The next morning, Freya's phone buzzed against the nightstand.
ARNOLD:
Dinner by 7PM tonight. Just you and me. Address will be sent. Please say yes.
Freya stared at the screen, lips parted. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, then dropped.
She stood and paced her living room barefoot.
Then she dialed Laura.
"Hey," Laura answered groggily. "Why are we up before God?"
"Arnold texted," Freya said flatly.
Laura perked up immediately. "What'd he say?"
"He wants me to come to dinner alone with him tonight."
Laura made a whistle. "Oooh. Quite intimate. Location?"
"C'mon, it's not what you think. I haven't replied, so he has not sent the location. I'm not sure I want to."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know what to believe," Freya whispered. "He lies so easily and I... I don't know if any of it is real."
Laura was quiet for a second.
"Okay. I hear that. But what are you going to do? Avoid him for the rest of your life? Wonder forever?"
"I just don't want to fall for another illusion."
"Then go find out if it is one."
Freya exhaled shakily.
"I'll think about it."
"Wear something that says, 'I'm skeptical but hot about it,'" Laura added, and hung up.
Freya stared at her reflection in the mirror.
This wasn't about trusting Arnold. Not yet.
It was about finally getting answers.
And maybe... a little closure.
She walked over to her phone and slowly typed a reply.
FREYA:
Fine. I'll come. But don't expect me to pretend like everything's okay.
Arnold's reply came instantly.
ARNOLD:
Wouldn't dream of it.
★★★
At exactly 6:59 PM, Freya stood in front of her hallway mirror, adjusting the neckline of her simple black dress for the tenth time. Not too fancy. But not too casual either.
She was yet to see any text about the address.
She took a deep breath.
Then the doorbell rang.
Her heart leapt.
She padded barefoot to the door and peered through the peephole, already knowing who it was.
In a gray suit and coat draped over one arm, Arnold stood there like he had every right to be on her doorstep.
His jaw was clean-shaven, hair perfectly styled, but his eyes... they weren't smug tonight.
They were soft. Watching.
Freya opened the door just enough to meet his gaze.
"I thought I was meeting you there."
Arnold's lips curved faintly. "I changed my mind."
She raised an eyebrow. "Control issues?"
He smirked. "Chivalry."
She was about to put on her shoes when Arnold moved closer towards her and bent down.
He collected it from her and gently slipped them in her feet.
Freya just stared blankly at him, her heart fluttering.
The moment he stood up, she grabbed her bag and they both stepped out before she locked the door behind her.
The hallway was silent except for her heels clicking softly against the tile.
"You look beautiful," he said quietly.
She didn't respond. Just kept walking.
He held the car door open for her, and when she climbed in, she noticed the interior smelled faintly of leather and something uniquely him.
He got in beside her and gave a nod to the driver.
The car pulled away.
After a few moments of silence, she folded her hands in her lap, staring out the window.
"Why dinner?" she finally asked.
"I owe you more than explanations," he said. "But that's a start."
"And what are you hoping to gain?"
Arnold looked at her, eyes dark and unreadable. "A little honesty. Maybe a second chance."
Freya turned back to the window.
"I'm not here to give you anything," she murmured.
"I know," he said. "But you showed up anyway."
They arrived at his penthouse ten minutes later.
"You didn't tell me we were coming to your place," she raised eyebrows.
"I didn't want the paparazzi all over us in public places again."
"This is the second time you're kidnapping me, you know?"
"I'm sorry, my lady," he mumbled. "I had no option."
The elevator doors slid open and Freya stepped into the penthouse like she was crossing into another world.
Soft music played from hidden speakers, not the sweeping romantic kind, but a jazzy instrumental that made the air feel rich and thick.
The room was lit by the low golden glow of sconces and a constellation of candles dancing across the dining area.
And flowers.
Everywhere.
Not overdone, not tacky. Just... perfect.
White gardenias and blush roses, bundled delicately in crystal vases, lined the dinner table set for two.
At the center, a heart-shaped arrangement sat like an unspoken confession.
Freya stopped.
"What... is this?" she said, voice tight.
Arnold, removing his coat, spoke calmly. "Dinner. Like I said."
"This is a bit much for someone you lied about in public and humiliated."
"Would you have preferred I took you to a noisy bistro and split the bill?"
Freya almost laughed. "You're so petty. Why bring him into this?"
"Who? I don't know what you're talking about." Arnold feigned ignorance.
She shot him a glare. "I'd have preferred the truth—from the start."
Arnold walked past her and pulled out her chair. "Then let's start now."
Freya hesitated, then sat stiffly. She watched him as he took the seat across from her.
"So," she began, arms crossed, "Is this where you explain the cover-up, or is that saved for dessert?"
Arnold smiled faintly. "Still sharp."
"Still dodging," she countered.
"I didn't lie because I wanted to," he said. "I lied because I had to."
Freya tilted her head. "To protect me?"
"Yes."
"How noble," she said with a bitter laugh. "I'm supposed to believe that?"
"I don't expect belief," he said, leaning forward. "I just want a chance to show you that not everything was as simple as it looked."
Freya stared at the delicate place settings. The soft candlelight. The heart centerpiece that looked like it belonged in a fairytale—not in the complicated war zone that was their relationship.
Her breath caught when she sighted the small handwritten card by her wine glass: For the woman who keeps rewriting the script of my life.
"Romantic billionaire trope much?" she quipped, but her voice softened.
"I don't need flowers and candlelight," she said quietly.
"I know," he replied just as softly. "But I needed you to see that I'm still here. That I care."
They sat in silence for a minute.
Then Freya sighed. "Why is everything with you so messy?"
Arnold leaned back. "Because I'm a man who wasn't built for simplicity. But somehow, you make me want to be."
She narrowed her eyes. "That's either the sweetest thing you've ever said... or the slickest manipulation."
"Probably both," he admitted.
And her lips twitched.
"Dinner better be worth it," she muttered.
He stood, walked to the side counter, and lifted the lid off a covered dish.
The scent of warm truffle pasta and grilled garlic salmon drifted through the air.
Freya blinked.
"Okay. That's a start."
Arnold smiled and began serving.
But the bickering didn't stop.
It just got more... familiar.
"Why do you always do that smug half-smile when you think you've made a point?"
"I wasn't aware it bothered you so much."
"It's insufferable."
"Like your sarcasm?"
"I've earned my sarcasm."
After eating, Freya stepped out beside Arnold, the evening breeze catching a strand of her hair.
He reached forward without thinking, brushing it gently behind her ear.
"Still trying to impress me, Mr. Connor?" she teased, voice shaky with unspoken tension.
"Trying?" His eyes gleamed. "I thought I already had."
She looked away. Her heart was pounding faster than she'd admit.
Arnold stepped closer, and the playful mask dropped from his face. His gaze held something raw now.
"Freya," he said in a low voice, "I know you're still questioning everything—me, what happened, the mess I dragged you into. But tonight… I just wanted us. You and me. No reporters. No lies. Just this."
She swallowed. "You don't make it easy."
"I'm not easy." His tone was suddenly husky. "But neither are you."
One step closer and he was barely inches from her.
Freya looked up, her breath shallow. Her eyes darted to his lips, then back to his eyes.
"I shouldn't…" she murmured, but her body betrayed her, leaning ever so slightly forward.
Arnold's hand cupped her jaw, thumb grazing her cheek with aching tenderness. "Then stop me."
But she didn't.
His lips met hers, soft at first, but the moment she responded, it unraveled into something deeper.
His other hand gripped her waist, drawing her flush against him.
Her fingers tangled into his hair as he tilted her head, deepening the kiss.
It wasn't just desire—it was all the tension, the longing, the confusion, the nights they'd dreamed of this moment without daring to admit it.
Arnold's hand slid gently from her waist upward.
His lips trailed from hers to the delicate curve of her jaw, then lower, brushing against her neck with featherlight kisses that made her breath catch.
"Freya…"
She gasped when he whispered her name.
"Tell me to stop."
She shook her head and muttered, "Don't you dare."
"Do you know what you do to me?" he mumbled into her skin, his voice rough with emotion.
He found the tender space just beneath her ear and kissed it slowly. His hand drifted over her heart, feeling the rise and fall.
When his thumb brushed just slightly over the swell of her chest, she gasped again, her back arching slightly into him.
"Arnold…" she whispered, her voice trembling with warning and want tangled together.
His hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress to stroke her thigh, and she shivered.
"You drive me insane," he said lowly, forehead pressed to hers. "Every time I try to stay away, I end up finding you anyway."
Her hands clutched his shirt then tightened around his shoulder.
The heat of his breath and the subtle graze of his fingers were all setting her nerves alight.
She tilted back her head instinctively, exposing her throat to him.
He pressed one more kiss, slow and possessive, to the curve of her neck, then let his lips linger long enough to mark her with a deep, heated kiss that would blossom into a soft hickey by morning.
"I'm not sorry," he murmured against her skin. "I've wanted to do that since the night you crashed into my hotel room."
Freya finally let out a calm, breathy laugh. "Took you long enough."