Chapter 11
Monday was as hectic as ever, with meetings, schedules, and responsibilities piling up. But amidst the usual routine, one significant event unfolded—Kade and Krik finally sat down with Freen and Becky’s father to report their latest observations.
Sitting in his grand office, their father leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked as he listened intently. Kade and Krik exchanged a glance before Kade took the lead.
“Boss, we’re telling you—there’s definitely more going on between those two than just their so-called ‘hatred,’” Kade began, her tone laced with certainty.
Krik nodded eagerly. “It’s not just about fighting anymore. They behave like a couple—like a married couple. They act territorial, possessive, and the way they talk to each other? It’s not even pretending at this point.”
Their father raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Explain.”
Krik smirked. “For starters, Freen acts like Becky’s personal bodyguard. The moment anyone so much as looks at Becky wrong, she’s ready to throw hands.”
Kade snorted. “And Becky? She gets jealous. I mean, you should’ve seen her last night. The way she looked at Freen when I was ‘drunk’ and clinging to her? She was seething. And don’t even get me started on how she dragged Freen away.”
Their father chuckled, rubbing his chin. “Interesting.”
Kade leaned forward. “They bicker constantly, but it’s not real hatred. It’s…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.
Krik grinned. “It’s like a married couple arguing over stupid things but still going home to each other at the end of the day.”
Their father hummed in thought, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “So, what you’re saying is… they’re already acting like they belong to each other?”
Kade and Krik nodded in unison.
Their father let out a satisfied sigh, clasping his hands together. “Well then, this only strengthens my belief that they’re meant to be. We just need to push them a little further.”
Krik laughed. “Oh, boss, I don’t think they even need a push. Just keep watching. They’re going to crash into each other all on their own.”
Their father’s smirk deepened. “Perhaps. But let’s not leave it entirely to chance. There are still a few days left. Keep up your act, and let’s see just how far they’re willing to go for each other.”
Kade saluted playfully. “Consider it done, boss.”
With their mission clear, Kade and Krik left the office, exchanging knowing grins. If Freen and Becky thought they were fooling anyone, they were in for a rude awakening.
Back in her cabin, Freen groaned as she buried her face into a file, her mind looping the events of last night like a broken record.
"No need to get insecure because you are mine. Always were and always will be."
She sat up abruptly, running her hands through her hair. “So stupid of you, Freen. You should never drink that much again.” She cursed under her breath, pacing around the room.
Confessing something like that to Becky? It was like laying her soul bare—completely vulnerable, completely exposed. And the worst part? Becky heard it. Becky knew.
"What if she uses this against me? What if she throws it back in my face the next time we fight?"
Freen shook her head aggressively. No way. She had to get a grip. Whatever happened last night? Didn’t count. Alcohol was to blame. That’s it.
And definitely, she couldn’t let Becky take the lead in this. No way in hell.
Meanwhile, across the corridor, Becky sat curled up on the lounge chair in her cabin, arms crossed, staring blankly at nothing.
Her mind was stuck on repeat.
"No need to get insecure because you are mine. Always were and always will be."
She replayed Freen’s voice in her head over and over, her brows furrowing each time. Did she really mean it? Was there even a shred of truth in that statement?
But then—she shook her head, trying to snap herself out of it. "No. Nope. It was just the alcohol. Drunken people say stupid things. That’s all it was."
And yet, blaming it on the alcohol wasn’t making her feel any better. In fact, it only made her feel... sulky.
Because what if it wasn’t just the alcohol? What if Freen meant it? What if—for just a second—Freen actually let the truth slip? But it’s all alcohol isn’t it?
Her lips pressed into a pout.
And so, Becky remained sulky the whole day, annoyed at herself for even entertaining the thought that Freen’s confession was all alcohol.
Lunch at the table was the usual loud mess of conversations, laughter, and playful banter—except for Becky.
She sat there, absentmindedly stirring her orange juice, her face giving away too much.
She wasn’t mad at anyone. Not Kade, not Kirk, not even Freen.
She was mad at herself.
Somewhere deep in her core, she wanted to take Freen’s confession as an absolute truth, to believe in it like a promise carved in stone. But that was her subconscious talking.
The real Becky? The Becky who consciously hated Freen? She wasn’t supposed to want that. And yet, here she was, fighting a battle within herself.
Kirk, ever the observant one, tried her best to make Becky eat, but Becky just shook her head. She wasn’t in the mood.
But Freen? She noticed everything.
And later, when the group had dispersed, she made sure Becky wouldn’t go without food.
—
Becky sat in her cabin, drowning herself in work—or at least, pretending to.
She was trying to focus, but her mind kept pulling her back to that moment. That stupid confession. That stupid night.
A knock at her door snapped her out of it. Before she could say anything, Freen pushed her way in, holding a neatly packed meal.
“Umm… eat something,” Freen said, stretching out her hand with the food.
“Not in the mood.” Becky didn’t even look up.
Freen sighed, stepping closer. Without a word, she pressed the palm of her hand against Becky’s forehead.
That simple touch sent a jolt through Becky’s spine, like an electric charge shooting through her veins.
She jerked back instinctively, narrowing her brows. “What are you doing?”
Freen flopped onto the chair across from her, arms crossed. “You’re not sick, so what’s up with the sulky, pale face? And the whole ‘I’m too moody to eat’ act?”
“Freen, I’m warning you—don’t act like you care,” Becky said, irritation lacing her voice.
Freen raised a brow, smirking. “Oh? But what if I do?”
Becky’s breath hitched for half a second. Her fingers gripped the pen on her desk. She knew that look in Freen’s eyes. Freen was about to start something they both wouldn’t be able to finish.
“Not now, Sarochha,” Becky warned, forcing herself to look at the screen. “I’m working. I can’t play your little games.”
Freen leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “By the way… did your favorite meal change recently?” she asked, casually.
Becky frowned. “What?”
Freen gestured to the untouched meal. “Maybe you’re not eating because you can’t get over the plumpy soft lips of some handsomely beautiful person?” She teased, dragging a finger across her lips in demonstration.
Becky’s stomach flipped.
"Ughhh, I will vomit. Please stop," she groaned, pretending to gag.
Freen smirked, shaking her head. “Then eat. This is your favorite sandwich and milk tea. If you don’t finish it, it only means you want something else.” She leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a taunting whisper.
“Like me?”
Becky’s breath stilled.
"So now you want to dictate what I should and shouldn’t do?" she asked, crossing her arms.
Freen shrugged. “No, no. I’m just being humble. Offering you my best.” She stood up, slowly backing toward the door. Then, with a teasing tilt of her head, she added,
“So if you want something else… my cabin is right there.”
She held Becky’s gaze, letting her next words drip like honey.
“And when I say something… I mean anything you like.”
With that, she walked out, leaving Becky alone, completely wrecked.
Becky gulped, staring at the untouched meal, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She knew Freen was just trying to trap her. She knew this was just another round of the FreenBecky agenda.
But damn it…
The offer was tempting.
And the worst part?
Becky couldn’t stop thinking about Freen’s last words.
"Anything you like."
___
Becky couldn't resist any longer. The frustration bubbling inside her reached its peak, and before she could second-guess herself, she stomped toward Freen’s cabin. She was determined—determined to take up Freen’s challenge, to reclaim her dignity, and to even the score.
But as she pushed the door open, her triumphant entry was cut short. Nam was there.
Freen looked up from her seat, immediately catching the fire in Becky’s eyes. She didn’t need to ask—she knew exactly why Becky had stormed in. Without missing a beat, Freen sprang to her feet and threw out a hasty excuse about an urgent meeting, barely allowing Nam to process what was happening before she grabbed Becky’s wrist and pulled her out of the room.
Nam sat frozen, her wide eyes filled with shock and suspicion. “What the hell is it this time with these two…?” she muttered to herself, shaking her head.
Outside, Becky ripped her hand away. “Not in my cabin,” she stated firmly. “There are cameras in there.”
Freen blinked at her. “Oh my god. Who installs cameras in their personal cabin? You are so weird, Becky.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But now you can’t take back your offer,” Becky shot back, her voice laced with a dangerous challenge.
Freen smirked. “Oh, I won’t. And lucky for you, I have access to my dad’s office. I haven’t seen him today—not even an email—so I’m guessing it’ll be empty.”
Becky raised an eyebrow as Freen led the way. “And you call me weird? You’re the one suggesting we make out in your dad’s office.”
Freen swiped the access card, and the door clicked open. The moment they stepped inside, Becky’s instincts took over. She spun Freen around, pushing her against the door as it shut with a soft thud. Her breath was heavy, her gaze locked onto Freen’s lips. She was not backing down this time.
She was ready. She leaned in, fingers tightening around Freen’s collar—
Then—
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! MY EYES! MY EYES! OH MY GOD!”
Freen’s scream cut through the air like a knife. Becky froze mid-action, startled by the sheer horror in Freen’s voice.
“What—” Becky turned her head to look—
“OH MY GODDD! WHAT THE HELL?!” Becky shrieked, stumbling back as if she had been burned.
Her stomach twisted, her brain short-circuited, and her entire world shattered in an instant.
Freen, in a desperate bid to not want Becky to see whatever she had just witnessed, she squeezed Becky's eyes shut and yanked Becky against her, burying her face in the nape of her own shoulder as if that could erase the memory searing itself into Becky's mind.
Becky, however, wasn’t so lucky. She had seen it. All of it.
“What in the world is happening here?! Have you two lost your minds?!” Freen wailed, her voice muffled as she clung to Becky like a lifeline.
“Wait, wait, wait! Please don’t scream! We can explain!” Mr. Armstrong blurted, hurriedly pulling on his clothes while frantically buttoning up his shirt.
Meanwhile, Mr. Chankimha was still scrambling to gather his scattered clothing, his movements frantic, his face a shade of red neither Becky nor Freen had ever seen before.
They had walked in on their fathers. Their fathers. Together.
And not in a casual, fatherly way.
“Oh my god,” Becky whispered, her face twisted in absolute horror.
“Please, just—just give us a minute!” Mr. Chankimha pleaded, his voice shaking as he fumbled with his belt.
A long, painful silence followed.
Once both men were fully dressed, Mr. Armstrong cleared his throat. “You can open your eyes now.”
Freen and Becky hesitated before cautiously peeking. Their faces were still frozen in shock, their brains still refusing to process what they had just seen.
Becky was the first to break the silence. “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”
Freen shook her head, eyes darting between the two men. “Oh god. How am I ever going to erase this from my memory?”
Mr. Armstrong took a deep breath. “Listen, I know this is shocking, but—”
“Shocking?” Becky cut him off, her voice rising. “Try traumatizing! Try life-ruining! Try—”
“We’ve been together for twenty years,” Mr. Armstrong interrupted softly.
Dead silence.
Freen and Becky’s heads snapped toward them in unison.
“TWENTY. WHAT?” Becky’s voice cracked as she stared at her father, waiting—begging—for him to say he was joking.
Freen looked just as shaken. “You’ve been—” She swallowed hard. “You’ve been lying to everyone for twenty years?”
Mr. Armstrong nodded. “We know it’s shocking, but you have to understand. Back then, there was no such thing as ‘coming out’—not like today. It only became somewhat normal in recent years, and even now, it’s still difficult in many places. We had no choice but to hide it.”
Becky’s fists clenched. “So what? You just pretended to love my mom? You fooled her? Twenty damn years, and you never once confessed to her?”
Mr. Armstrong averted his gaze, guilt etched across his face. “I never meant to hurt her. But I couldn’t—” He exhaled shakily. “I couldn’t leave him.”
Freen’s voice wavered. “So you built a family with a woman you didn’t love? And what about me?” Her throat tightened. “Did you even love me? Or was I just an accident?”
Mr. Chankimha’s eyes welled up. “Of course I loved you. But maybe… maybe it was easier to push you away than to face the truth. Maybe I saw too much of myself in you.”
Becky scoffed bitterly. “And here I was, my whole life, trying to be the perfect daughter. Trying to make you proud thinking you are the ideal dad. But you never even loved me. You only ever loved Freen.”
Freen’s voice broke too. “And I spent my whole life chasing your approval. Begging for it. But I never got it thinking you are the standard. You always treated Becky like your own, but never me.” Becky rubbed freen’s back, tried her best to comfort her.
Mr. Chankimha’s eyes welled up. “We’re so sorry for keeping you both in the dark.” He sighed. “And for the way we treated you.”
Mr. Armstrong looked pained. “Maybe it’s because… when you look at the child of the person you love, you cherish them more. And when you look at your own child, you only see the life you were forced to live.”
Silence.
Becky exhaled sharply. “So what now?”
“Nothing,” Mr. Armstrong said quietly. “Please… don’t tell your moms. We don’t have it in us to break their hearts or even think about tearing our family apart, please we beg you.”
“You can’t be serious,” Becky whispered, her jaw clenching.
Then, without another word, she turned and stormed out.
Freen lingered for a second, glancing at them both. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. She shook her head once—then turned and followed Becky out.
—-----
Becky stormed up to the rooftop, her breath ragged, tears streaking her cheeks as the cold night air wrapped around her. The weight of the truth was suffocating, pressing down on her chest like an iron grip. She stopped at the railing, gripping it tightly, staring at the city lights that blurred through her teary vision. The world below carried on as if nothing had changed, but for Becky, everything had shattered.
Freen wasn’t far behind. She knew Becky—knew how this moment could break her if she didn’t follow. She took cautious steps toward her, not wanting to startle her but needing to be close.
"Can you believe this?" Becky’s voice was hoarse, barely a whisper against the wind. "They lied to our moms for twenty years. They could have just… not married. They could have been honest."
Freen exhaled, stepping closer until her shoulder pressed against Becky’s in a silent show of support. "I know," she murmured. "Back then, people lived in denial and compromises. But our moms deserved honesty. They deserved true love, not a lie."
The vulnerability in Becky’s expression made Freen’s chest ache. This truth wasn’t just about their parents—it was about the way their entire lives had been shaped by a love that never truly existed. The pieces clicked painfully into place, explaining their fathers’ distance, their mothers’ silent suffering.
"How do we live with the fact that we were never meant to be here? That we were just… mistakes? Not a product of love?" Becky’s voice cracked, and her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.
"Hey, don’t say that." Freen turned to her, hands gripping Becky’s arms. "Our moms loved us. They carried us, nurtured us, gave us everything. Even when our fathers were too obsessed with their lover’s children, our moms never made us feel any less."
Becky let out a broken breath. "But our moms deserve to know. They deserve to be free."
"I know." Freen ran soothing circles on Becky’s arm, keeping her close. "We’ll figure something out. But we have to understand both sides."
Becky turned suddenly, wrapping her arms around Freen in a desperate embrace. "We have to fix this. Make everything right. Love should win, but our moms deserve happiness too."
Freen held her tight, pressing her cheek against Becky’s hair, letting her own emotions settle in the warmth of the hug. "We’ll figure it out, Bec. I promise."
The silence between them stretched, comforting, grounding. The weight of their emotions slowly melted into the solace of each other’s arms. Minutes passed, neither willing to let go, as if the hug was the only thing holding them together.
Then Becky hesitated, feeling Freen’s heartbeat against her cheek. The moment was raw, the timing imperfect, but she needed to ask. "Freen…"
"Mmm?" Freen hummed, still holding her close.
"That night in Pattaya... I was drunk, you know I’m a lightweight. But… were you?" Becky asked, voice barely above a whisper, not daring to lift her head from Freen’s chest.
Freen stiffened slightly before sighing, her fingers tracing light patterns on Becky’s back. "I was. But I was conscious enough to know what I was doing."
Becky swallowed. "And what about what you said…?"
Freen knew what she was referring to. The confession, the words that had slipped out in the dark, unguarded and honest. She closed her eyes for a second before responding. "What makes you doubt anything I said?"
Becky’s fingers dug slightly into Freen’s back, heart pounding against her ribs. She didn’t reply, only tightening her hold. She wasn’t ready for another truth that could hurt her just as much.
Freen let out a quiet chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to Becky’s temple. "Aren’t you always mine, Bec? Mine to hunt, mine to kill, mine to tease, mine to ghost, mine to stick with until we grow old?"
Becky pulled back, eyes wide and searching Freen’s for honesty. And there it was—all the love in the world reflected back at her.
"And you won’t take this back, right?" Becky whispered, as if daring Freen to deny it.
Freen smirked, brushing a stray tear from Becky’s cheek. "That doesn’t give you any points."
"Oh, but technically, you confessed first. That makes it BackFreen," Becky teased, her voice lighter now.
"What?" Freen pulled back in mock outrage. "I confessed, so it’s definitely FreenBeck!"
"Nope, you gave in first. That makes it BackFreen." Becky grinned.
"That’s not fair!" Freen protested, but Becky only giggled, nestling back into her arms.
They stayed like that, basking in the comfort of each other, until Freen finally broke the silence with a teasing smirk. "You know, if our dads get back together and marry each other, technically we’d be sisters."
Becky yanked away instantly. "EWWWW! I’m never hugging you again! You just ruined the moment!"
Laughing, she turned to leave, but Freen caught her wrist, pulling her back. Before Becky could protest, Freen cupped her face between her palms, squeezing her cheeks until her lips puckered into a pout.
And then, with a mischievous glint in her eyes, Freen leaned in and kissed her—deep, slow, and breathtaking. Becky melted instantly, hands fisting into Freen’s shirt, and soon, she was returning the kiss with just as much hunger.
Freen smiled against her lips. "Still think it’s BackFreen?"
Becky smirked, whispering against her lips, "BackFreen. Score: 2. FreenBeck: 0."
Freen groaned. "So not fair."
And with that, their night wrapped up in stolen kisses and laughter, sealing everything unsaid between them.