What We Never Healed

Freya POV:

After hours in the air, my right leg was acting up again, stiff and unresponsive.

That old injury always flared up when I put weight on it, a throbbing reminder of things best left forgotten.

I knitted my brows and walked out of the terminal my luggage,

The moment I unlocked my phone, the screen showed my Uber had arrived.

Good.

At least the day was ending according to plan.

I dialed a number.

"Bob, I just landed. Things went well enough."

"Good to hear. Get back to the office ASAP. Word is there’s a major announcement coming down today."

"Got it. I'm already in the car."

I hung up and pulled open the door of the black sedan.

The vehicle sat higher off the ground than I expected, and as I lifted my leg, a sharp prick of pain shot through me again.

I gritted my teeth and slid onto the seat.

But the exact second the door clicked shut, a cold realization hit me—

Something was wrong.

The air inside was entirely too quiet.

The car was immaculate, smelling of brand-new leather laced with a crisp, chilling cologne.

This wasn't an Uber.

"Rodwell Street," I said, sliding my phone into my bag without looking up.

The driver didn't answer.

Frowning, I raised my eyes.

"Are you—"

The words died in my throat.

He turned his face slightly toward the back.

In that split second, the air left my lungs.

That face.

The face I had kissed ten thousand times.

It felt as if time itself had been brutally severed in two.

Then, I heard his voice, a low murmur.

"Freya?"

The world ground to a sudden, screeching halt.

He stared at me.

In that instant, I literally forgot how to breathe.

My fingers moved before my brain could process.

Driven by pure survival instinct, I scrambled for the door handle.

The freezing touch of the metal snapped me back to reality for a fraction of a second.

"Sorry, I’m in the wrong car."

Only when the words left my mouth did I realize how violently my voice was trembling.

I shoved the door open.

The humid outside air rushed in to meet me.

But the moment my foot slammed onto the asphalt, my right leg gave out entirely.

It was as if the main pillar holding my entire body upright had been pulled away.

I didn't just step out.

I practically collapsed out of the vehicle.

My knees crashed hard onto the pavement.

By the time the sharp sting traveled up my body, I realized I was already gasping for air.

Ragged, desperate breaths.

Behind me, his voice cut through the noise.

"Freya—"

The moment that syllable dropped, my entire body froze into ice.

I didn't turn around.

My body was being violently anchored by old, heavy memories.

I couldn't stand up.

More than that, I didn't dare to.

One second.

Two seconds.

I pressed both palms against the concrete, my fingertips turning numb with cold.

Then, and only then, did I force myself to crawl forward.

Each step was short, frantic.

It felt like I was running from something that was actively hunting me down.

But deep down, I knew it wasn't him chasing me.

It was the memory.

The parts of me from two years ago that had never truly healed.

The wind blew from behind, carrying his scent, his voice.

I didn't look back.

Not even once.

It wasn't until I ducked into the shadows near the side of the terminal that the tension snapped, and I completely fell apart.

I huddled in a corner of the pickup zone, the strength drained from my limbs.

It was really him.

That face, that magnetic voice, his scent...

Even though I'd only seen him for a few seconds, the memory wrapped around me like thorns.

It hurt, yet I felt a sick craving to be closer.

The vibration of the phone in my bag snapped me back.

I swiped the screen.

“Can you find my car?” the real driver asked.

It took two seconds to find my voice.

“I’m coming out now.”

It came out as a tremor.

I took several deep breaths, smoothing my expression before walking out.

The scrape on my knee stung.

I curled my lip

The world is huge. I’ll never have to see him again.

As the Uber sped down the highway, the ghosts of two years ago flooded back.

Our intimacy.

Our laughter.

The way he smiled when he told me about the promotion—

The one at the overseas office.

He had to leave.

I had cried, screamed, begged him to stay.

And then... the accident.

My hand jerked, nails biting into my palm.

Stop. Don’t remember.

If I could just forget him, the pain would stop.

I walked into the office to the usual low hum of a workday in full swing.

Emily poked her head over the partition from the next cubicle.

“Back so soon?”

“Yeah, everything went smooth.”

“What happened to your leg?”

“Just a trip,” I said, dismissive. “Scraped some skin, that’s all.”

I sat down and hiked up my skirt slightly to inspect the damage.

She handed me a bottle of antiseptic.

“You better be careful. A hit like that... it takes forever to heal.”

“Thanks, Emily,” I muttered, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. “You’re always looking out for me.”

She watched me for a beat, her voice dropping to a cautious whisper.

“So... you going back for the surgery soon?”

My hand gave a sharp jerk.

“Later. Once the bonuses hit.”

A while later, Emily leaned over again.

“I heard they’re bringing in a new Director,” she pouted, clearly annoyed.

“I really thought they’d bump you up.”

I managed a small, tired smile.

“Are you kidding? I’ve only been here a year.”

“But your numbers are the best in the department...”

Before she could finish, the HR Director led someone into the room.

“Can I have everyone’s attention for a few minutes?”

The office went quiet.

Every pair of eyes drifted toward the front.

When I saw the figure standing beside him, the pen I was holding slipped through my fingers and clattered onto the desk.

Harvey Tamer.

He was broader than he’d been two years ago, his frame perfectly filled out by a crisp, bespoke suit.

The messy, dark brown curls I used to run my fingers through were gone, slicked back into a sharp, disciplined style.

His pale blue eyes were no longer lazy or warm; they were cold, piercing, and lethal.

My breathing turned shallow.

I stared at him, unable to look away.

He scanned the room until his gaze locked onto mine.

I looked down in a panic, but I could still feel his icy stare lingering on me for several agonizing seconds.

“This is your new Director, Harvey Tamer. He comes to us with an incredible track record in sales and management—we’re lucky to have poached him.”

The office erupted in polite applause and hushed whispering.

I kept my head down, my heart hammering against my ribs until it actually hurt.

Emily leaned in, letting out a muffled squeal.

“The new Director? Oh my god!”

“Yeah...”

I forced a laugh, but my face felt like stone.

After the brief welcome, Harvey disappeared into his private office.

The floor returned to its usual rhythm as if nothing had happened.

I leaned back in my chair, my fingertips ice-cold.

It was a small, cruel world.

He had become exactly who he wanted to be.

And me?

I had the ghosts of our past and the scars on my body.

Now, I was expected to welcome him as my boss.

My desk, the computer in front of me.

I kept it spotless every single day.

I used to work

But now, all I felt was a restless, burning irritation.

I picked up a report, trying to force my focus back onto the pages. But I couldn't make sense of a single line.

I shoved the folder aside and pressed my fingers hard into my temples.

Every breath I took dragged me back to those days.

Even when I tried to bury it, the memories refused to stop.

The door to the Director’s office swung open.

Harvey stepped out, his eyes landing directly on my desk.

“Freya. My office. Now.”

My heart did a violent somersault.

Fine. It was bound to happen eventually.

I didn’t get up right away. I just sat there, staring into space.

For two years, I’d played out this reunion in my head—wondering what I’d look like, what I’d say.

But now that he was actually here, I didn't want a confrontation.

I just wanted to run as far away from this building as possible.

I’d been in the Director’s office a thousand times, but this time, I had to steady my breathing for a full minute before I finally knocked.

“Come in.”

He was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the city.

He still had that magnetic pull, that effortless way of commandeering my focus.

But he was different.

The tailored blazer was off, leaving him in a crisp white dress shirt that clung to his frame, tracing the broad line of his chest.

Black shirt stays—arm garters—were cinched around his biceps, emphasizing his strength.

I couldn't stop the flash of memory:

The feel of my head resting against those arms.

He wasn't the guy who lived in oversized hoodies anymore.

His face had hardened into maturity.

His pale blue eyes were like frozen lakes—unreadable and cold.

I didn't want to dig for whatever was beneath the surface.

If anything remained unchanged, it was his scent.

I took a sharp, secret breath of it, and the fresh, clean notes tore through my memory like a blade.

I pressed the sharp corner of my folder into my palm, using the sting to stay grounded.

“Mr. Tamer, here is the latest client feedback.”

I set the file on his desk, carefully avoiding his gaze.

He didn't answer.

He just stood a few feet away, watching me.

The air in the office felt thick, pressurized, and the overhead lights were suddenly too bright.

“Freya,” he finally said.

His voice was slow, deliberate.

“I didn't expect to find you here.”

It was low, terrifyingly calm.

“Two years... you’ve changed.”

My pulse was a riot.

Even without looking up, I felt the weight of his stare tracking every move I made.

I forced myself to meet his eyes.

“You achieved your dreams too, Mr. Tamer. Congratulations.”

A slow, ghost of a smile touched his lips—though it looked more like a smirk.

“I recall you hating sales as a career choice.”

I gave him a thin, distant smile.

“Maybe I just hated one particular salesman.”

He nodded, seemingly unfazed.

“Fair enough. At least having you here will make the transition easier. After all... we know each other so well.”

My breath hitched.

A dull ache bloomed in my chest.

I took one long, steadying breath and pulled a single sheet of paper from the folder, slapping it onto his desk.

“Don’t count on it,” I said. “I’m resigning. Effective immediately.”

He paused for a second, a single eyebrow arching.

No shock, no panic.

“Oh? I just got here and you’re already quitting?”

He didn't look surprised.

“Give me a reason.”

“Don’t ask. It’s personal.”

I wouldn’t let myself survive the same wreckage twice.