Chapter 4

Freya's POV

Three days later, Brian sent me a long text.

"Tomorrow marks exactly one year together. I know we've had some misunderstandings lately, but I hope we can talk. Spago, 7 PM—I've made reservations. Freya, give us a chance, okay?"

I stared at my phone, conflicted.

Spago was one of LA's finest French restaurants. Brian had never splurged on places like this before. He was clearly desperate, trying to salvage something.

But he didn't know my heart was already dead.

After experiencing betrayal and death in my past life, after these days of fighting and disappointment, I had no expectations left for this relationship.

Still, if this was ending, I'd give it a proper goodbye.

I replied: "Okay."

The next evening, I wore my favorite black dress—the one Brian once said was "alright."

Spago was indeed elegant. Dim candlelight, soft piano music, every detail crafted for romance. Other couples whispered sweetly, eyes full of love.

And I felt like an outsider.

Brian was already waiting, formal in his suit, looking nervous. Red roses sat on the table next to an elegant small box.

"You came." He stood to pull out my chair, but I'd already seated myself.

"It's beautiful here." I surveyed the room, voice calm.

"I wanted to surprise you." Brian sat across from me, eyes hopeful. "You know, today's our anniversary..."

"I know."

The waiter came for our order. Brian chose the most expensive set menu and champagne. I could see how much effort he was putting in, how desperately he wanted to save this relationship.

But it was too late.

"Freya," after the waiter left, Brian picked up the small box. "This past year, you've been the most important person in my life. I know we've had some friction lately, but I want you to know—I love you."

He opened the box, revealing an elegant necklace with a heart-shaped pendant adorned with small diamonds.

"This is..."

"I wanted to buy this for your birthday, but I was still saving money." Brian looked at me tenderly. "Now I want to make up for it."

I looked at the necklace, remembering my birthday. He'd simply taken me to fast food, saying students had no money and I should understand. But for Hestia's birthday, he'd prepared all day.

"It's beautiful," I said, but didn't reach for it.

Brian's expression grew uneasy. "You... don't like it?"

"It's not that." I looked at him. "Brian, do you think a necklace solves our problems?"

"Of course not!" Brian said urgently. "I just want to show you how important you are to me. I've thought a lot lately, and I admit I sometimes didn't consider your feelings..."

"Sometimes?" I smiled lightly. "Brian, do you know why I'm so angry?"

"Because of Hestia..."

"Not entirely." I shook my head. "It's because in your heart, I've never been first."

Brian wanted to argue, but I continued: "The light in your eyes when you reminisced with her, your urgency when defending her, your unhesitating trust in her advice... you've never given me any of that."

"Freya, that's different..."

"How is it different?" I interrupted. "Because she's your childhood friend, she gets to guide your life and manipulate your decisions? Because she seems fragile and pitiful, she can interrupt our conversations and insert herself into our lives?"

Brian fell silent.

Candlelight flickered across his face. I could see the struggle in his eyes.

"I..." he finally spoke, "I admit I have a special protective instinct toward Hestia. But that's not love—it's just... she grew up without a mother, and I feel I should take care of her..."

"So you can ignore your girlfriend's feelings?"

"I'm not ignoring you!" Brian grew agitated. "Freya, do you know how much I love you? This whole year, you're all I've thought about..."

"Really?" I looked at him. "Then why do you run to her first every time we fight? Why do you always want me to understand her when I express dissatisfaction? Why does she have influence in every important decision you make?"

Brian was speechless.

The champagne arrived. The waiter respectfully poured our glasses. Brian raised his: "To our anniversary."

I didn't lift mine.

"Freya..."

"Brian, I'm tired." I watched the candle flame. "I'm tired of pretending I don't mind her existence, tired of faking understanding of your friendship, tired of forgiving your neglect over and over."

"Don't say that..." Brian's voice trembled.

"I'm telling the truth." I looked up at him. "In this relationship, I feel like an actress playing an understanding, tolerant girlfriend. But I'm human too. I have emotions. I need to be loved and valued."

Brian set down his glass, trying to take my hand, but I pulled away.

"I don't want to do this anymore." My voice was soft but firm.

Just then, Brian's phone rang.

The shrill sound broke the restaurant's tranquility. Other guests looked at us disapprovingly.

Brian glanced at the caller ID, hesitating.

"Answer it," I said, already sensing what was coming.

"No, I'll turn it off." Brian moved to hang up.

But the phone rang again.

This time Brian's expression changed—the screen showed emergency contact: Hestia.

I watched coldly, sarcastic amusement rising in my heart.

Even now, she had to interfere.

"Answer it," I repeated. "Might be an emergency."

Brian looked at me, then finally answered.

"Hello?... What?... Where are you?... Don't cry, speak slowly..."

I watched Brian's expression shift from confusion to tension to anxiety.

"I'm coming right now!" Brian stood, then looked at me. "Freya, I'm sorry, Hestia's in trouble..."

"What trouble?" I asked calmly.

"She says someone's following her, she's alone on campus..." Brian was sweating with worry. "She's scared. I have to check on her..."

I watched him quietly, the last spark of hope dying in my heart.

"Brian," my voice was terrifyingly calm, "if you leave now, we're over."

Brian's body froze.

He looked at me, eyes full of struggle and pain. I knew he was weighing, choosing.

Three seconds.

A full three seconds of hesitation.

Then he said: "Freya, don't do this. She's really scared. I can't just abandon her..."

"I understand." I nodded, strangely calm inside.

"Wait for me. I'll check the situation and be right back..." Brian said anxiously.

"No need." I picked up the table napkin, elegantly wiping my lips. "Go. She needs you."

"Freya..."

"Go," I repeated. "Don't keep her waiting."

Brian looked at me, wanting to say something, but ultimately said nothing. He grabbed his coat and hurried from the restaurant.

I sat in place, watching his rushed figure disappear through the door.

Other diners gave me sympathetic looks, probably thinking I'd been abandoned by my boyfriend.

Indeed, I had been abandoned.

But this time, I had no tears.

I took out my phone, opened messages, and sent Brian one text:

"We're over."