Laced With Havoc

Episode-9

Back at home, their first day together was a symphony of adjustment and nostalgia. Freyda’s space had always been organized, borderline surgical in its arrangement. Sera, on the other hand, had a hurricane’s charm—bags half-open, mango peels by the sink, and mismatched socks that mysteriously appeared in the living room.

“You need more chaos in your life,” Sera declared while rummaging through Freyda’s cabinets.

“I have you. That’s plenty.”

Freyda and Sera spent the evening baking mango-themed desserts, something that pulled them back into childhood memories like a soft blanket. Sera insisted on mangoes—ripe, golden, syrupy.

“Don’t you dare judge me for this obsession,” she said, carefully slicing cubes into a chilled mixing bowl.

“Obsession is when you make mango mousse, mango tarts, and mango chutney all in one night,” Freyda deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

“It’s called dedication,” Sera shot back with a grin.

Laughter filled the apartment as they whipped, stirred, and argued over sugar levels. Eventually, they ended up on the floor with spoons and a cooling tart between them, their cheeks flushed from warmth and mischief.

“Okay, time to go check the dress,” Freyda said, standing up and brushing her hands off.

Sera followed her downstairs, where Freyda’s shop occupied the lower floor of the two-story building. It was a family property, a space that had been passed down from her parents. The upper floor was where she lived, tucked away from the hustle of the city streets, with only a set of stairs separating her work from her rest.

They stepped into the shop, the faint scent of fabric and thread still lingering in the air. Zion had asked for the dress to be adjusted one last time, and Freyda wasn’t about to miss that deadline.

As they worked, Sera slid one of the mango tarts onto a plate, offering it to Zion who had walked in just then. She raised an eyebrow, grinning mischievously.

“Mango tart?” she offered sweetly.

Zion glanced at it and raised a hand, shaking his head. “I’m good.”

Sera didn’t take no for an answer. “Come on, Mr. Havoc. It’s just a little tart.”

“No thanks,” Zion replied flatly, his gaze moving to the dress on the mannequin instead. The midnight blue fabric seemed to catch the light just right, and his eyes lingered on it for a moment.

“It’s beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Freyda, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment, merely nodded without looking up. “I don’t miss deadlines,” she said, her voice steady as she adjusted the hem of the dress.

Sera was too busy stuffing a second tart into her own mouth to notice the tension. She waved her hand toward Zion’s retreating form. “Really, you’re missing out. Mango tart is a work of art, you know.”

"You know, I could give you a million reasons on why sweets are harmful for health ." He said

" And you know, I have an excuse that's worth the million reason" Freyda stepped in to their conversation.

" And that is...?" Zion asked dragging the words out dramatically.

"They're so damn refreshing" the best friends said in unison.

At this point Zion knew it was impossible to deal with this sugar lovers. Perhaps impossible than dealing with Elara. So he turned to leave.

" I'll be back to collect the dress tomorrow at 7 in the evening." He added and walked towards the door.

He was halfway to the door when he stopped, eyes scanning the room one last time. Something about the space—about Freyda’s quiet determination as she worked—stirred something in him. But he didn’t linger on it.

“Thanks,” he said again, his tone colder this time, and exited.

Freyda didn’t respond. She didn’t care enough to say anything. Instead, she just returned to the dress, silently continuing her adjustments.

Sera, finishing her tart, tossed the plate aside with a satisfied sigh. “You’re way too cold to him, you know.”

“I’m not cold,” Freyda snapped, though there was a hint of frustration in her voice. “I’m just focused.”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm. Whatever you say.”

They worked in silence for a while, with Freyda still making last-minute tweaks to the dress. The deadline was drawing near, and she still needed to finish adjusting the fit and make sure every detail was perfect. Aunt Camila’s birthday was only two days away, and Zion wasn’t the only one she needed to impress.

Meanwhile, Zion was back at his office, but the dress kept occupying his thoughts. It was strange. He hadn’t expected it to stand out so much, but the strength of the design, the way it seemed to demand attention—like it was made for battle, not beauty—fascinated him. It was a reflection of Freyda herself, he realized. Strong, resilient, and a force to be reckoned with.

But that was a thought he quickly shoved aside. He wasn’t there to analyze dresses. He was there to make sure Aunt Camila’s birthday was handled.

---

That night, after a long day of adjustments and late-night work, Freyda collapsed on her couch, staring at the ceiling. She wasn’t even tired; she was too wound up. Two days. Only two days until Aunt Camila’s birthday, and she had a million things to do before then. Zion had his dress, but Freyda still had to face the reality of dealing with him—and she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Sera plopped down beside her, stealing a last bite of mango mousse. “You know, you’re really not going to survive these next few days if you keep acting like a robot. Loosen up, Freyda.”

“I' m all good now ,” Freyda said, though it didn’t sound convincing. “I just needed to finish this dress.”

Sera didn’t argue, instead snatching a pillow and throwing it at Freyda’s head. “No one’s going to steal the dress from you. Relax. Don't overdo it”

Freyda sighed. “I’m not overdoing. I’m just—”

“Stressed?” Sera offered with a wink.

Freyda didn’t answer but tossed a pillow back at her friend, hitting her squarely in the face.

“You’re lucky I don’t charge for this kind of therapy,” Sera grumbled, playfully.

Freyda smirked. “You’d never survive without me.”

“You’re probably right,” Sera admitted, laughing. “But hey, the chaos is only getting started.”

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