CHAPTER 003
1223 Words
The Cold Morning After
Freja's [POV]
I woke up in the dark, my body sore all over, especially between my legs. The sheets were cold, just like him. I reached out to the other side of the bed, hoping to feel Mikkel still there. But he was gone. He must've left while I was asleep.
My nightgown was ripped. Pieces of it were scattered across the floor, like my pride. I felt empty. Used. Dirty. Nothing about last night felt real, but my body said otherwise. My skin burnt where his hands had been, and bruises were already forming. My chest tightened just thinking about it.
What he did wasn’t just to my body. He crushed something inside me. Something that can't be fixed. Something he took without asking.
I pulled the sheets around myself. My hands shook as I held them tight. Not because of the cold, but from the fear. From shame. From his voice echoing in my head:
"Aren't you a slut? Better to be treated like one."
I closed my eyes hard. I wanted to block it out. To erase it. But it was too loud. Too real. I always tried to be good. I followed rules. I stayed quiet. I thought maybe if I was good enough, life would be kind to me. But there was no kindness in this place. No love.
Just hate. Mikkel’s hate. And it filled this room.
A sob tried to climb up my throat, but I forced it back down. I wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not after everything. He didn’t deserve to see me cry. He didn’t get to win like that.
I sat up slowly, even though pain shot through me. I touched my arms, my thighs—bruises everywhere. They stung like fire. But the worst part? I wasn’t even surprised. Deep down, I knew I didn’t belong here.
My gaze settled on the area where he had been lying. The blanket was still messy on his side. But his clothes were gone. Only the scent of whisky hung in the air. He had slipped out quietly, just like the kind of man who could do this and walk away like nothing happened.
I stood up on shaky legs. I didn’t bother picking up the torn dress. I let it stay on the floor. Just like this marriage—ripped, meaningless. A joke played at my expense.
If Mor Freja were alive, none of this would’ve happened.
She would’ve fought for me. Protected me. Far Vinter? He sold me like property. Linnea and my stepmom? They helped him. I’ve always just been a pawn in their game.
I walked toward the window. The garden outside looked pretty once, but now it just felt empty. Like a cage. Just like this house. Just like my life. I pressed my hand to the glass.
Break it. Run.
But where?
There’s no fairy tale. No escape. No hero waiting to save me. Just monsters.
And Mikkel is the worst kind.
The door creaked open behind me. I froze.
He’s back.
I turned around fast, heart hammering. But no one was there. Just the empty hallway.
Leave. Run. Just go.
But I didn’t move. Because I had nowhere to go. I was stuck. Trapped. This was my life now.
I walked to the mirror by the door. My face stared back at me, pale and tired. My hair, once neat, was a tangled mess. My eyes looked hollow. Older. I didn’t recognise myself.
Who is that girl?
I looked away.
I grabbed a robe from the chair and wrapped it around my shoulders. It brushed my skin and made me wince. My body felt like it had been through a storm. And in a way, it had. A storm I didn’t ask for. A storm I had to survive alone.
The door swung open again. I flinched, bracing myself.
"Good morning, ma'am. Sir Mikkel asks for you in the living room."
It was the maid. Her eyes didn’t meet mine. Her voice was soft, careful. Like she already knew. Like she heard something last night.
I nodded once. I didn’t trust my voice.
She left fast. I stared at the door. Mikkel wanted to see me. My stomach turned.
Why?
I didn’t want to see him. Ever. But this wasn’t my choice.
I breathed in. Held it. Let it out slow. My hands still shook, but I walked toward the door anyway.
He took everything last night. But I still had one thing left.
Pride.
He doesn’t get that.
Step by step, I made my way down the hall. The house echoed with silence, as if it was stifling its breath. The walls felt taller than before, like they were closing in on me.
Each step echoed. I felt smaller with every one. When I reached the living room door, I stopped.
Do I want to open this?
No.
But I did.
Inside, Mikkel sat on the couch with a drink in hand. Whisky. Again. He was awake even at this early hour. He looked up when I walked in. For a second, his eyes looked... different. Regret? Guilt?
But it disappeared. It vanished as if it had never existed.
"You're late," he said.
I didn’t answer. I stayed by the doorway. I didn’t trust myself to speak without screaming.
The silence stretched too long.
He looked at me. He appeared to be in a state of anticipation.
"We have things to discuss, Freja. Sit down."
I stayed still.
He stared.
"This marriage won’t work if you act like a child. Sit."
Still, I didn’t move.
His jaw tightened.
"I said sit."
I walked to the edge of the couch and sat without looking at him. I crossed my arms tightly over my chest.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "This isn’t how I wanted it."
I stared at the floor.
"Things got... out of control."
No words came. The knot in my throat remained constant.
"I had to prove a point. You needed to learn your place."
Learn my place? Like a dog?
"Say something," he snapped.
"Why? You don’t listen anyway."
He blinked. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me."
His mouth opened like he was going to yell, but nothing came out.
"Is that all you wanted? To 'talk'?"
His voice dropped low. "You think you can speak to me like that now? After last night?"
"After last night, you don’t get to speak to me at all."
He slammed his glass on the table. The sound made me flinch.
"You think I enjoyed it? You think I wanted that?"
"You did it. That’s what matters."
"You're my wife, Freja. It’s not the same."
I laughed, but it sounded broken. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."
He stood up, pacing now. "I didn’t want this task to be hard. I wanted us to find a way forward.
"You destroyed it that way."
He turned to me. "Then what now? Do you want to leave?"
"Would you let me?"
He didn’t answer.
Exactly.
"We stay married," he said finally. "We play the part. And you keep your head down."
"Or what?"
"Or you find out how bad it can really get."
I stood up, slow and steady. "You already showed me."
We stared at each other.
Neither of us spoke again.
Not yet.
- Writer
