Chapter 43:
The Briggs Group wasn’t just her father’s legacy; her mother had poured her soul into it as well.
With both the Briggs and Shaw Groups being titans in their fields, she was adamant that their personal history shouldn’t taint potential collaborations.
Kristian’s eyes darkened, a mix of pain and concern flickering through them as he nodded slowly. “Fine, I’ll go along with that,” he conceded, his voice thick with emotion. “But you need to promise me something first.”
Freya’s brow furrowed slightly. “What is it?”
He hesitated, his heart heavy at the mere thought. “If you find someone new…” The words choked in his throat, the images of her smiling softly in another’s embrace, perhaps even starting a family, weighed him down unbearably.
Freya inquired softly, yet firmly, “What?”
“If you find someone else,” Kristian replied, his tone laced with concern, “make sure to register your assets before marriage.”
His eyes searched hers earnestly. “And keep your wealth under wraps. Don’t let anyone know how much you really have.” To him, Freya came from an ordinary background.
Yet, if the world ever discovered the billions sitting in her bank account, she would no doubt turn into a prime target for schemes and manipulations.
“Don’t worry, I know what to do,” Freya assured him with genuine warmth in her tone.
Kristian’s expression grew somber. His emotions had been a whirlwind today, especially with his frustrations regarding Freya and Trent. But now, as night cloaked their home, his voice carried an unexpected serenity as they delved into deeper conversations.
It was the sight of tears tracing Freya’s cheeks that altered his perspective, prompting him to see this moment as perhaps his final gesture of kindness before their impending divorce.
F𝒾𝓷𝒶𝓁 𝓬𝒉𝓪𝓹𝓉𝓮𝓇𝓈 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 gⱯ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝓈.ℂ𝗈𝗺
“If there’s nothing else, I’ll head upstairs to sleep,” Freya announced, her fatigue evident in her slumped shoulders and weary eyes.
“Wait.” Kristian’s voice halted her retreat.
With a puzzled frown, she turned back toward him.
Before she could articulate her confusion, he stepped closer, his actions gentle. He tenderly wiped away her tears with his thumb, his voice a soft whisper. “Don’t cry.”
Freya touched the other side of her face, her fingers brushing against dampness she hadn’t noticed before.
She paused, a memory of the dream that had roused her from sleep earlier surfacing in her mind. Then, locking eyes with him, she asserted, “I wasn’t crying.”
His expression softened, a hint of concern in his voice. “Don’t force yourself to be the strong one all the time.” He pulled his hand away, his deep-set eyes mirroring her visage in the dim light.
“I swear, I wasn’t crying,” Freya responded, her fingers brushing her cheeks as if to erase any trace of tears. She clutched her glass a little tighter and offered a plausible explanation. “Those weren’t tears, okay? Just some water that splashed when I bumped into you.”
Kristian was momentarily lost for words.
Freya’s gaze drifted to his damp clothes. With a gentle reminder, she noted, “It’s a bit chilly on this cool autumn evening. You should change your clothes before you catch a cold. I’m heading up now—sorry about getting your clothes wet.”
.
.
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