Chapter 5:
Gerard blinked, thrown by her response.
Freya studied the mall’s glittering chandeliers, her voice deliberate. “Being his assistant is one thing. But cleaning up his messes? Tell me, Gerard—have you ever seen a man ditch his wife mid-date to run to his mistress?”
The bodyguards stiffened; Gerard’s smile froze.
For a heartbeat, all five men stared at her with something dangerously close to pity.
This might be the price of marrying into wealth—knowing her husband had left her for another woman while she was expected to swallow the insult.
“Save the sympathy.” Freya scoffed, amused by their expressions. She gestured to the bags weighing them down. “A single one of those could cover your salary for a year. Maybe ten.”
The blow landed perfectly.
She pressed, “Well, anything you’d like?”
Five pairs of eyes widened in unison.
Freya’s mind worked in ways they couldn’t follow.
“Since he’s off playing hero for his darling, let’s put his money to better use.” She twirled the black card between her fingers, her voice quieter now.
The sting surprised her. She hadn’t realized Kristian’s departure would still claw at her.
Right now, all she wanted was to drain his account dry.
Gerard and the bodyguards gaped.
Delighted by their shock, Freya resumed shopping, the card clutched like a weapon.
For m𝒐rє, v𝒾𝓈𝒾t g𝓪l𝓷ovєls.𝓬○𝓶
She assumed Kristian would linger at the hospital all day. But as she sat down to eat, he appeared like a storm, his presence slicing through the restaurant’s warmth.
Before anyone could react, he seized Freya’s wrist and hauled her toward the parking area, his grip ironclad.
Her back slammed against the car door, pain radiating through her.
She winced. What the hell was his problem?
His accusation came like a whip crack, “Why hurt Ashley?”
Kristian trembled with suppressed rage. “You hired that hit-and-run driver, didn’t you? I gave you everything you wanted—the house, the car, the money. What more do—
You want? Why did you still hurt her?” He looked like vengeance personified, his eyes glacial.
“When did I—” Freya’s confusion was genuine.
“Still lying?” His voice could have frosted glass. “You planned this. Picked today so I’d be distracted while your hired man ran her down. You know I’d die before letting her suffer.”
His voice was Arctic frost, the kind that seeped into bones and made spines stiffen.
Freya’s initial fury dissolved into something colder, sharper. His absurd accusation had an ironic effect—it drained her rage, leaving only icy clarity.
She met his gaze, lips curling in derision. “How poetic. Turning betrayal into some grand romance.”
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