Chapter 33:
“I wonder if Mr. Seymour is aware.”
The air turned to glass—fragile, ready to shatter.
If Freya and Trent were more than friends, this was the moment the truth would out.
“I knew my sweet friend was married.” Trent settled onto the sofa, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses with deliberate calm. “But to you? That’s… unexpected.”
Freya shot him a glance. His sugary tone sent a shudder down her spine. What game was he playing?
Trent’s eyes flicked toward her, as if saying, “I’ve got your back.” She barely stifled a sigh.
Kristian caught it too—that familiarity, that audacity.
He’d never realized Trent and Freya were this close.
Felipe suddenly stood, offering his seat with exaggerated courtesy. “My mistake for not recognizing you earlier. This is your rightful place—please, sit.”
“No need.”
“No need.”
Kristian and Freya spoke in unison, their voices twin blades of frost.
“What’s going on with you two?” Felipe pressed, theatrically wide-eyed. “Did you have a fight?”
Kristian’s glare could’ve melted steel.
Felipe pretended not to notice.
“You talk with them.” Freya had no interest in sparring with Kristian further. She turned to Trent. “I’m going to the restroom.”
𝖂𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖙 𝖈𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒: 𝖌ⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀⩸𝖼𝗈𝗆
“Alright,” Trent agreed, his tone dripping with gentleness.
The scene burned Kristian’s retinas. Their effortless intimacy made him feel like the intruder.
“How did you and Kristian’s wife meet, Mr. Seymour?” Felipe asked, swirling his drink.
Trent hesitated.
He wanted to say childhood friends, family ties—but Freya’s warning echoed in his mind. He couldn’t reveal her identity.
His pause stretched a second too long.
Kristian misinterpreted it instantly. Whatever their first meeting was, it must’ve been… compromising. The room’s temperature plummeted.
“If it’s sensitive, forget I asked.” Felipe laughed, pouring drinks as they arrived. “Let’s toast! Gatherings like this are rare.”
The conversation limped forward until Freya returned. Every eye tracked her.
She’d done what she came for. “I’m leaving,” she announced. “Stay if you want.”
“Don’t rush.” Felipe blocked her path. “Leave with Kristian later.”
“No.” Freya’s refusal was absolute.
“Stay a while longer,” Trent added.
Freya was silent but didn’t walk out.
Kristian’s grip on his glass turned lethal. His knuckles bleached white; his ribs cramped around the fury in his chest.
“Freya mentioned you’re divorcing.” Trent’s question was a scalpel to Kristian’s nerves. “Is it true?”
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.
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