Freya's POV
My eyes fluttered open to an empty space beside me. Logan was gone.
I sat there for a long moment, staring at the carved ceiling above, trying to breathe past the quiet storm brewing in my chest. Last night clung to me like a second skin—his words, the way he looked at me, or rather, how he looked through me like I wasn't even there. I pulled the blanket off and swung my legs over the edge, fingers finding the soft fabric of my robe before I padded out of the room.
The hallway stretched before me, quiet except for the soft shuffle of servant feet and faint chatter echoing from somewhere deeper in the estate. I turned the corner and nearly collided with Theodore.
He was fastening his coat, clearly heading out. "Good morning, Freya." His nod was polite, professional.
"Mornin
