Chapter 2

Freya's POV

After yesterday's fight with Brian, I thought I'd get a few peaceful days. But the next morning, familiar knocking echoed outside my dorm.

"Freya? It's Brian."

I opened the door to find him holding a Starbucks breakfast bag and pink roses, an apologetic smile on his face.

"I want to apologize for yesterday. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

I took the breakfast, raising an eyebrow. "Who taught you to apologize with roses?"

Brian blushed. "I... I thought of it myself. Figured it should be formal."

"Really?"

Just then, Hestia appeared around the stair corner, a sweet smile plastered on her face.

"Oh my God, Brian, you actually did it!" She clapped her hands. "I told you Freya loves pink roses! They're so much better for apologies than red ones."

I nearly laughed out loud.

Brian looked embarrassed. "Hestia, don't... don't say that."

"What?" Hestia blinked innocently. "I just wanted to help you two make up. Last night when Brian came to me, saying he didn't know how to apologize, I suggested he..."

"Hestia." Brian quickly cut her off.

But I'd already figured it out. This "sincere" apology was Hestia's scripted performance.

"I see." I looked at Brian, fury rising inside me. "So last night you went to her for advice on how to handle me?"

"No, Freya, let me explain..." Brian panicked. "I just didn't know what to do, so..."

"So you consulted your childhood friend?" I laughed coldly. "Brian, do you think she knows me better than I know myself?"

Damn, what was in this man's head?

Hestia "thoughtfully" interjected, "Freya, don't misunderstand Brian. He was really beating himself up last night, kept saying he shouldn't have snapped. I saw how upset he was, so I suggested he get your favorite breakfast and flowers..."

Listen to that tone—like she was my mother, knowing all my preferences.

"How do you know what I love?" I stared into her eyes.

"Because... we're roommates. Of course I've noticed." Hestia's voice sounded forced. "Isn't that what girls do?"

Noticed? More like stalked.

Whatever. Arguing with this level of manipulation would only damage my brain cells.

"I get it." I cut short this performance, forcing a smile. "Thanks for the breakfast, Brian. And thanks for the advice, Hestia. Since everyone's been so thoughtful, let's make up."

Brian looked relieved. "Really? You're not mad anymore?"

"Not mad." I said, mentally adding: I just don't want to waste time on this bullshit.

Disappointment flashed in Hestia's eyes, but she quickly recovered. "Great! How about we go shopping today? It's the weekend, and there are new stores opening in Beverly Hills..."

---

Hours later, we found ourselves at a Beverly Hills shopping center.

The first blow came quickly.

"Brian, how's this?" Hestia held up an expensive silk scarf, posing before the mirror.

"It's beautiful," Brian nodded.

"Do you think it matches my eyes?" She turned to him, eyes full of hope.

I watched this performance from the sidelines, growing uncomfortable.

"Sir, your girlfriend has excellent taste," the salesperson said to Brian.

"Oh no, she's not my..." Brian started explaining.

"He's right!" Hestia suddenly interrupted, her voice shy and flirtatious. "Brian always has great taste."

My heart lurched. She didn't correct the misunderstanding!

Under my cold stare, Brian realized something and quickly said, "Actually, Freya is my girlfriend..."

Hestia laughed and waved her hand. "It's fine! We get mistaken all the time. Probably because Brian and I grew up together—we're too close."

There it was again! She always played that "grew up together" card. I mentally rolled my eyes.

But what really hurt was Brian's reaction—he didn't seem bothered by the confusion. If anything, he looked like he... enjoyed it?

The second blow followed immediately.

In the next store, Hestia picked up a bright blue top and handed it to me. "Freya, try this one. This color suits your skin tone better."

"I prefer the black one," I said.

"Black is too drab. Brian, what do you think?" She turned to him for support.

Brian looked at the black outfit, then at the blue one in Hestia's hands, hesitating for several seconds.

"I think... Hestia's right. Blue really does suit you better. And Hestia understands fashion—her advice is usually spot-on."

My hand froze mid-air.

I remembered when we first started dating, Brian always said he loved my taste, that my clothing choices showed real personality. Now? He thought another woman understood what suited me better than I did.

That feeling of being dismissed stabbed at my heart, but I kept suppressing my emotions until the next blow hit.

In the men's section, Brian casually picked up a navy blazer, holding it up to the mirror.

"This color's nice," he said.

Hestia's eyes lit up. "Oh my God, do you remember? You wore this exact color to senior prom!"

Brian paused, then his face showed nostalgic warmth. "Right! That navy suit..."

"You were so nervous that night, changed three times before you were satisfied." Hestia laughed happily. "I was the one who finally picked that outfit."

"Ha, yeah, everyone said I looked handsome." Brian's eyes sparkled with memories.

"That's because you ARE handsome," Hestia giggled.

I stood there like an outsider.

They were lost in shared memories, both their eyes holding a light I could never understand. It belonged to childhood friends, to years of friendship, to a territory I as the "newcomer" could never enter.

"And that time... remember your first date?" Hestia smiled mysteriously. "I even helped you pick flowers."

"Don't..." Brian looked embarrassed but glanced my way.

My heart felt like it had been slammed. First date? With whom?

"First date with who?" My voice sounded calm, but inside I was reeling.

Brian's face went crimson. "That was... high school stuff..."

"With Jennifer, right?" Hestia "innocently" added. "I remember..."

I felt dizzy.

So when Brian dated other girls, Hestia helped him prepare. She picked his clothes, helped him buy flowers, played wingman in all his relationships.

And me? Even this morning's apology was the result of her coaching.

Suddenly, I began questioning how much of this past year had been real. Was I in love with Brian, or with the "perfect boyfriend" image Hestia had crafted? The thought made me nauseous.

"Freya? Are you okay?" Hestia looked at me with concern, but I caught a flash of satisfaction in her eyes.

ENOUGH.

I stared coldly at both of them, the last spark of hope dying in my heart.

"You two keep shopping." I put the clothes back. "I'm tired. Going home."

"Freya, wait..." Brian caught up. "Don't be mad, I..."

"I'm not mad." I stopped, forcing a cold smile. "Keep going. Enjoy your 'beautiful memories.'"

"Freya, calm down and listen..." Brian desperately tried to explain. "That's all in the past..."

"The past?" I laughed lightly. "But your eyes lit up when you talked about it."

Brian opened his mouth but found no words.

Looking at his awkward expression, what rose in my heart wasn't anger, but deep exhaustion.

"Freya—"

"No need to explain." I calmly interrupted him, turning to leave. "You're right. I really do need some space."

"Freya!" Brian called after me, but I didn't stop.

This time, I walked away without looking back.