Thirty minutes later, her phone buzzed with Fred’s verdict. “Zero troubles. No illness, no crisis. Why the hell are you asking? Kristian’s loaded, hot, and sharp – you two are a match. Don’t you like pretty boys? Give it a shot!”
She ignored the jab and shot back, “You are so blind.” Then she silenced her phone.
No external factors meant only one thing – Kristian was pure scum.
Fred stared at his screen, baffled. Did Freya wake up in a mood today?
Freya’s gaze landed on the divorce papers. After a pause, she snatched a pen, scrawled her name, and shoved them into a drawer. Then she headed for the shower.
When she emerged, her phone was a disaster – dozens of unread messages and thirty-two missed calls.
No guessing needed. Frederick Price – aka Fred – had clearly blabbed about her resurrection to the entire world.
Towel draped over her damp hair, she reached for her phone – only for it to ring again.
The caller ID flashed; it was her father.
Her chest tightened. Two years of silence, and now he called? She’d left Alerith City due to a situation involving her mother, and neither had she reached out to her father nor had he contacted her until now.
After a pause, she answered coolly. “Hello.”
Silence.
Freya, never one for patience, was about to hang up when Hugh Briggs’s raspy voice cut through. “Mina.”
That name clawed at buried memories.
“What do you want?” she asked flatly.
Hugh hesitated, guilt threading his words. “Frederick told me you reached out. Said you were digging into Kristian. Need help?”
“No.” Freya had no interest in his involvement.
A beat passed before Hugh ventured, “What’s your relationship with him?”
“A couple.” She let the word hang. “About to divorce.”
Hugh’s breath hitched. She was married?
“You – ” he started.
“If that’s all, I’m done.” Freya didn’t want to waste any more breath on him.
“Wait!” he rushed.
She held her tongue.
The line crackled with tension.
Finally, he muttered, “When are you coming back? That woman’s gone.”
Then, hastily, he added, “Your mom’s belongings are untouched.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone. For a flicker, emotion crossed her face – then vanished.
“Noted.” She hung up before he could protest.
Hugh stared at the dead line, frustration curdling in his chest. He hadn’t even asked about her marriage.
Freya didn’t spare him another thought. She flicked her phone to airplane mode, towel-dried her hair, and collapsed into bed.
The night passed without dreams.
By eight the next morning, she was up – dressed and breakfasted.
Today, she’d taken care with her makeup. Her skin glowed; her lips, naturally full, needed no enhancement. But her eyes – sharp, luminous – were the real weapon.
Her smile was bright, bringing a warmth that could instantly lift anyone’s spirits.
When Kristian arrived, she was already waiting on the sofa. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned back, bangs swept up under a black beret.
At the sight of him, she rose gracefully, reaching for a coat and draping it over her shoulder.
“Let’s go.” She grabbed her purse, her tone composed and unbothered.
Kristian didn’t move. His tailored suit emphasized his height as he said, “Not today.”
Freya stilled.
“I have other commitments.” His voice was indifferent. His gaze lingered – too long – on her face. “Tomorrow.”
“Kristian Shaw.” Her tone was a warning.
He disliked it instantly.
“I put on makeup today,” she said, her voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. “If you want our divorce to go smoothly on Monday, push aside whatever plans you have. I don’t deal with people who break their promises.”
Kristian’s eyes narrowed.
After a silent calculation, he stepped out to make a call. Fragments floated back – Ashley… hospital… follow-up.
Freya’s grip on her purse turned white-knuckled. Inside, she seethed. Even now, Ashley occupied his thoughts completely.
Kristian missed Freya’s fury. All he saw was how she shone today – vibrant, untamed. Nothing like the subdued woman he knew.
After hanging up, he inquired where she wanted to shop. Freya mentioned the largest luxury mall in town.
This wasn’t shopping. This was a spree.
By 10 a.m., the four bodyguards trailed behind her like pack mules – arms stacked with watches, jewels, and designer bags.
Kristian’s phone chimed nonstop with alerts.
As Freya strode into yet another jewelry boutique, his jaw hardened. This wasn’t retail therapy; she was intentionally trying to irritate him.
Gerard Todd, Kristian’s ever-dutiful assistant, hesitated for a moment before asking, “Sir, should I go ahead and book a restaurant?”
Kristian massaged his temples, irritation flashing across his face. “No need.”
He knew Freya was venting her frustration. If splurging eased her temper, so be it – he’d let her spend freely.
The moment the words left his mouth, his phone vibrated. Another alert flashed – over thirty million had just vanished from his account.
Gerard averted his eyes, while the four bodyguards stood stiffly, arms laden with shopping bags like silent, overburdened mules.
Freya strode out of the jewelry boutique and casually handed her latest purchase to Gerard, whose hands were conspicuously empty.
Just as she turned to continue her spree, Kristian’s phone rang.
His posture shifted instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, his frown softening as he glanced at the caller ID.
Long fingers cradled the phone, his voice uncharacteristically tender as he answered. “Hello, Ashley.”
Gerard and the bodyguards exchanged startled glances. Had their boss forgotten Freya was standing right there?
“Ashley was in a car accident on her way to a hospital follow-up. She’s unconscious – still in surgery,” the voice on the line blurted, frantic. “Please come. She kept calling your name before they took her in.”
“Send the address. I’m on my way.” Kristian’s chest constricted, the words sharp with urgency.
He ended the call, his gaze flickering to Freya.
An explanation hovered on his lips, but he swallowed it. Instead, he turned to Gerard and the bodyguards. “Stay with her. Buy whatever she wants. If it doesn’t fit in the car, have it delivered by this afternoon.”
“Yes, sir,” the five men chorused.
Without another word, Kristian strode off, leaving Freya and the others in his wake.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the group.
Gerard adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, forcing a polished smile. “Mrs. Shaw, don’t worry. Mr. Shaw will return once he handles matters.”
“What a loyal employee,” Freya murmured, her tone laced with something unreadable.
Gerard blinked, thrown by her response.
Freya studied the mall’s glittering chandeliers, her voice deliberate. “Being his assistant is one thing. But cleaning up his messes? Tell me, Gerard – have you ever seen a man ditch his wife mid-date to run to his mistress?”
The bodyguards stiffened; Gerard’s smile froze.
For a heartbeat, all five men stared at her with something dangerously close to pity.
This might be the price of marrying into wealth – knowing her husband had left her for another woman while she was expected to swallow the insult.
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.