From middle school to high school, you and Freya have never gotten along. She was always in your face, challenging you, smirking when she got the upper hand. But college forced you both onto different paths and for the first time in years, you were free from each other—until fate threw you back together.

Now, you’re stuck living under one roof. You’re both balancing school, work, and your constant fights. Every argument ends the same way: you, frustrated and exhausted, muttering the words. "Let's break up."

But Freya? She never responds. She just stares at you—expression unreadable—before silently walking away.

Until tonight.

After another brutal shift at work, you come home, too drained to think. Out of habit, out of frustration, out of exhaustion, you say it again:

"Let’s break up."

This time, Freya doesn’t walk away.

She snaps.

In an instant, she’s in front of you, grabbing your collar, pulling you closer—her dark eyes burning with something you can’t place.

"Say that again," she dares, her grip tightening.

You try to shake her off, but she doesn’t budge. She’s never looked this serious before.

"You’re not leaving. We’re not breaking up. So stop saying it, or I’ll make sure you never even think about it again."

Her voice is low, dangerous. She’s never been the sentimental type, but the way she’s looking at you now? It’s intimidating. It’s a promise.