His eyes searched hers earnestly. “And keep your wealth under wraps. Don’t let anyone know how much you really have.” To him, Freya came from an ordinary background.
Yet, if the world ever discovered the billions sitting in her bank account, she would no doubt turn into a prime target for schemes and manipulations.
“Don’t worry, I know what to do,” Freya assured him with genuine warmth in her tone.
Kristian’s expression grew somber. His emotions had been a whirlwind today, especially with his frustrations regarding Freya and Trent. But now, as night cloaked their home, his voice carried an unexpected serenity as they delved into deeper conversations.
It was the sight of tears tracing Freya’s cheeks that altered his perspective, prompting him to see this moment as perhaps his final gesture of kindness before their impending divorce.
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll head upstairs to sleep,” Freya announced, her fatigue evident in her slumped shoulders and weary eyes.
“Wait.” Kristian’s voice halted her retreat.
With a puzzled frown, she turned back toward him.
Before she could articulate her confusion, he stepped closer, his actions gentle. He tenderly wiped away her tears with his thumb, his voice a soft whisper. “Don’t cry.”
Freya touched the other side of her face, her fingers brushing against dampness she hadn’t noticed before.
She paused, a memory of the dream that had roused her from sleep earlier surfacing in her mind. Then, locking eyes with him, she asserted, “I wasn’t crying.”
His expression softened, a hint of concern in his voice. “Don’t force yourself to be the strong one all the time.” He pulled his hand away, his deep-set eyes mirroring her visage in the dim light.
“I swear, I wasn’t crying,” Freya responded, her fingers brushing her cheeks as if to erase any trace of tears. She clutched her glass a little tighter and offered a plausible explanation. “Those weren’t tears, okay? Just some water that splashed when I bumped into you.”
Kristian was momentarily lost for words.
Freya’s gaze drifted to his damp clothes. With a gentle reminder, she noted, “It’s a bit chilly on this cool autumn evening. You should change your clothes before you catch a cold. I’m heading up now – sorry about getting your clothes wet.”
Silence enveloped Kristian as he processed her words.
With a resigned sigh, Freya set her glass down on the shelf and ascended the stairs, leaving Kristian alone with his frustrations in the quiet of the night.
The mood was irreparably shattered by her words.
A frosty aura enveloped Kristian, thickening with every second as he replayed the evening’s embarrassments. He had sincerely believed Freya’s tears were genuine, but understanding he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion left him feeling like a complete fool.
The way she had looked at him kept gnawing at him, making him restless.
For all he knew, Freya probably thought he was just a clueless idiot.
After pacing restlessly in the living room, he retreated to the sanctuary of his room and slumped onto the sofa. The more he dwelled on the incident, the more his agitation grew, spiraling into a night filled with restless tossing and turning.
As dawn painted the sky with strokes of new light, Kristian found himself poised in the living room, the divorce papers laid out meticulously before him.
Throughout their silent breakfast, the air was heavy with unspoken words about that tumultuous early morning.
At the stroke of eight, Freya and Kristian collected their documents and stepped into the car.
Gerard couldn’t help but notice the palpable tension. He caught Kristian’s eye in the rearview mirror and ventured cautiously, “Sir, are you really going through with the divorce?”
“Drive,” Kristian ordered, his tone steady but carrying an authority that left no room for argument.
Gerard turned the ignition and guided the car out of the villa’s driveway, his grip tightening slightly on the wheel.
Something in his gut warned him that if this divorce went through, Kristian would live to regret it.
More than that, he couldn’t shake the suspicion that Freya wasn’t just some ordinary woman. If she were, digging up details about her education or workplace would have been effortless.
Yet last night, his searches had come up empty.
That was unbelievable.
“Mrs. Shaw,” Gerard ventured, eyes fixed on the road, “are you sure you won’t reconsider? My boss is quite the catch – handsome, wealthy. Walking away might be a decision you’ll regret.”
Even with Kristian’s temper looming over him, Gerard had never shied away from speaking his mind – first about the marriage, now about the divorce.
Freya’s gaze flicked to the back of his head. “No amount of charm or money changes the fact that he’s a jerk.”
A beat of silence settled in the car. Even Kristian had no retort.
Gerard tried again, shifting tactics. “Sir, what about you? Any second thoughts?”
Kristian’s glare could have sliced steel.
Undeterred, Gerard pressed on, “Miss Bradley is your past, but your wife is your present. Trading the present for the past isn’t just reckless – it’s stupid.”
“Just focus on the road.” Kristian’s tone left no room for debate.
Gerard exhaled but couldn’t resist one last jab. “Fine. Then don’t expect me to help you win her back later.”
The temperature in the car plummeted.
Kristian mused darkly, thinking that perhaps giving Gerard too light a workload had made him forget his place.
The courthouse loomed ahead as they pulled in at 8:50.
Gerard had handled the arrangements, ushering the couple inside to file the paperwork.
Watching them fill out the forms, he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and fired off a message to Kristian’s brother. “Sir, your brother and his wife are divorcing.”
The reply was instant. “What? You’re joking. He adores her.”
Gerard typed back. “Ashley Bradley is back.”
“He’s ditching his wife for his ex?”
Gerard hesitated. “Yes.”
“Bold move.”
Gerard had no response to that.
Kristian’s brother continued, “Let them divorce. He’s had it easy ever since his first heartbreak. Maybe his wife humbling him a little will do him some good.”
Gerard stared at his screen for a second before locking his phone. Why had he even bothered telling him? Clearly, persuading Kristian was the last thing his brother planned to do.
Just as Gerard was about to check on the couple, his phone rang. He stepped aside, answering in a lower voice.
Kristian’s brother’s tone was relaxed, almost lazy. “I forgot to ask – how’s the asset division?”
Gerard thought for a second before replying, “Aside from investment shares, she gets half of his salary and bonuses, his most expensive sports car, and a villa on the outskirts.”
“That’s fair,” the voice responded, followed by a click as the call ended. Gerard blinked. Were these two really brothers?
Meanwhile, Freya and Kristian completed the paperwork and were informed about the mandatory thirty-day waiting period. If they still wanted to proceed after a month, they could return for the final divorce. But if either of them had a change of heart, they could call it off.
With that, they left the courthouse.
Everything had gone smoothly.
Gerard drove them back, debating whether to say something. In the end, he held his tongue. A month was a long time. Plenty of room for second thoughts.
But the moment they arrived at the villa, Gerard realized just how serious Freya was about this.
A moving truck stood in the driveway. Even Kristian paused at the sight.
Gerard, noting his boss’s rare moment of hesitation, turned to Freya. “Did you call the moving company?”
“Yes.” Freya gave a curt nod before stepping out of the car.
She wasted no time hurrying over to the movers, negotiating with them to wait while she gathered her belongings.
Despite living there for over a year, her belongings were sparse – just two suitcases and a handful of boxes.
Inside the car, the air thickened. Gerard cleared his throat. “Sir, you’re really not going to stop her?”
Kristian’s jaw tightened. “Why would I?”
“Because once she walks out that door,” Gerard said carefully, “she’s not coming back.”
Years of loyalty compelled him to speak plainly, even if it risked Kristian’s wrath.
“Know your place,” Kristian snapped.
Yet his gaze drifted to Freya – composed, efficient, utterly unshaken. Something sharp twisted in his chest.
Before he could dissect the feeling, he shoved the car door open and followed her.
Freya, surprised the movers had arrived in advance, explained to them, “I’ll be done packing in half an hour. Sorry for the wait.”
“No problem,” one of them replied politely.
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.