Chapter 5 5

Days turned into weeks, and Freya found herself trapped in a never-ending cycle of torment at Manson's hands. Despite her efforts to appease him, to prove her worthiness as a wife and a member of his family, he continued to treat her with contempt, using her as little more than a servant to tend to his every whim.

Each morning, Freya would rise before dawn, her body weary and her spirit broken, to begin her daily routine of house chores. She scrubbed floors until her hands were raw, cooked meals until her back ached, and tended to every need of Manson and his daughter with a sense of resignation.

But no matter how hard she worked, no matter how much she tried to earn his approval, Manson remained unmoved, his heart hardened against her like stone. He continued to refuse her even the most basic comforts, denying her the right to sleep in his bed and instructing her to sleep on the cold, hard floor each night.

Manson endured his cruel behavior toward her without complaint, her love for her sister's child, and her sense of duty to her family's business drove her to endure whatever hardships Manson saw fit to inflict upon her. She knew that she had no choice but to play the role of the obedient wife, to swallow her pride and submit to his will to protect those she held dear.

But as the days stretched into months, a sense of desperation began to eat at her insides, a whisper of doubt that grew louder with each passing day. How much longer could she endure this life of slavery, this soul-crushing existence that left her feeling like nothing more than a shadow of her late sister?

As she continued in silence, her mind raced with thoughts of escape, of finding a way to break free from Manson's torture and reclaim her life from the prison of his making. But with each passing day, the walls seemed to close in around her, the weight of Manson's oppression crushing her spirit beneath its suffocating weight.

And yet, despite the darkness that threatened to consume her, a flicker of hope remained alive within her heart, a glimmer of light that refused to be extinguished. She knew there was no way of escape for her, it was a marriage that would be forever.

But as she lay awake on the cold, hard floor each night, listening to the sound of Manson's steady breathing as he slept soundly in their bed, she couldn't help but wonder if things would get better, if Manson would see her as one he loved and not the monster he called her.

But as she closed her eyes and drifted off into an uneasy sleep, Freya vowed to herself that she would endure whatever hardships lay ahead and that she would never give up hope of finding happiness in her new life.

*****

Freya heard the heavy thud of footsteps stumbling up the stairs, followed by the sound of the door swinging open with a creak. She tensed, her heart pounding in her chest as she braved herself for Manson's return home from work.

As she turned to face him, her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Manson standing in the doorway, his eyes filled with tears and unfocused, his steps unsteady as he walked further into the room.

"Manson, are you alright?" The word fell out of Freya's mouth with fear. Her voice tinged with concern as she moved to support him, her hands reaching out to steady him.

Manson blinked blearily, his gaze fixed on Freya with a mixture of confusion and pain. All he could see at that moment was his late wife smiling at him.

"Isabella?" Manson said, his voice filled with pain as he reached out to touch her face, his fingers brushing against her cheek with a feather-light touch.

Freya gasped at his touch, she couldn't believe what was happening, did Manson mistake her for her late sister?

"No, Manson, it's me, Freya," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion as she guided him towards the bed, her arms wrapped around him in a gentle embrace.

Manson's brow furrowed in confusion, his mind clouded by the fog of alcohol as he struggled to fix his gaze on reality.

"Isabella, please life without you is like hell. I don't want you to ever leave my sight." Manson repeated, his voice thick with emotion as he collapsed onto the bed, his body trembling.

Freya's heart went out to him, her pain forgotten as she gazed down at him with compassion and understanding.

"Manson, it's me. Freya." She said softly, her voice fell as she brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch gentle and reassuring.

Manson's eyes filled with tears, as they both sat on the bed together.

"I miss her, Freya," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion as he buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Freya felt a surge of sympathy well up inside her, her tears mingling with his as she reached out to comfort him in his time of need.

"I know, Manson. I miss her too," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace, offering him the support he needed at that moment.

Manson leaned close and kissed Freya. The kiss was soft and sweet but full of yearning. Manson's eyes fluttered open after a long moment and he smiled at her, his hand sliding up the curve of her back to rest on the side of her neck.

She flinched at his touch and was surprised, as Manson's finger traced her body to her torso. She shivered under his touch as he reached down, his fingers curving around her buttock, pulling her closer to his chest. Manson looked deep into Freya's eyes with an expression she couldn't read, and then his lips were pressed softly against hers once more.