Rain pounded against the tall glass windows of the Vincent estate, streaking down like tears that matched Freda's mood. Outside, the world blurred into silver mist — the kind of storm that could wash away years of memories, if only hearts were as easy to cleanse.
Edward stood a few feet away, his back to her, shoulders rigid. His tailored suit clung to his frame, damp from the sudden downpour that had caught him when he'd followed her here. The firelight flickered behind him, painting him in gold and shadow — half warmth, half danger.
"Why did you come here, Edward?" Freda's voice was quiet but laced with steel. "Haven't you done enough?"
He turned slowly, his expression unreadable. "Because you won't listen to me anywhere else."
"I have nothing left to listen to," she whispered. "You made your choice a long time ago."
He took a step closer. "And what choice was that, Freda? Leaving to make something of myself? To come back worthy of you?"
Her breath caught, but she quickly masked it with a bitter laugh. "Worthy? You think money can rewrite the past? My father died in ruin, my mother in grief — and you vanished without a word!"
"I wrote," he said quietly. "You never answered."
"I never received them."
Their eyes met — and for a heartbeat, silence filled the room like thunder before lightning.
Edward's voice softened. "I wrote every week, Freda. From the day I left. When I had nothing. When I was building the company from dust. When I wanted to give you the world."
The pain in his tone cracked through her defenses, but she swallowed hard, unwilling to let him see her break. "And yet the world you built never had space for me."
He moved closer, stopping just a breath away. She could smell the faint scent of rain and cedarwood clinging to him — the same scent she used to lean into when he'd hold her under the stars. "That's where you're wrong," he said. "Everything I built was for you."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to look away, but his gaze held her captive. There it was — that same boy she'd loved, hidden behind the armor of a billionaire. The same soul that once made her laugh, that once promised he'd return.
And he had returned. But not the same.
"You have no idea what your absence did to me," she whispered, voice trembling. "Every night, I waited. Every morning, I hoped for a letter. And when my father died, I blamed you. I thought you'd abandoned us."
Edward's eyes darkened. "Freda…" He reached out, but she stepped back, clutching the edge of her shawl as if it were her only protection.
"Do you know what it's like," she continued, her words sharper now, "to bury your family while pretending not to fall apart? To work day and night to keep a name everyone already mocked? To be called the girl who was left behind?"
Her voice cracked at the end, and Edward's heart twisted painfully. "You were never left behind," he said, his tone breaking. "I was kept away."
Freda frowned. "Kept away?"
He took a deep breath. "Your uncle — Richard Vincent. He intercepted my letters. All of them. And he made sure I never received yours. He told me you were engaged to someone else, that you'd moved on."
The world stilled around her. "That's not true," she breathed.
"I know," he said, his jaw tightening. "But I didn't. Not until I came back and saw you at the auction — standing in the same house where everything began."
She staggered back, disbelief and anger warring in her eyes. "Uncle Richard… he told me you never wrote. That you'd forgotten me."
Edward's hands clenched. "He wanted control of your family's assets. My presence complicated that."
Freda turned toward the window, pressing her palm to the cold glass. The rain outside blurred into a swirl of light and memory. "All these years," she murmured, "we suffered because of lies."
He moved to her side, his reflection appearing beside hers in the windowpane — two silhouettes trapped between past and present. "Then let's not waste another second on the lies," he said softly. "We can still start over."
She looked up at him, eyes shimmering with pain. "Start over? Edward, the girl who wrote those letters… she's gone. Life took her away piece by piece."
He brushed a strand of damp hair from her face, his touch lingering for just a second too long. "Then let me meet the woman she became."
Her heart fluttered, but she stepped back before the warmth could swallow her whole. "Don't," she whispered. "You can't just walk back into my life and expect everything to fit again."
"I don't expect it," he said quietly. "But I'll fight for it."
For a moment, the storm outside mirrored the one between them — fierce, relentless, impossible to ignore. The thunder rolled, and Freda's breath hitched as lightning lit up Edward's face, revealing the ache behind his calm exterior.
"I can't do this again," she murmured. "Not if it ends in heartbreak."
He took her hand gently, his thumb tracing slow circles against her skin. "Then I'll spend every day proving that it won't."
Her chest rose and fell in rapid rhythm, torn between longing and fear. She wanted to believe him — to believe that love could survive betrayal, distance, and time. But the years had taught her that promises were fragile things.
"Edward…" she began, but her voice faded when he leaned closer, his breath warm against her temple.
"Just let me be here," he whispered. "No promises. No past. Just this moment."
And for once, she didn't pull away.
The fire crackled softly as the storm raged on outside. Two souls, broken and remade by years apart, stood together once more — not as children chasing dreams, but as survivors of a love too deep to die.
In the quiet that followed, Freda closed her eyes and breathed him in — the scent of rain, the warmth of forgiveness, the taste of something dangerously close to hope.
When she opened them again, he was still there, watching her like she was the only light left in his world.
And for the first time in years, Freda didn't feel alone.