there's any love between us. Unless you're going to sit here and tell me you love me?"
I held my breath, my chest aching with emotions I couldn't name. Did I love him? I didn't know what I felt for Henry, but it wasn't the hate I'd thought it was all this time.
"That's what I thought," he said snidely, turning back toward the road ahead. "Nothing has changed."
Except… that wasn't true.
"You're wrong," I murmured, staring at my lap. "Everything has changed."
"What are you?—"
"Last night," I said, lifting my eyes to meet his. "All of it. Every single thing. You're telling me it meant nothing to you?"
"You're telling me it did?" he asked, his voice hard and unyielding.
There it was. The final nail in the coffin.
"I…" My words caught in my throat. I couldn't even begin to explain the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. I reached for the seatbelt, my fingers trembling as I unclicked it. The metal buckle clanged against the door as I pushed it open. "I can't be here."
"What are you doing?" he demanded, his voice rising with alarm.
I didn't answer. I stepped out of the car, the cold spring air hitting me like a slap to the face. My shoes crunched against the gravel as I started walking away, not knowing where I was going but needing to be anywhere but near him.
"Freya!" His voice called out behind me, but I didn't stop. The wind carried his words away, and with each step, the distance between us grew.
My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the confusion and hurt inside me. Tears blurred my vision, but I kept walking, driven by an instinctive need to escape.
I heard the car door slam shut and footsteps following me. "Freya, come back here!" Henry's voice was closer now, filled with anger and desperation.
I quickened my pace, ignoring the ache in my legs and the burn in my lungs. All I could think about was putting as much space between us as possible.
He caught up to me, grabbing my arm and spinning me around to face him. "What do you think you're doing?" His grip was firm but not painful, his eyes searching mine for answers.
I pulled my arm free, stepping back. "I can't… I can't do this anymore," I whispered, feeling more lost than ever before.
His expression softened for a moment before hardening again. "Running away isn't going to solve anything. Didn’t you tell me that?”
"Maybe not," I said, my voice barely audible over the wind. "But staying here is only making things worse."
He stared at me for a long moment before finally letting out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he said, turning away and walking back to the car.