Kristian stole a glance at Freya for the twenty-third time, each fleeting look laden with unspoken questions.
“Just say it if you have something to say.” Freya broke the silence, her patience thinning under the weight of his persistent stares.
“Come on, just tell me – did you study medicine or not?” Kristian’s voice was tinged with genuine curiosity and a hint of confusion. It dawned on him that there were still facets of her life he had yet to uncover.
“No,” Freya responded curtly, leaning back in her seat with a sigh, her gaze drifting to the passing scenery. “I just read some books out of interest.”
Kristian’s eyes narrowed slightly, a shadow of doubt crossing his features. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something from him.
“Once we’re back, we’ll go over the divorce papers again – just like my mom suggested,” Kristian declared, his tone grateful yet firm. He appreciated that Freya had accompanied his family despite the circumstances. “Let’s make the split fair. What’s mine was yours too, remember?”
“No need for that,” Freya countered calmly, dismissing the offer with a wave of her hand. “I’m good with how things were set up before.”
Kristian studied her intently, his eyes narrowing slightly. Wasn’t she kind of contradicting herself? One moment, she seemed to cling to money as if it were her lifeline, and the next, she dismissed it as if it were mere dust.
“I’ll lay out my assets post-marriage,” Freya offered, her voice laced with reluctance after a lengthy pause. “We’ll split everything half and half.”
Internally, the mere thought of Kristian using her hard-earned wealth to support someone like Ashley made her blood boil.
Yet, given the significant concessions he was making, she felt compelled to reciprocate in some manner.
“There’s no need,” Kristian replied sharply, his voice cutting through the tension. “I can make that amount of money in a minute.”
His dismissiveness left Freya momentarily dumbstruck. He was utterly oblivious to her massive fortune.
Later that evening, back at her quiet, dimly lit home office, Freya pulled out the divorce papers they had previously drafted. She meticulously revised the asset division, reflecting their latest discussion.
Kristian had made it clear he didn’t want her money, and she wasn’t about to shove it down his throat.
By eleven, the revised divorce agreement was resting on the table.
Freya pushed the papers toward Kristian, her motions calm and precise.
“It’s your turn to sign,” she stated firmly, her eyes locked on his. “We’ll file for divorce the day after tomorrow.”
As Kristian picked up the pen, his fingers brushed against the document, pausing over Freya’s elegant, looping signature. He found himself wondering about her.
He wondered about her emotions in the moments she signed their marriage away. He was the one who insisted they marry, and now he was the one insisting to end it all.
He finally spoke, his voice tinged with a rare hint of remorse as he looked up at her. “Freya.”
Freya, perched anxiously on the edge of the sofa, fiddled with her phone as she awaited a message from Trent. “What is it?”
Kristian, trying to soften the awkward atmosphere, ventured cautiously, “If you ever find yourself needing help after the divorce, remember, you can always turn to me. My grandpa and parents – they all hold you in high regard. Even if our paths as spouses diverge, I still hope we can remain friends.”
Freya looked up from her phone, her expression unreadable, her voice low and soft. “I once came across a viewpoint online that I really agreed with,” she remarked.
Intrigued, Kristian leaned in. “What is it?”
Freya’s lips curved into a faint, ironic smile. “A good ex is one you never hear from again.”
Kristian’s response dwindled into silence.
Freya emphasized further, “Particularly an ex-husband.”
Stung, Kristian’s composure snapped. He grabbed the divorce papers and signed his name with a swift, forceful stroke.
What on earth was he thinking, trying to be kind to her? She had a way of pricking at his nerves like tiny thorns.
“Don’t forget that viewpoint,” Kristian retorted, his voice heavy with unspoken emotions. “Be a good ex-wife, won’t you?”
Freya reached for the agreement with a smirk, a weight visibly lifting from her shoulders. Now free from the financial burdens of supporting Kristian and Ashley, she quipped, “No need to stress. You’ll never hear from me after our divorce.”
Kristian’s irritation had escalated to new heights. With a sharp tug, he snatched his coat from the hook and stormed upstairs. Lingering another moment might just push him over the edge.
Freya, on the other hand, seemed unfazed by his tempestuous mood. Clutching the freshly signed divorce papers, she headed up the stairs without looking back.
Ever since that life-altering phone call six months earlier, the chasm between them had widened, relegating them to separate bedrooms – a situation for which Freya was silently grateful.
The thought of accidentally conceiving a child amidst their marital unraveling was a nightmare she was glad to avoid.
Secured within the confines of her room, Freya set the documents on her desk just as her phone vibrated with urgency. It was Trent. His message popped up. “I’m in Jeucwell now.”
Without missing a beat, she replied, “Shall we meet tomorrow?”
No sooner had she sent the reply than her phone erupted into a lively ring.
“Hello?” Freya answered swiftly.
“Did you really marry Kristian?” Trent’s voice danced through the line, teasing yet tinged with a gentle concern.
“Yes,” she responded, her tone flat, stripped of emotion.
“And now you’re planning to divorce him?” he inquired further.
“That’s right.”
“Alright,” Trent remarked with a light chuckle, his curiosity satisfied for the moment.
He wasn’t the type to pry, not like Frederick who couldn’t help himself. He reclined in the backseat of the car sent to fetch him, a faint smile tracing his lips, his glasses casting him in a scholarly light. “Send me the details for the time and place, and we’ll talk more tomorrow,” he stated, his voice calm and collected.
“Alright.” Freya ended the call and quickly sent Trent the meeting details.
Just as she finished, knuckles rapped against her door, followed by Kristian’s voice cutting through the silence. “Open up, I need to talk to you.”
Freya tossed her phone onto the bed and crossed the room. When she pulled the door open, her voice carried none of its usual warmth – just cool detachment. “What is it?”
Kristian extended his phone toward her. “My grandpa wants to talk to you. Said your line was busy, couldn’t get through.”
She hesitated, realizing it was probably because she had been on the phone with Trent. Taking the phone, her voice softened. “Hello, Lionel.”
“Calling you this late – hope I’m not being a bother?” Lionel’s familiar voice came through.
“Not at all,” she replied gently.
“When you and Kristian left earlier, I forgot to mention something. That chess puzzle you left me last time – still haven’t cracked it…” Their conversation flowed easily after that.
Kristian didn’t bother listening. Lately, Lionel barely sought him out, spending more time with Freya instead.
Most days, Lionel would simply remark, “Freya surely has more solutions than you,” or “Your chess skills aren’t as good as hers,” and occasionally, “How did I end up with such a foolish grandson?” Truth be told, Freya resembled Lionel’s grandchild more than Kristian did.
Lost in this thought, Kristian’s gaze drifted to the gentle, patient woman speaking with his grandfather. He had basked in that gentleness for two years.
While lost in his memories, Freya’s phone vibrated on the bed. Kristian glanced over instinctively, but before he could glimpse the message, Freya lunged for it and darkened the screen.
The entire sequence lasted less than a second – too swift for Kristian to react.
“I’m done talking with Lionel.” She handed his phone back, her expression calm. “Here.”
Kristian didn’t take it.
His focus remained locked on her phone.
Though he hadn’t fully seen the message, he was almost certain he had caught a name – Trent Seymour.
“You’re not taking it?” Freya kept her hand outstretched.
Kristian’s eyes darkened slightly, but he still made no move for the phone. “Who just messaged you?”
“That’s my business,” she replied evenly.
A beat passed before he said, “I’m still your husband.”
Freya just looked at him.
At that moment, dressed in only a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked more polished than usual.
His appearance, at least, was undeniably striking.
Kristian caught the way she looked at him and pressed forward. “Until our divorce is finalized, I have a right to know who you’re in contact with.”
She let out a quiet scoff. “You’re clearly not well-versed in the law.” Retracting her hand, she added, “Even as my husband, you don’t have that right without my consent.”
“Freya.” His voice turned colder.
He knew exactly who Trent was. They didn’t move in the same circles, but Kristian was well aware – Trent was ruthless and dangerous. If Freya got too close to him, she might not even realize the kind of fire she was playing with.
“Give me your phone,” Kristian demanded.
“No.”
“Do I have to take it myself?” His gaze grew sharper.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.