A Fragile Solace

Freya's P.O.V:

My whole body felt as though it had been bathed in gasoline and set on fire, throbbing in a constant, agonizing rhythm. Every single nerve ending screamed in protest as I forced my heavy eyelids open. The harsh, blinding sunlight streaming through the hospital room window pierced my vision, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut against the glare. The sterile scent of medical alcohol burned my nose. When I gritted my teeth and attempted to sit up, the searing pain from my burned arms shot straight into my chest, stealing my breath.

"Freya, are you okay?" a familiar voice broke the silence.

I froze. My blood ran cold.

It was Silas.

A violent tidal wave of traumatic memories rushed back into my mind. The boiling water. The blistering heat tearing through my flesh. The cruel laughter of my abusers. Panic seized my throat, choking off my air supply. I pressed my spine against the hard wooden headboard, dragging my knees up to my chest. I buried my face in my trembling hands, trying to make myself as small as possible. I wanted the wall behind me to crack open and swallow me whole.

"Freya, I won't hurt you. Please stop crying," he pleaded softly. I heard his heavy boots scuff the floorboards as he took a cautious step closer to the side of my hospital bed.

I shook my head, my chest heaving with desperate, jagged sobs.

"You're a liar," I choked out, unable to believe a single word from the mouth of my tormentor. They thrived on my misery. His presence here was just another twisted game.

Ignoring my protest, he closed the distance. The mattress dipped under his shifting weight. He reached out and touched the top of my head, his fingers ghosting over my hair as he coaxed me to look up at him. When I finally met his gaze, my breath hitched in my throat. I was stunned to see that his striking dark eyes were swollen and rimmed with red, as if he had been crying.

Why would he cry? He hated me. They all hated me.

"I'm sorry, Freya. I was late. If I reached there before, I wouldn't let her do that," he whispered. His large, rough hand moved down, softly caressing my uninjured cheek. His warm touch was soothing, a comforting ghost of the past before everything went wrong. For a fraction of a second, I leaned into it. But the brutal reality of my daily life shattered the illusion. I shoved his hands away from my face, pushing against his broad chest. They were all liars who enjoyed my pain.

Just as the tension in the room thickened into a suffocating fog, the heavy wooden door swung open and Callum walked in.

"Callum!" I cried out in sheer relief.

I disregarded the agonizing pain shooting through my blistered skin as I stumbled clumsily out of the hospital bed. My bare feet hit the floor, but my weak legs gave out instantly. I braced myself for a harsh collision with the cold floor tiles, squeezing my eyes shut.

The impact never came.

Strong, muscular arms caught me mid-fall. Silas had moved with lightning speed, wrapping his firm grip around my waist to keep me upright. For a fleeting, breathless second, my face was pressed close to his hard chest. I opened my eyes and looked up. I lost myself in his dark eyes. I took in his handsome features—the sharp, sculpted jawline, the prominent cheekbones, the slight curl of his brown hair.

I snapped out of my trance. Why on earth was I admiring a man who openly hated me? I struggled out of his firm grip, thrashing my shoulders until he loosened his hold.

I shoved past him and threw my arms around Callum's neck, burying my face in his shirt.

"You were late, Callum. If you were there, she could never go this far," I wept against his shoulder, letting out all the fear and agony I had suppressed over the past twenty-four hours.

When Callum sighed and gently tried to break the tight hug to check on my bandages, I stubbornly clung to him tighter. I refused to let go, terrified of Silas's looming Alpha presence standing just inches behind us.

"He will hurt me," I cried, shooting a fearful glance over my shoulder at Silas.

Callum stroked my hair, his touch grounding me. "Freya, you know you're like a little sister to me. I promise you, Silas won't lay a hand on you."

My whole body ached with fresh tears. Surprisingly, Silas didn't snap at my accusation. Instead, he spoke in a low, gentle tone. "Don't cry, Freya. It will go away. You're strong, right?"

His specific choice of words echoed my late father's constant advice. *Be strong, Freya. They will make your life hell, but you have to stay strong.* My father's voice boomed in my ears, striking a deep chord within my shattered soul. The memory of my dad helped me wipe away my hot tears. I focused on the floor tiles, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and slowly regained a fraction of my composure.

Seeing me calm down, Silas quietly stepped back to give me space. "I've talked with Martha. You will stay with her until you recover from your severe burns."

Martha. My sweet former nanny. She couldn't stop the abuse, but she had always tried to help me in the shadows. A wave of immense relief washed over my aching body. I managed a weak smile.

"Thank you, Callum," I sniffled.

Callum bumped his shoulder against mine. "You thank your brother now? I'm offended."

I forced a small giggle at his pout. "What time is it?" I asked, rubbing my dry throat.

"It's just morning. 9:30 AM," Callum mentioned casually.

Panic set in. My heart hammered against my ribs. The blood drained from my face.

"Oh no! I have to prepare breakfast. The triplets will eat me alive. Dante will definitely kill me today," I rambled in absolute terror.

I ignored my ruined arms and rushed for the hospital door, desperately trying to get back to the packhouse kitchen. I took two steps before freezing dead in my tracks.

Silas was still standing in the room.

He heard everything. Terrified of the consequences of my outburst, I spun around. I looked into the eyes of the Alpha who held my miserable life in his hands.

"Silas, I didn't mean what I said," I begged, my voice cracking in raw panic. "Don't tell Dante, please. I don't want to be in the dungeons in this state."

A hurt, deeply guilty expression crossed Silas's handsome face. He flinched, looking as though I had physically struck him across the jaw. He stared at me, his eyes wide, absorbing the sheer terror I held for his brother and him. Without uttering a single word of defense, without attempting to justify their past actions or clear his name, he simply dropped his gaze.

"Callum, take Freya to her aunt's house and explain her medicines," Silas instructed in a heavy, defeated tone. He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving behind a profound, echoing sigh that chilled the air.

Callum carefully escorted me out of the packhouse territory. We walked slowly, navigating the crisp morning air until we safely reached Martha's cozy, secluded house.

The moment she opened the door, she let out a soft gasp. She welcomed me with a tearful, warm smile, pulling me into her chest. She hugged me gently, adjusting her hold to ensure she avoided touching my burned arms.

"Oh, my baby," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

She guided me inside the quiet house and slowly sat me down on the plush living room sofa. "Wait here and don't move," she instructed, bustling straight into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, she brought out a steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup. I scrunched my nose. My stomach was tied in knots, and I had zero appetite. Callum leaned against the doorframe and let out a soft chuckle at my reaction.

"Aunty, I..."

She hushed my weak protests, placing a gentle finger over my lips. She sat beside me and began carefully feeding me the warm soup, spoonful by spoonful. Every time a drop escaped, she tenderly wiped my lips with a soft napkin.

Fresh tears welled in my eyes, blurring my vision of her kind face.

"Freya... why are you crying, my child?" she asked tenderly. She set the spoon down on the coffee table and reached out, using her thumbs to wipe my stained cheeks.

My chest heaved. The dam broke.

"I remembered Helena aunty, and it's been so long since someone took care of me like this," I replied, my voice cracking under the emotional weight of being loved again. I had spent six years being treated worse than a stray dog, starved of any affection.

Callum pushed off the doorframe, walking over to give me a comforting side hug. Martha leaned forward, wrapping her hands gently around the uninjured parts of my shoulders, and pressed a soft, maternal kiss directly to my forehead.