Chapter 139:
Meanwhile, Freya moved about her apartment in comfortable loungewear that highlighted her gentle demeanor. Her very presence seemed capable of soothing even the most turbulent emotions.
When knocking disrupted the evening quiet, she approached the door without hesitation.
She had considered installing a video doorbell but ultimately decided against it, believing her residence there would be temporary. Consequently, when she opened the door to find Kristian standing before her, her brow creased visibly with displeasure.
“Why are you here?” she asked directly, making no effort to hide her annoyance.
“I instructed Gerard to contact you,” Kristian explained, his suit jacket still casually draped over his left arm, his pristine white shirt lending him an air of refined elegance. “I need to talk to you.”
The absolute last person Freya wanted to see was Kristian. The absolute last thing she wanted to hear was that he wanted to talk to her.
“What would you like to talk about?” Freya asked coldly.
Frustration bubbled through Kristian’s veins as her cool demeanor inflamed his already agitated mood.
He closed the distance between them with one decisive step and blurted, “Let’s talk about your plans after our divorce finalizes. Will you continue as Ethel Briggs’s bodyguard, or run off with Trent Seymour?”
“You’ve completely lost your mind,” Freya shot back, abandoning any pretense of politeness.
When their divorce proceedings first began, she had hoped for an amicable separation.
𝗙𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗮 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲: g⍶𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝗍𝖊𝗅𝘀﹒ⅽ𝗼𝗺
As time progressed, however, Kristian’s behavior grew increasingly irrational—bordering on madness. The gentle man she had known seemed nothing more than a figment of her imagination.
“If you’re truly unemployed, out of respect for my grandpa, I could arrange a position for you at Shaw Group,” Kristian offered, dismissing her response.
His true purpose for this visit was to gauge her reaction to the telltale lipstick staining his collar; business talk merely provided convenient cover.
Yet as the words left his mouth, his mind wandered to her post-divorce existence.
The image of her alone in some villa, gazing forlornly at the sky like an abandoned kitten, stirred unexpected discomfort within him.
“What position offers an annual salary exceeding twenty million?” Freya challenged.
Her outrageous demand caught Kristian off guard.
“Salary corresponds directly to ability,” he countered. “What talents do you possess that justify over twenty million?”
“If there’s no position paying twenty million annually, why would I even consider your company?” Freya reasoned, her logic rendering him momentarily speechless. “With my 1.4 billion divorce settlement safely deposited, even at a standard bank interest rate of 1.5%, I’d earn over twenty million yearly while doing absolutely nothing.”
Kristian struggled to formulate a response.
“Not to mention,” Freya continued, “such a substantial deposit wouldn’t yield such a paltry rate. For a supposedly savvy businessman, your arithmetic skills are surprisingly deficient.”
“What happens when impulsivity strikes and someone swindles your fortune away?” Kristian retorted, scrambling for verbal footing.
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