FREYA POV
“What the f**k are you doing?” I screamed, my voice cracking against the walls like glass.
Mark’s eyes were wild—pupils blown wide, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air in the house. He pocketed the key with a deliberate slowness that made my stomach lurch.
“You’re not leaving,” he repeated, lower this time, almost like he was convincing himself. “Not again…”
I backed up a step, my heel catching on a shard of glass from the bottle. Pain flared sharp across my calf, but I ignored it. Blood was already drying on my forehead; a thin trickle had reached my eyebrow. I could taste copper on my lip where I’d bitten it.
I glanced toward the kitchen and the stairs, my eyes searching for any sign of life. Where was Rebecca? Where was anyone? The house felt unnervingl
