Where Have You Gone

Chapter 5️⃣4️⃣

Becky hadn’t heard from Freen in two days.

Not since that night.

Not since that hug in the dim, lavender-scented bathroom where time folded in on itself and all she could feel was Freen—her hands, her breath, her whispered plea:

“Let me be yours.”

And Becky had let herself believe, for just that moment, that it was okay.

But when she got home that night, reality clamped down hard.

She’d traced every word Freen said. Replayed every heartbeat. And in the silence of her room, she asked herself one terrifying question: Am I really ready to let someone love me again?

The guilt over Sam hadn't left.

Neither had the truth that Freen was everything she shouldn't want—young, successful, the CEO of a damn hospital—and most dangerously, someone who had the power to see her.

Not just her face. Her soul.

She was scared.

But then—Freen called.

---

“Dinner,” Freen said over the phone, her voice low and smooth, like velvet draped over steel. “Just you and me.”

Becky hesitated. “Is this a date?”

A beat of silence. Then Freen, daring as always, answered, “Unless you plan on showing up with someone else, yes. It’s a date.”

Becky smiled, heat creeping up her neck. “And where are you taking me, Doctor?”

“You’ll see, I mean you'll see not with your eyes. Dress warm, but wear something you feel beautiful in. Which is, by the way, everything you own.”

Becky rolled her eyes but her lips curled up, helplessly. “You’re shameless.”

“And yet you’re still on the line.”
There was a pause.
“Becky… come. Please. Just one night. Let’s not think, let’s just be.”

And against all logic, all walls she’d built—Becky said yes.

---

Freen picked her up in a sleek black car, guiding Becky’s hand as she helped her into the passenger seat.

“You smell like cinnamon,” Freen whispered as she buckled her in, their faces close.

“You smell like trouble,” Becky countered, her voice feather-light but teasing.

Freen only smiled.

---

The restaurant was small, private, and warm—tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. Candles flickered on each table. Piano music hummed in the background. The hostess greeted Freen by name, which only mildly annoyed Becky.

Freen leaned in. “Don’t worry. I don’t bring women here. Just… you.”

Becky blushed. “Don’t flirt with me like I’m easy.”

Freen’s voice dipped low. “Who said I wanted it easy?”

---

Dinner was slow and sensual. Not just the food—but the way Freen spoke to her, listened, coaxed out little laughs and secrets.

Becky told her about Anne’s early years. About Irin’s overbearing love. Richie’s awkward dad jokes. Freen listened like every word mattered.

Freen told her about how lonely the top felt. About decisions she had to make that left her sleepless. About the weight of expectations—and how Becky’s voice on the phone, even when she was annoyed, gave her peace.

By dessert, something had shifted.

There was no more pretending. No more what-ifs.

Just electricity. And the pulse in Becky’s throat.

---

It was raining by the time they stepped outside.

A warm summer downpour. Heavy. Relentless. And glorious.

“Oh no,” Becky laughed as thunder cracked above them. “You didn’t check the weather, CEO?”

Freen grinned. “I was hoping for this.”

“You wanted to get soaked?”

“No but I know you love the rain”

Becky’s heart stopped. Then thunder cracked again and they broke into a run—laughing like children, water slapping their clothes, soaking them within minutes.

On a perfect time they ducked into the back seat of the car.

Becky pressed back against her seat, panting. Freen was inches away on the same seat, chest rising with each breath, shirt plastered to her body.

“God,” Becky exhaled, but Freen wasnt saying anything, for a moment she has forgotten how to breath. Becky was drenched wet, her cream cloth sticking into her body showcasing all her features. A drop of water slid down her throat and lost into her valley. Freen squeezed her eyes shut, she knew there are chances that she could still screw up.

“Freen are you alright?” Becky asked still panting slightly.

“You look like sin”, Freen said in her raspy voice slipping off her jacket and draping it over Becky’s shoulders.

Becky moved closer. “Am I a sin you’re willing to commit.”

Becky’s lips parted. Her hand found Freen’s chest, damp and warm. Her thumb brushed a spot over her heart.

Freen leaned in, nose brushing Becky’s cheek. “I know you tried to kiss me in that bathroom.”

“That was a mistake,” Becky whispered.

Freen’s mouth hovered near hers. “Then let me make you repeat it.”

She kissed her.

Slow. Burning. Like she’d waited years.

Becky moaned into her mouth, hands curling into Freen’s shirt. Freen’s hands found Becky’s hips, pressing her into the seat, not too hard, just enough.

The rain pounded the streets around them, but inside that moment—there was only heat.

Only lips. Only breath. Only Freen, tasting like wine and desire and something far more dangerous.

“I shouldn’t,” Becky gasped when they broke apart, forehead to forehead.

“But you want to,” Freen murmured, tracing Becky’s jaw with the back of her fingers.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“I’ll wait,” Freen said, voice hoarse. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. Just don’t shut me out.”

Becky bit her lip, breath trembling. “You’re impossible.”

Freen kissed the corner of her mouth. “And you’re unforgettable.”

They were there—dripping, breathless, wrapped in a stolen moment between thunder and heat.

And Becky?
She wasn’t sure what tomorrow would bring.
But tonight…
She let herself fall.