Chapter 192:
“I’d like to sleep with Charlie,” Freya declared, her voice tinged with a dreamy softness, as if recalling a comforting memory. “Holding Charlie feels so reassuring.”
Frustration etched itself across Kristian’s features.
Who in the world was Charlie?
Trent, trying to maintain calm, patiently explained, “Charlie isn’t here tonight. Your choices are to sleep alone or with Kristian.”
Kristian listened intently, his penetrating gaze drifting involuntarily toward Trent.
The words that had just tumbled from Trent’s lips took him aback. In such a scenario, wouldn’t most people probe about whose bed she preferred—his or Kristian’s?
What exactly was Trent’s motive with Freya?
“Then, can I sleep with Farrah tonight?” Freya inquired nonchalantly. All she truly wanted was a comforting presence. “She’s soft and comforting to embrace.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Trent replied, his voice tinged with resignation.
“Sounds good,” Freya responded, her tone light.
With that, Trent grabbed his phone and stepped out, leaving the room behind.
Freya, meanwhile, busied herself with the discs on the table, seemingly oblivious to Kristian’s towering presence beside her.
When Farrah’s phone buzzed with an unknown number, her initial reaction was to dismiss the call instinctively.
However, the persistent ringing left her with no choice but to pick up. “Hello? Who’s this?” she asked cautiously.
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“This is Trent Seymour,” he began, his voice carrying a courteous and refined tone throughout the conversation. “Am I speaking with Farrah Welch?”
“Yeah. Why are you calling?”
Once Trent confirmed her identity, he inquired if she was currently in Jeucwell, promptly followed by giving her the address and explaining the evening’s arrangement.
The conversation wrapped up after five minutes.
As Trent ended the call and turned around, he found Kristian not too far off, his expression unreadable.
“Can I help you with something?” Kristian’s voice was low and steady. “What exactly is your relationship with Freya?”
“We’re just friends,” Trent answered evenly.
“Who is Charlie?” Kristian pressed, his voice laced with a seriousness that bordered on solemnity.
The very notion of Freya clutching someone named Charlie in her sleep—a figure she found comforting and soft—stirred unease within him. He knew he belonged to Freya’s past, a place he had no business intruding, but the urge to know still gnawed at him.
Trent, with a graceful smile, adjusted his sleek, gradient glasses and cast a knowing glance toward Freya. “Perhaps it’s best to ask her directly about such matters,” he suggested smoothly.
A faint scowl flickered across Kristian’s face.
“Such matters?”
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