Chapter 195:
A flicker of curiosity danced across Liam’s features, his eyes probing for the truth.
Meanwhile, Kristian, with a practiced nonchalance, poured himself a glass of wine and knocked it back in one swift gulp. “I felt nothing,” he answered aloofly.
“You’re just putting on a show,” Liam countered swiftly, his tone tinged with certainty. “If it truly didn’t matter to you, why did you press her to reveal her first love’s name, age, and job during our game?”
Kristian was momentarily speechless, his annoyance with Liam escalating rapidly.
“Sometimes, facing your emotions is the only way forward,” Liam pressed on, his voice steady and insightful.
The point of tonight’s setup was to push Kristian to recognize his feelings for Freya. His reaction during the first love segment proved her unresolved past bothered him more than he’d admit.
Raising the stakes, Liam challenged him. “What if her first love returned this very moment, asking her to leave you and marry him? What then?”
“She wouldn’t dare,” Kristian snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously cold.
“Why wouldn’t she?” Liam delivered this piercing truth with his characteristic nonchalance, his voice as laid-back as a Sunday morning. “You were ready to leave her for your old flame. Isn’t it only fair she considers the same?”
Kristian’s response was a silent, icy stare that seemed to lower the temperature of the room.
After a tense moment, he muttered, “That’s not the same thing.”
“Whatever you say,” Liam replied with a nonchalant shrug, dismissing the heavy air as if it were nothing more than a passing cloud. “Anyway, the planning for Grandpa’s 80th birthday party is underway. If you want to prevent her from divorcing you just yet, you should mention it to her tomorrow morning.”
With those final words, Liam retreated to his room, leaving a trail of unsettled thoughts behind him.
𝕋𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖋𝖎𝖑𝖊 𝖋𝖎𝖗𝖘𝖙 𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖔𝖓 g𝖺𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀．𝖼𝗈𝗆
Alone in the living room, which was as brightly lit as midday, Kristian sank deeper into the sofa. The weight of Liam’s words pressed on him, stoking the embers of irritation within.
He loosened his tie in a futile attempt to ease the mounting pressure. By three in the morning, exhaustion had claimed him, and he had drifted into an uneasy slumber on the sofa.
Abruptly, the soft creak of a door swinging open upstairs jolted him awake. Blinking into the dim light, he caught sight of Freya descending the stairs.
Dressed in light-colored pajamas, her gaze had returned to its usual calm.
It was clear to Kristian that she had sobered up.
Despite her modest tolerance for alcohol, a brief nap—merely a couple of hours—had sufficed to clear her foggy mind.
When she woke up feeling parched and on the verge of descending the stairs for some water, she caught Kristian’s gaze fixed on her from the sofa.
Their gazes intertwined, and an unspoken connection seemed to weave itself around them.
Standing hesitantly at the stairwell’s edge, Freya remained motionless, her eyes still entangled with Kristian’s.
Breaking the silence with his voice, gravelly and soft, Kristian offered,
.
.
.