Chapter 14
Monday arrived and the office felt suffocating.
It wasn’t the workload or the buzzing conversations of their colleagues—it was the forced distance between them.
With their fathers choosing to stay home to be with their mothers, as their mothers had wished, Freen and Becky found themselves at the helm of the company, shouldering the responsibilities left behind. But the hardest part wasn’t the work itself.
It was staying away from each other.
Before, they used to fight and snap at each other, their rivalry loud and undeniable, where keeping distance was the only sanity they knew to keep. But now—now that they consciously had to stay apart, to give time for everything to settle—it was unbearable.
The pull between them was stronger than ever.
They found themselves unconsciously gravitating toward each other's cabin. Every excuse felt valid—documents to be signed, reports to be reviewed, trivial things that neither of them actually needed each other for. But every time they tried, there were always other colleagues present, ruining the stolen moments they so desperately craved.
By the end of the day, restlessness took over.
Their hearts pounded in sync as they—without realizing—hurried toward each other’s cabins at the exact same time. And then, like magnets colliding, they met in the corridor, both stopping abruptly, breathless.
Becky exhaled sharply, her frustration evident. “I can’t take it anymore.”
Freen didn’t even pretend to argue. “Neither do I.”
Without another word, Freen grabbed Becky’s hand, fingers intertwining as she pulled her away. Becky followed without hesitation, allowing herself to be led into the board meeting room—a space now empty, abandoned by the employees who had already left for the day.
The silence in the room was thick, but the air between them was even heavier.
Becky leaned against the table, her eyes searching Freen’s, confused yet craving. “But wait—what does all of this mean? I’ve never felt this restless before.”
Freen ran a hand through her hair, exhaling deeply before stepping closer. “I have no idea.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the intensity in her gaze was undeniable. “But I’ve never missed you this damn much in a single day.” Her fingers reached for Becky’s wrist, tracing small circles against her skin. “I can’t think of staying away from you.”
Becky’s heart stuttered at the admission. “So… are you finally saying it’s ‘BackFreen’ then?” She smirked, teasing as always, but the underlying hope in her voice betrayed her.
Freen rolled her eyes, but her grip on Becky tightened. “Shut up,” she muttered—right before pulling Becky in, crashing their lips together.
The moment their lips met, it was as if the world around them ceased to exist.
Becky responded instantly, her hands flying to Freen’s collar, tugging her closer as their lips molded together, soft but desperate. Freen tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her hands slipping around Becky’s waist, pressing her firmly against her.
It was heated, intoxicating—every ounce of pent-up frustration, every unsaid word, every lingering touch they had denied themselves now poured into this kiss.
Becky pulled away for a second, gasping for breath. “So much for keeping our distance,” she teased, her forehead resting against Freen’s.
Freen smirked, eyes dark with something unspoken. “You were the one running to my cabin too, don’t act innocent.”
Becky scoffed, but she couldn’t fight the smile playing on her lips. “Okay, fine. I missed you too. Happy?”
Freen grinned. “Very.”
Becky rolled her eyes but before she could say anything else, Freen kissed her again—this time slower, softer. Like a silent confession in itself.
“You’re so annoying,” Becky mumbled between kisses, her hands sliding under Freen’s blazer, nails scratching against the fabric of her shirt.
Freen chuckled against her lips, nipping at the corner of her mouth. “And you talk too much.”
Becky tilted her head, deepening the kiss, her fingers tangling into Freen’s hair, pulling her in. Freen groaned, her hands moving down, gripping Becky’s thighs, squeezing hard enough to make Becky gasp.
“Fuck,” Becky breathed out. “You’re so—”
“Say it,” Freen murmured, pressing kisses along Becky’s jawline, down to her neck.
Becky’s head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re so—” She bit her lip, refusing to give Freen the satisfaction.
Freen smirked against her skin. “Stubborn as ever.”
She slid her hands higher, skimming under Becky’s blouse, fingertips tracing bare skin. Becky shivered, her breath hitching as she clutched onto Freen’s shoulders.
Their lips crashed together again, hotter, needier. Freen’s fingers trailed down Becky’s back, pressing her impossibly closer, their bodies moving in sync, lost in the feeling of each other.
Becky’s breaths turned ragged, her fingers tightening in Freen’s hair as her back arched slightly. The heat between them was intoxicating, overwhelming, spiraling out of control.
Freen pulled back slightly, forehead pressed against Becky’s, her breath warm against Becky’s lips. “Tell me to stop,” she whispered, voice hoarse.
Becky exhaled shakily. “If you stop, I swear to god—”
Freen didn’t let her finish.
Her lips were back on Becky’s, swallowing every moan, every gasp, hands gripping and exploring like she’d die if she didn’t touch her. Becky clung to Freen, her mind hazy, her body thrumming with an unexplainable high.
And then—at the peak of it all—Becky felt it.
A shift. A realization.
It wasn’t just desire. It wasn’t just an attraction.
It was something deeper.
Something terrifying.
Her hands stilled against Freen’s back, her body trembling. “Shit,” she whispered, eyes fluttering open.
Freen’s movements slowed. “What?” Her voice was breathless, husky.
Becky stared at her, searching her face for hesitation, doubt—anything that would make her think she was alone in this. But all she saw was Freen. Flushed cheeks, swollen lips, blown-out pupils.
And something else.
Something that mirrored what she felt.
“I love you.”
The words spilled out before she could stop them.
Freen froze.
Becky swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. “I love you,” she repeated, softer this time. “I think—I think I always have.”
For a second, she thought Freen might laugh. Or push her away. Or do something stupid, like make a joke to break the tension.
But then—
Freen exhaled shakily, her hands cupping Becky’s face, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. “You—” She let out a small, breathless chuckle. “You always have to beat me to everything, don’t you?”
Becky’s brows furrowed. “What—”
Freen pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, softer now, gentler. “I love you too,” she murmured against her mouth. “You idiot.”
Becky let out a half-laugh, half-sob, tugging Freen back in. “Say it again.”
Freen smirked. “You’re an idiot?”
Becky groaned. “Freen.”
Freen chuckled, pressing another kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I love you,” she whispered. “And I’m not taking it back.”
Becky’s lips curled into a smile. “Good.”
And just like that, every wall they had built between them came crumbling down. In that moment, there was no more running, no more denying what had always been there. They were each other’s—completely, unapologetically. No more running away from the truth, no more hiding around when their love was theirs to claim.
__________
The Armstrong mansion had been quiet all day—too quiet. A silence thick with unspoken words and emotions neither of them had the courage to face. It wasn’t just any silence; it was the kind that settled in after a storm, heavy and suffocating.
Mrs. Armstrong moved around the dining table, setting down a plate in front of her husband. He had barely spoken since morning, and neither had she. But she couldn’t take it anymore. Her fingers clenched the back of the chair as she finally broke the silence.
“So you’ll simply do whatever we command you to?” her voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.
Mr. Armstrong looked up, his expression unreadable. “Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost defeated.
Mrs. Armstrong swallowed, her throat burning with emotions she refused to show. “Yes… of course, I want you to be mine and mine only.” The words felt foreign on her tongue, and yet, they carried a weight of pain she wasn’t sure he could hear.
Mr. Armstrong’s grip on his fork tightened. He didn’t meet her gaze, staring at his plate as if it held all the answers he wished he had.
“But if you keep thinking about everyone else’s needs and desires… if you keep making yourself responsible for everyone’s happiness except your own… life will become a living hell, won’t it?” her voice softened, but it struck like lightning.
Mr. Armstrong finally looked up, confused, searching her face for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted.
Mrs. Armstrong exhaled, her hands trembling slightly as she placed them on the table. “Come on, you have a daughter, and what are you teaching her? That love is something to be ashamed of? That she should hide her feelings, bury them deep, and pretend they don’t exist? That she should never fight for what truly matters?”
Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. “Is this your definition of love? Because if it were me… I would fight the world for the person I love. Who cares what people think? Who cares about society? They only want gossip, something to entertain themselves with. They’ll talk for a while, but then they’ll find something else to feast on, and all of this will be forgotten.”
Mr. Armstrong froze, his fork suspended in the air. He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. The weight of her words crashed into him, sinking deep into the parts of himself he had buried for years.
Mrs. Armstrong let out a shaky breath, her lips pressing together before she spoke again. “I love you.” Her voice cracked, but she kept going. “I love you so much, but knowing that my love is the reason you suffered in silence—I can’t bear it. That’s not love.”
Her hands clenched into fists, then relaxed. “Love would be setting you free. Love would be being the reason for your happiness, not your suffering. Love would be standing by your side, not forcing you to become someone you’re not.”
Tears welled in Mr. Armstrong’s eyes, but he didn’t let them fall. Not yet.
“And this… this is me loving you.” She gave him a broken smile. “You don’t have to feel guilty. You don’t have to feel sorry. Because setting you free—being the reason you can finally smile again—is the greatest gift you could ever give me.”
She took a deep breath, steadying herself before saying the words that would change everything.
“So, Mr. Armstrong… I pledge to always be your best friend. I pledge to support you in your truth. I pledge to be here for our family, no matter what. And with that… I set you free.”
The moment stretched between them, heavy with the weight of years of hidden pain and unsaid words.
Mr. Armstrong’s fork clattered onto the plate, forgotten, as he pushed back his chair and stood up so fast it nearly toppled over. And then—he ran to her.
He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as if she was the only thing keeping him upright. He buried his face in her shoulder, and for the first time in his life, he let himself break.
“No one has ever spoken to me like that.” His voice was raw, broken. “No one has ever understood me like that. My whole life, I have felt ashamed of who I am. But you… how will I ever repay you for this?”
Mrs. Armstrong smiled through her tears, brushing a hand through his hair. “By promising me we will always be a family. By promising me we will always be best friends. By promising me you will never, ever let love lose again.”
He pulled back, looking at her like she was the most remarkable person he had ever met. “I promise.” He choked out. “With you and Becky by my side… I don’t need anything else. You are my world.”
Mrs. Armstrong cupped his face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Thank you… thank you so much.”
A beat of silence passed before she took a deep breath and stepped back. “Now go.”
Mr. Armstrong blinked. “What?”
Mrs. Armstrong took a deep breath, steadying herself before she spoke, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile.
“Go. Run to the love of your life.” She looked him straight in the eyes, her voice unwavering. “Mrs. Chankimha and I… we both made the same decision.”
Mr. Armstrong's mouth fell open. He stared at her as if she had just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. “You’re joking.”
She chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I’m not. And I’m giving you exactly five minutes to get up, run to him, and bring him back here.” She folded her arms, eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s surprise our daughters. Let’s give them a moment they’ll never forget.”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice just enough to make the words sink deep. “Because if freen and becky hadn’t pushed you to face the truth, none of this would be happening. So go, before I change my mind.”
For a moment, Mr. Armstrong just stood there, frozen. And then, as if a switch flipped inside him, he grabbed his coat and bolted out the door, running faster than he ever had in his life.
Because for the first time, he wasn’t running away from love—he was running straight toward it.