She remained unshaken, her tone glacial. “I won’t blame you for seducing my husband – a relationship takes two. But let’s address your false accusation first.”
“I’m sorry!” Ashley’s apology tumbled out, saccharine with remorse. Her fingers twisted the sheets. “When I saw ‘Mrs. Shaw,’ I just assumed it was you.”
“Oh?” Freya’s smile sharpened. “I assumed you staged this ‘accident’ because you couldn’t bear the thought of Kristian shopping with me.”
“I didn’t!” Ashley’s protest was reflexive.
“Freya.” Kristian’s voice simmered with anger.
She shrugged, deliberately casual. “Can’t take a joke?”
“You call this a joke?” He stepped closer, shielding Ashley with his body. “Target her again, and you’ll deal with me.”
Freya laughed – a sound like shattering ice. “You rage over a joke, yet when she accused me of attempted murder, where was this fury for her?”
Kristian went still. His eyes turned arctic.
“Kristian Shaw.” She said his name like a verdict.
Something in his chest lurched.
He clenched his jaw against the feeling.
“Need I remind you?” Her voice quivered – just once – before steel returned. “We’re still married.”
Pride alone choked back the words.
“Your defense of her cuts deeper than you know.”
“Kristian,” Ashley interjected, playing peacemaker. “This is my fault. Don’t be angry with her.”
Freya nearly rolled her eyes. She’d ignored the woman’s petty games, but patience had limits.
“Since when do outsiders meddle in family matters?” Her tone could frost glass.
“I just hate seeing you fight.”
“We’re fighting,” Freya said slowly, “because of you.”
“I’m sorry.” Ashley’s whisper was a masterclass in faux penitence.
“If apologies sufficed, we wouldn’t need courts.”
“Enough.” Kristian seized Freya’s wrist – this time, his grip lacked its earlier brutality. “With me. Now.”
She didn’t resist.
Snatching her purse, she let him haul her into the corridor.
At the hallway’s end, he released her, his mask of indifference back in place. “What do you want?”
“To call her out.”
Silence.
“To name her what she is – a homewrecker.”
“She’s not,” he snapped.
“Then am I?”
“No.”
“Then who is?” Freya asked again.
The question hung between them like a blade.
Kristian looked away first. He wanted to explain, but her face – all scorn, her once-warm eyes now flint – stopped him.
“You’ve changed,” he finally said.
“Well, isn’t that just tragic?” Freya’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Two years of marriage, and my husband still doesn’t know the first thing about me.”
Kristian froze, caught off guard. She just had to twist the knife, didn’t she?
“You’re coming home with me.” He yanked his tie loose, snatched her purse, and clamped a hand around her wrist, dragging her toward the exit.
Freya stiffened, startled. Kristian halted too. Their eyes locked onto the purse in his grip.
Did he think she was Ashley? Otherwise, why would he be treating her with such sudden kindness now?
The thought sliced through Freya. Kristian offered no explanation, storming off with those infuriatingly long strides.
Ashley watched from the hospital room, her sweet facade crumbling. Her nails dug into her palms, leaving crescent marks she didn’t even feel.
The door creaked open moments later.
“I thought Freya hired that hit-and-run driver?” Ashley’s friend frowned. “Why is Mr. Shaw still – “
“It wasn’t her.” Ashley’s brow furrowed.
At first, she’d assumed Freya was behind it – after all, her return threatened Freya’s place as Kristian’s wife.
But Freya’s reaction today? Too genuine. Too uncalculated.
Kristian had noticed it too.
In the backseat of the car, tension hung thick between him and Freya.
Before Kristian could speak, Gerard’s call cut through. “Sir, we traced the IP. The login didn’t originate from our city.”
“Understood.” Kristian’s grip tightened on the phone, the weight of his mistake settling like lead.
He’d wronged Freya. His gaze flicked to her, silhouetted by sunlight filtering through the window. The glow softened her edges, almost like the woman she’d been before – before the bitterness, before the barbs.
“Freya.” Her name left his lips, uncharacteristically hesitant.
She’d overheard the call. “Don’t tell me you’re about to apologize.”
Kristian’s jaw clenched. Why did every conversation with her feel like walking into a trap?
“An out-of-town IP doesn’t prove my innocence,” she mused, voice light but edged. “What if I hired someone else to contact the driver?”
He knew she was baiting him.
The apology lodged in his throat, stubborn as a stone.
After a beat, he forced it out. “I know it wasn’t you.”
If she’d orchestrated it, she wouldn’t dissect the evidence so coolly – or taunt him with its flaws. His worry for Ashley, Freya’s recent unpredictability – they’d blinded him.
“Oh.” Freya’s reply was a dismissal.
Kristian blinked. Just… “oh”? He’d expected fury, demands, something.
Instead, he thrust a black card at her. “Take the primary card. Spend however you want.”
“Gladly.” She plucked it from his fingers without hesitation.
His eyebrows shot up.
“Now the others,” she added.
Kristian turned to her, not quite following. “What others?”
“Considering your inappropriate behavior today,” she said, her tone impossibly neutral, “and to avoid any further complications, I’ll be holding onto all your cards starting now. You’ll get them back on the day of the divorce.”
The driver nearly choked on air.
Kristian’s brows snapped together.
“What, you don’t want to?” Freya pressed, arching a brow.
“You should know when to stop while you’re ahead,” Kristian said, irritation creeping into his voice.
The air in the car grew thick.
“I admit I misjudged today, but let’s not pretend your erratic behavior lately didn’t play a role in that.”
Freya stared at him, disbelief flashing in her eyes. He was seriously blaming her for this?
“Really?” Her voice was dangerously calm.
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.