Freya had expected to have no shortage of nightmares after the seemingly endless night she just had when she woke up the next day.

What a great moment to start someone’s day indeed.

Every memory from last night was still vivid in her mind, each one flashing behind her closed eyes in perfect succession with the rest—her perfectly crafted marriage, her cousin's accident, her divorce with Clementine—as she remembered every mixed-up emotion that rioted for the prime spot in her heart, even the ones she did not want to acknowledge and name.

All the revelations that were dumped unto her like some unwarranted baggage came rushing into her all at once, the distress of that memory registered without a delay as Freya stopped herself to scream like a banshee and held her breath until she slowly regained her composure, only letting her eyes move to take in what was around her.

The minimalist furnishing, the brown, cream, and white color scheme she liked so much, and the brushed metal and wood accents—despite definitely looking comforting and homey—did not appease her growing unease.

C’mon, Freya von Iver. Now’s not the time to wallow in self-pity. Get a move on.

She stopped.

I am not a 'Von Iver' now, aint I?

Get a fucking move on.

Deciding that the rational part of her was right and that depression so early in the morning was not an ideal activity to start her day. And despite sleeping so late last night, her growling empty stomach woke her up, making Freya's head fuzzy due to lack of sleep.

With a heavy limb, Freya pushed herself up on her elbows and spied the analog alarm clock sitting on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

07:20

Freya shuffled her feet and stepped out of her room, sorely tempted to raid the kitchen for food until the smell of sizzling bacon hit her nostrils. Tiptoeing her way through the living room, Freya stopped short when the kitchen and dining area came into view.

Her maid, Melinda, was a short old woman in her fifty's, who's more like a mother to her than anyone else. She was a complete opposite of her, warm and friendly, despite losing almost everything in her life, including her husband.

She was not far different from you now, was she?

Melinda was standing by the kitchen island, wearing a white ruffled apron over her faded yellow cardigan and slacks ensemble, ladling what appeared to be burnt slices of bacon into the porcelain plate. She probably heard her footsteps because she turned back and caught her gaze, surprise registered on her expression as she groggily made her way over to the dining table.

“Good morning, Ma'am,” the old woman greeted with a bright smile, and Freya visibly flinched from her obvious enthusiasm. “You’re early.”

Someone’s in a very good mood today.

“I’m starving,” Freya remarked dryly as she gluttonously eyed the plate of bacon in Melinda's hand. “Is that for me?”

Melinda laughed before she placed the plate in front of her. “Sure. The princess should eat to regain her strength back. Now eat, and I know you still have some errands to do.”

Freya snorted and picked up her fork. Aside from the burnt bacon, the maid also prepared porridge with fresh cream and butter corn, boiled eggs, and bread, with her black coffee on the side. She started shoveling the strips of bacon into her mouth and licked the oil on her lips before giving Melinda an expectant look.

"What is it?"

The air in the quaint dining room seemed to still as Freya's question lingered, almost hesitant to breach the surface of the unspoken turmoil. Across the table, the old woman, Melinda, looked up from her task with a concerned glance, her eyes holding a depth of understanding that transcended mere curiosity.

"Did something happen, Ma'am?"

Freya, caught off guard by the unexpected inquiry, visibly froze. Slowly, she lowered her fork, the clinking against the porcelain plate now replaced by the heavy silence that enveloped the room. Her eyes met Melinda's, a mixture of confusion and vulnerability reflected in her gaze.

"Why?" Freya swallowed, her voice betraying a fragile attempt at composure. "Why did you ask?"

Melinda, her hands momentarily stilled, shrugged with a hint of nonchalance. But beneath the casual exterior was a keen perception, a silent acknowledgment that she had observed more than just the surface.

"Nothing. It's just that I saw your luggage in your room when I cleaned it early this morning. And..." She paused, as if delicately choosing her words. "And you can tell me, Ma'am. You are like my daughter, and I hate to see you sad."

A delicate tug on Freya's heart accompanied Melinda's words, an unexpected surge of emotion at the genuine concern emanating from the older woman. It was a stark contrast to the unfolding chaos in Freya's personal life. Suddenly, she remembered Catherine. Now that she and Clementine had been divorced, it was inevitable for them to cut ties with her. But having the thought of not seeing Clement’s grandma made her sad. Afterall, she was the only one in the Ivers who showed genuine compassion to her.

Freya felt something tugged in her chest, feeling the genuine affection of the older woman to her. Suddenly, she remembered Aunt Catherine. Now that she and Clementine had been divorced, it was inevitable for them to cut ties with her. But having the thought of not seeing Clement’s grandma made her sad. Afterall, she was the only one in the Ivers who showed genuine compassion to her.

“Clement…” Freya's voice wavered, the weight of the impending revelation pressing upon her. Clearing her throat in an attempt to steady herself, she swallowed hard, as if the physical act could halt the emotional cascade threatening to spill forth. “Clement filed for divorce. I…I will be living here from now on.”

Melinda’s face contorted into a mixture of surprise and disbelief, followed by concern. Freya stopped herself from crying when the woman’s papery hands touched hers in a comforting gesture.

“You can tell me all about it when you’re ready, my dear” the woman said. “For now, don’t force yourself too much.”

Freya nodded. “Thank you, Aunt Mel.”

“Such a small thing, Ma'am.” She smiled. “Now, finish your breakfast and you’ll be late.”

*

The charming Bistro Alfresco embraced Freya in a warm, inviting atmosphere, making her temporarily forget her growing irritation. Soft hues of earthy tones adorned the walls, accentuated by vintage-inspired artworks and Instagram-able paintings. Wooden tables stood proudly under the ambient glow of pendant lights, creating an intimate setting for coffee enthusiasts and clandestine conversations alike.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, rich and enticing, enveloped the cozy space. Baristas behind the polished counter worked with precision, orchestrating the ballet of coffee creation as the hiss of steam and the rhythmic hum of grinding beans joined the ever-busy stream of customers.

The interior design exuded a rustic elegance, seamlessly blending modernity with the timeless appeal of classic coffee houses. Exposed brick walls, while plush cushions added comfort to the eclectic array of seating. Mellow jazz notes wafted through the air, intertwining with the subdued chatter of patrons engaged in hushed conversations. Open, yet private. The very reason why she and her assistant liked to hang out in here for a go-to coffee.

As Freya settled into her seat, the steaming cup before her promised comfort. These days, teas were all she could drink at the villa, thanks to her ex-husband.

Across from her, Erin fidgeted nervously, a stark contrast to the serene ambiance of the coffee shop.

Her gaze, laden with regret, refused to meet Freya's, and with a hesitant exhale, she began, "Miss Iver, I'm afraid I can't take on that case you mentioned." The weight of her words hung in the air, a counterpoint to the harmonious blend of coffee notes and subdued conversations that painted the backdrop of the quaint establishment.

Freya raised an eyebrow, curiosity etching her features.

"Why not? It's not like you to turn down a potential client."

Erin sighed, leaning in conspiratorially. "It's a conflict of interest. The case involves two businessmen, and one of them is Mr. Devereux. He wants us to go against Mr. von Iver."

Freya's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and realization washing over her.

"Clement?”

Erin nodded solemnly. "Yes. Mr. Devereux wants your help against your

... ex-husband.”

Freya leaned back, contemplating the implications. "And why would Mr. Devereux think I'd take a case against Clement?" No matter how jerk he was.

Erin hesitated before admitting, "There's a substantial sum involved. We'd miss out on a significant fee if we turn it down."

Freya chuckled, a bitter undertone in her laughter.

"Money over morals, huh?"

Erin looked down, guilt coloring her expression. "I'm sorry, Miss Iver. It's just business."

As Freya pondered the situation, Erin couldn't help but worry about her boss's recently finalized divorce from Clementine.

"Are you sure you want to get involved, especially considering... well, everything?"

Freya stopped for a moment, weighing Erin’s words.

Sure, the divorce left an ugly taste in her mouth, not to mention in her name and reputation. But sometimes, there were times when she felt like she missed something in those years that she chose Clementine over everything else—her career, her hobbies, her preference, her…everything.

Freya's eyes gleamed with newfound determination.

"Erin, my life is finally fully in my control. If I can help Mr. Devereux and get justice for him, why not?"

Erin felt a sense of relief, congratulating Freya on gaining her freedom after sacrificing so much for Jordy. The two of them chatted amiably, their conversation temporarily lifting Freya's spirits.

The harmonious buzz of the coffee shop abruptly hushed as the door chimed, indicating an unexpected arrival—Clementine, the unwelcome specter from Freya's past, and his new companion, Callista Hayes, draped in a pristine white that seemed to mock the purity she could never genuinely embody.

Freya's once-relaxed demeanor transformed into a picture of tension and resentment, her eyes narrowing into focused slits as she scrutinized the uninvited couple. Callista, seemingly oblivious to the palpable animosity, exuded an air of calculated confidence, her white ensemble a stark contrast to the complex shades of the emotions swirling in the room. The bitter taste of history lingered on Freya's tongue, a bitter reminder of Callista's past attempts to inflict pain during the tumultuous divorce.

Did she really think that I wasn’t aware she was the one who sent me those intimate photos of her and my cheater of a husband?

Erin sensed the change in Freya's demeanor as she cast a dark look towards the unwelcome pair.

Clement, with an air of arrogance, noted Freya's presence. "Why, Freya, if you wanted to talk, you could've just called."

Callista, the picture of innocence, sweetly greeted Freya. "Oh, Freya, it's been so long. I've made a miraculous recovery, as you can see."

Freya forced a smile, masking her disdain. "I'm delighted to witness your swift return to health."

The cafe's atmosphere buzzed with hushed conversations and curious glances. But Freya did not pay them no mind, for her gaze was focused on Clement.

With a cold edge to his voice, Clement warned Freya with a low tone, whispering. "Don't make things difficult, Freya. You're no longer a part of my life."

The morning sun filtered through Freya's bedroom window, casting a warm, golden glow on her face as she gracefully awakened to the promise of a new day. The night before had passed uneventfully, and Freya nodded nonchalantly, a serene indifference enveloping her as she contemplated the well-being of her estranged husband. The impending divorce, once a heavy burden, now seemed to have lifted the weight of their shared history from her shoulders.

Having slept peacefully, unencumbered by the worries of losing Clement, Freya arose to the gentle melody of her morning alarm, feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. The sun seemed to dance on the walls of her opulent villa, the sky—which she only now noticed as she was busy burying her face on her pillows to hide her puffy eyes for crying all night.

Glancing at the breakfast table, Freya's lips curled into a contented smile at the prospect of indulging in her preferred American breakfast. In the past, she had gracefully accommodated Clement's penchant for a traditional English morning repast. However, in this moment of emancipation, she reveled in the simple joy of savoring the flavors that resonated with her own taste.

As Freya approached the dining table, the inviting aroma of fresh coffee and the delectable scent of pancakes and crispy bacon embraced her senses. Melinda greeted her with a warm smile. Their laughter reverberated through the air, filling the room with a sense of camaraderie that transcended the roles of employer and employee.

"Good morning, Melinda," Freya chimed, her voice carrying the melody of freedom. "What delightful breakfast do we have today?"

Melinda chuckled, her eyes crinkling with genuine affection. "Well, Madam, I thought we'd start the day with some fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, and your favorite freshly brewed coffee. Seemed like a perfect American breakfast kind of morning, don't you think?"

Freya's eyes lit up with delight, grateful for the thoughtful gesture. "Absolutely. I missed enjoying my American breakfast. No more compromises, just the way I like it!"

They spent that crisp morning wrapped in the light of laughter and the warmth of candid conversations. After Freya's meeting with Erin to discuss a potential client, she felt a surge of courage to bare it down in one go. Uncorking a bottle of wine, she decided it was time to delve into the intricacies of her divorce and the daunting alimony that Clement had demanded. The presence of the older woman, Melinda, proved to be a fortunate solace.

As a seasoned lawyer who felt confident defending in the court, Freya was not known to take advices since she was the one who gave them to her clients. However, that morning, she was very much willing to take whatever the older woman was willing to give. The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a gentle glow on the table where they sat, and as Freya shared the intricacies of her tumultuous divorce, she realized the value of the five decades of life experience that Melinda brought to the conversation.

In a role reversal that felt surprisingly liberating, Freya discovered herself as the eager recipient of advice, humbled by Melinda's wisdom and the genuine lack of haughtiness in her demeanor. The air between them buzzed with the clinking of glasses and the unspoken understanding that, in this moment of vulnerability, Freya was not alone.

“Thank you so much for your time, Aunt Melinda,” Freya said warmly.

“No problem, little Miss. Whenever you need something, don’t hesitate to call Old Mel.”

Freya smiled. “Oh, c’mon. You’re barely old!”

“Oh, you.” The old maid playfully swatted her hand. “Well, you need to get dress now or you’ll be late. You said that you have a meeting with “Miss Erin, right?”

“Oh, crap. I nearly forgot. I’ll leave you to it, Aunt, okay? I will get ready now.”

It took her an hour or so to prepare and dress. As Freya stood before the mirror, preparing to face the day, she assessed her reflection with a discerning eye. Dressed in a professional yet stylish ensemble befitting her role as a lawyer, she exuded a blend of confidence and sophistication.

Freya's tailored black blazer, adorned with a subtle pinstripe pattern, accentuated her slender figure. Paired with a knee-length, charcoal gray pencil skirt, the outfit struck a perfect balance between professionalism and contemporary flair. A crisp, white button-down shirt underneath added a touch of classic elegance, complemented by a silver pendant necklace that dangled subtly against the fabric.

Her well-manicured hands, adorned with a few simple silver rings, held a leather briefcase containing the essential documents for the day. Freya's choice of black, high-heeled pumps added a subtle power stance to her demeanor, the one she worked so hard to maintain.

Taking a moment to appreciate her appearance, Freya acknowledged the soft waves cascading down her shoulders, a result of a deliberate yet effortlessly chic hairstyle. Her makeup was understated yet polished, emphasizing her features without overshadowing her natural beauty. A sweep of mascara highlighted her expressive eyes, and a touch of rosy lipstick added a hint of color to her lips.

“I’m ready,” she said to herself, and walked out the room.

Walking towards her car, Freya dropped her briefcase at the passenger’s and effortlessly maneuvered the car out the garage. She then drove heading Bistro Alfresco, where Erin originally scheduled her to meet one of the legal representatives from Devereux Conglomerate.

The sunlit coffee shop echoed with the soft hum of conversation and the gentle clinking of cups as Freya entered. The comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. Anticipating a meeting with Erin, she was taken aback when she saw a familiar face instead.

"Kit?" The word escaped Freya's lips, a mixture of surprise and disbelief as her eyes met his.

"Frey!" Kit's face lit up, and he rose from his seat, causing nearby patrons to glance curiously. With an infectious energy, he closed the distance between them, enveloping Freya in a warm, tight hug. "I miss you! Long time no see!"

Freya's initial surprise melted into a radiant smile as she returned the embrace, feeling the genuine warmth of an old friend. The familiarity of Kit's presence brought a rush of memories, and she could not help but reciprocate with a tight squeeze before they let go of the hug.

“Kit, how are you? You looked great.”

“Well, you’re the one to speak,” he said with a boyish smile. “You literally haven’t aged. How’s life?”

“Good as new leaf. I am so happy that you’re here. You’re working in the Devereux now, huh?”

The man, sporting an impish grin, leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his tousled hair as they settled into a cozy corner of the coffee shop. The ambiance was filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, complementing the muted chatter and gentle hum of background music.

Freya could not help but notice the mischievous glint in Kit's eyes, a familiar sight that brought back memories of their mutual history way back their law residency.

As they delved into conversation, the man's animated gestures punctuated their discussion. His hands swirled in the air, adding flair to his stories, and occasionally, he'd punctuate a point by tapping the tabletop with an infectious energy. Freya found herself caught up in the lively exchange, completely unaware of the man perched discreetly inside a sleek, black car parked near the coffee shop who surveilled Freya's every move. With tinted windows concealing his identity, the observer sat in silent vigilance, peering through the glass at Freya and Kit engaged in conversation.

From the shadows of the car's interior, the watcher noted every detail meticulously—the rise and fall of Freya's laughter, the animated gestures she exchanged with Kit, and the genuine warmth in her expressions. A small, sophisticated camera lens protruded subtly from the dashboard, capturing the nuances of their interaction.

"Subject engaged in lively conversation, showing no signs of suspicion," he reported in hushed tones, keeping his eyes fixed on Freya through the windshield.

On the other end of the line, a commanding voice responded, "Maintain your position. I need real-time updates on any noteworthy developments."

*

(Copy, Sir.)

The call was cut off.

“Bloody hell!”

Clement's frustration swelled, exacerbated by a phone call from his hired surveillance operative who discreetly trailed Freya. The report painted a picture of her animated conversation with a man, igniting a spark of jealousy within him.

As Clement lurked in the shadows, unseen and unheard, the sight of Freya's radiant smile in the company of another man fueled his inner turmoil. Unbeknownst to her, Clement grappled with a maelstrom of emotions—regret, resentment, and an unsettling question about her true feelings for him.

“The hell are you doing, Iyah?” he muttered under his breath. “So eager to run into another man’s arms, huh?”

Reconnecting with Kit at Bistro Alfresco, Freya found herself drawn to the idea of a fresh start. The garments she brought from her previous marital life with Clement held the heavy imprint of memories she wished to shed. A compelling call for a fresh beginning, coupled with the encouragement from her discussions with Erin and Melinda, ignited a spirited desire for independence. Perhaps, more.

And so she went shopping for basic essentials, to start.

The bustling shopping district welcomed Freya with myrial of thrill, The air was charged with the anticipation as she explored boutiques and stores.

Freya entered the lively shopping district, relishing the excitement of solo shopping, realizing it's been so long since she last shopped by herself. The air buzzed with anticipation as she browsed through boutiques and stores. Freya's choices mirrored her evolving identity—each piece carefully selected to redefine her wardrobe and, in turn, her sense of self.

From formal to casual blouses, pants of various cuts and styles, coats, jackets, protective layers and cardigans, undergarments, dresses and even shoes.

As Freya moved from aisle to aisle, the act of choosing became more of an escape than an errand.

Now, I get to choose clothes that align with my style and preferences, free from the constraint of dressing to impress Clement's old-fashioned sensibilities, she thought.

The evening shadows stretched across the villa when Freya, laden with shopping bags, reached her home like some giddy teenager. With a warm smile, she handed over a few items from her shopping spree as a gesture of appreciation.

"Take these, Aunt Mel," Freya insisted when the older woman initially declined. "You deserve a little treat."

"Thank you, Ma'am. You're too kind," Melinda replied, her hands gently cradling the gifts.

Later that night, Freya began organizing the newly acquired additions to her wardrobe. As she carefully arranged each piece, a wave of panic swept over her.

"Crap, where is it?" she muttered.

Her mother's necklace was conspicuously absent. The realization tightened around her chest, and a sense of urgency compelled her to retrace her steps.

Concern etched on her face, Freya approached Melinda, her voice reflecting a mixture of worry and determination.

"Aunt Mel, did you happen to see a necklace?"

"What necklace is that? You have many."

"Uhm, the one I always wear. It's a simple silver necklace with sapphire. The one Mother gave me?"

The old woman, ever perceptive, shook her head. "No, Ma'am. But I'll help you look for it. Where do you think you might have left it? Have you tried to look at your drawer?"

She shook her head. "I must have dropped it or left it somewhere."

Feeling a sense of gratitude for Melinda's willingness to assist, Freya considered her options. "I haven't wore it eversince I left—" and then she paused. "It might be in our room."

"At Clement's?" Sensing her anxiety, Melinda offered. "I'll come with you, Ma'am."

"N-No. No, it's okay. I'll go and check. Thanks, Aunty."

"Are you sure?"

Freya only smiled, and grabbed her coat along with her keys before driving back to the Von Iver's. The guard immediately recognized her car and let her in. She wasted no time and marched forward the door heading upstairs towards the master's.

As Freya cautiously entered their bedroom, the atmosphere seemed charged with an unspoken tension. The room, a repository of memories both bitter and sweet, held secrets that echoed in the recesses of her mind.

To her astonishment, Clement stood there, his figure bathed in the muted light. In his hands, he cradled the watch she had once gifted him on their 1st anniversary–the Tudor Black Bay Chrono watch—the same broken watch she hid along with her jewelries.

A hush descended upon the room, punctuated only by the rhythm of their breaths. Freya's throat tightened as she observed Clement, who seemed immersed in deep contemplation.

Clement, unaware of Freya's presence, cast a glance at the watch, his expression a mosaic of conflicting sentiments.

Feeling a lump forming in her throat, Freya finally spoke, her voice a fragile thread in the charged silence.

"Clement? What are you doing here?"

Clement's gaze shifted to Freya, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. All the emotions in his face vanished in an instant, replaced by the usual annoyance that he liked to throw her way.

"I should be asking that," he muttered sarcastically. "I thought you don't like being here."

It's true, she almost blurted out.

"I'm here for something personal."

Clement tossed the watch he was recently holding with care to the dresser. His eyes narrowed as he noticed her indifferent gaze while looking at the broken watch he had thrown onto the dressing table. It was a watch she had glued back together instead of discarding it.

He could not help but criticize her for keeping such a broken item in his villa, his frustration evident. "Why do you insist on keeping this useless thing around, Iyah?"

Don't call me that.

She responded with a twitching mouth, her voice edged with a subtle sarcasm. "If you don't like it, throw it away. It's not like I care."

The realization hit Clement like a punch to the gut—she no longer cared about the watch that once held sentimental value for both of them. Fueled by jealousy and anger, he accused Freya of readily agreeing to the divorce because she had already started dating other men.

The nerve of this man?

But instead, she looked at him with a blank stare. Freya, unfazed, smiled and shrugged off his accusations. "Believe whatever you want, Clementine."

Ignoring him, Freya briskly walked to the dressing table, her fingers quickly retrieving a small necklace box. She avoided eye contact with Clementine, who was seething with anger.

"What's so important that you can't even talk to me?" he snapped, reaching out and grabbing Freya's wrist forcefully.

Confused by his sudden aggression, Freya questioned his motives, wondering why she hadn't noticed this unpredictable behavior before.

She winced, but her face remained impassive. "I need some time alone. Can't you understand that?"

"Time alone?" Clementine's tone dripped with sarcasm. "You don't get to decide that. You're still my wife."

Freya sighed, trying to free her wrist from his grip. "Not anymore. We're divorced, remember?"

You divorced me!

His expression darkened, and he tightened his grip. "You can't just walk away whenever you please."

"I can, and I will," she asserted, finally freeing her wrist. She shot him a pointed look and walked out of the room.

In the hallway, Freya took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves. She knew she had to stand firm in asserting her independence.

Clementine followed her, frustration evident on his face. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I have plans. Plans that don't involve you," she replied, not bothering to hide her irritation.

He scoffed. "You can't just shut me out of your life, Iyah. We have history."

She turned to face him. "History doesn't mean I owe you anything now. It's time we both move on."

Clementine gripped her hand tightly again, demanding that she accompany him to the old mansion to see his grandmother.

"What? No!"

"And why the bloody hell not?" He retorted back.

Still puzzled, she refused, suggesting that Callista Hayes should go instead.

Confused by Clementine's sudden insistence, Freya crossed her arms, skepticism evident on her face. Memories of his past refusals to see Catherine flooded her mind, reminding her of a time when Clementine had barred her from that part of his life.

"Why the sudden change of heart? You've never been keen on me visiting your grandmother before."

Clementine sighed, his expression shifting between frustration and sincerity. "Grandma insisted on seeing you. And frankly, I'd rather not be alone with Callie."

Ghad. Callie?

Freya raised an eyebrow, her suspicion deepening. "And why is that? What's really going on, Clementine?"

He leaned against the car, looking genuinely conflicted. "Grandma cares about you, there's no mistaking that. I thought it might do her good to see you."

Freya's internal struggle intensified as she grappled with the conflicting emotions pulling her in different directions. In the intricate tapestry of the von Iver's family dynamics, Catherine stood out as a beacon of warmth, the only one who consistently showed genuine kindness to Freya. Her grandmotherly care contrasted starkly with the complex and often tumultuous relationship she shared with Clementine.

Despite reservations about going with Clementine, Freya could not ignore the affection she had for the old woman. Their moments together, filled with stories and laughter, held a special place in her heart. The idea of bringing comfort to Catherine during this turmoil made it difficult for Freya to turn away.

Freya felt a twinge of guilt. The thought of disappointing Clement's grandmother weighed on her, and she reluctantly agreed, "Fine, but this better not be some kind of trick."

As they drove towards the Iver's ancestral mansion, the atmosphere in the car remained tense. Freya couldn't help but replay moments from their failed marriage in her mind. The old mansion emerged on the horizon, a looming testament to the memories they once shared within its walls.

Hours later, Freya found herself standing outside the Ivers' mansion. The memories flooded back as she hesitated before entering. The grandeur of the mansion, once a symbol of their shared life, now felt like a relic of the past.

Catherine, Clementine's grandmother, appeared in the doorway, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Freya.

"Freya, my dear! It's been too long!"