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!"

Freya momentarily forgot her annoyance to Clementine when she saw the older woman approaching. Her smile was the first natural thing she showed that night. She didn't even bother to stop herself from hugging the woman.

"Hello, Grandma. How have you been?"

Clementine, standing awkwardly in the background, finally spoke up. "Grandma, we need to talk. Inside."

Catherine glanced at Freya, concern in her eyes. "Of course, dear. Let's all sit down and have a conversation."

Freya couldn't escape the feeling that this unexpected reunion held more than just a casual family talk. As they settled into the grand living room, the air grew thick with unspoken words, and Freya braced herself for whatever revelations awaited in the confines of the mansion.

The living room of the Casa exuded an air of opulence and timeless elegance. Perhaps, Clement got his taste to classic English sophistication to his grandmother.

Ornate chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished mahogany furniture, while intricate tapestries adorned the walls, with each family portraits beside the heavy draperies. Plush velvet sofas and chairs provided comfort amidst the grandeur, with a large, intricately carved fireplace dominated one side of the room. Antique bookshelves lined the walls, showcasing a vast collection of leather-bound volumes.

Clementine kept stealing glances at Freya, perhaps hoping for a conversation that she wasn't ready to have.

As they all sat, Catherine, with genuine concern in her eyes, addressed Freya, "Clementine told me you've been through a lot. I've been worried about you, dear."

Freya hesitated, unsure of how much Clementine had shared with his grandmother. "Thank you, grandma. It's been a challenging time."

Clementine, standing on the sidelines, observed the exchange, his own emotions hidden beneath a carefully crafted façade.

As the older woman asked her how she'd been, the news of her grandson not taking care of his wife deeply disappointed her.

"And how did you come to that, Grandma?"

"Just because I let you live your own life, Clement, doesn't mean I don't keep tabs with you. Someone's been reporting to me, that's all. After all, I am deeply worried with Freya after what happened lately."

Catherine's words —while speaking kindly to Freya, expressing her belief that Jordy didn't know how to cherish her—surprised her.

Freya looked at Clement in surprise, realizing that her grandmother was unaware of their divorce. The weight of unspoken truths hung in the air, and Catherine, oblivious to the current state of their relationship. The older woman also vowed to take action if Clement stayed out all night again, indicating her unwavering support for his wife.

Freya's eyelashes fluttered as she realized that Catherine only knew about her suffering, not the divorce itself. The delicate dance of maintaining appearances continued as she noticed Clementine's serious expression and questioned him, playfully asking if he didn't want to come back and eat with them.

Clementine, aware of his serious expression, made a conscious effort to shake off any lingering negativity. His grandmother, however, was seemingly content, decided to steer the conversation in a lighter direction, expressing her desire for a great-grandchild and subtly revealing her disappointment at the absence of a grandchild after their lengthy marriage.

"I've been hoping for a little one to brighten up this house," Catherine said, her eyes carrying a mix of longing and playful reproach.

Clement, sensing the tension, intervened gracefully, gently holding her arm to maintain the peace.

"Now, grandma, let's not put unnecessary pressure on them. These things happen in their own time."

Freya snapped back her head to look at Clement.

What the hell are you talking about? You divorced me! Be a man and tell your grandmother that you left me for another woman!

"About that, grandma—" Freya's voice, usually steady, cracked with suppressed emotion. She couldn't contain the torrent of feelings within her any longer.

Clement gripped her hand as if silently chiding her.

"Finish your food, Iyah." He seemed to struggle finding a response, his eyes darting nervously between Freya and his grandmother.

Freya's hand tightened on her spoon. Her mind raced with a tumult of questions, her frustration mounting with each passing second.

What is he so damn afraid of?

Why can't he summon the courage to tell his grandmother the truth – that he divorced me, that he cheated on me? Is it fear of disappointing her, tarnishing the family's image meticulously upheld for generations?

As Clement sat there, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, Freya could not fathom the depth of his silence.

Is it shame that binds his tongue, or is it the weight of familial expectations that chains him to this fabricated narrative? With all the grandeur of the mansion, it now felt like a gilded cage, concealing not just secrets but the vulnerability of a man unable to confront his own actions.

The clinking of cutlery and the distant hum of conversation around the table became a dissonant backdrop to Freya's inner turmoil. The opulent dining room, a stage for the family drama, seemed to mock her with its ornate decor, accentuating the stark contrast between appearances and reality.

Whatever the reason, Freya felt a searing mix of anger and disappointment, as the weight of unspoken truths hung heavily in the air.

Catherine, observing the escalating confrontation, set her teacup down with a delicate clink, her eyes narrowing with concern.

"What is going on here?" she demanded, her usually composed demeanor showing traces of bewilderment. But the maid interrupted them as they brought the dessert, not even allowing her to give a response.

Amidst the clinking of cutlery and the ambient murmur of the dining room, Catherine emained undeterred by the momentary awkwardness. With unwavering enthusiasm, she continued to serve Freya, treating her with a warmth that suggested an already established grandmother-granddaughter bond. Freya, in turn, reciprocated the gestures with a graceful demeanor, creating a seamless exchange of kindness.

Catherine slowly lowered her spoon and wiped her mouth with her table napkin. With a tinge of concern in her eyes, she questioned her grandson about his infrequent visits, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken expectations.

"Why don't you visit more often, Clement? I've been longing for your company."

Clement, feeling cornered, continued eating in silence, his eyes fixed on his plate.

"I'm busy, grandma."

"Yes. With that patient girl from an accident."

Both Freya and Clement looked at her in surprise. But before Clement could react, the older woman continued.

"Do you think I'm unaware of that, boy? How important is that woman that you never once visited the family and left your wife alone?

"You don't know anything, Grandma," he answered, lowering his head and his voice in a grave warning.

The air thickened with tension as Catherine, growing increasingly agitated, slammed her hand on the table.

"And how should I know? You don't tell me anything!"

Finally looking up, Clement attempted to explain, "Grandma, I've had responsibilities at work. It's not easy to juggle everything."

Catherine's frustration boiled over, "So what about that woman? Answer me. Callista, was it? I hear you've been spending time with her at the hospital. What about your responsibilities to your family?"

Clement, caught off guard, defended himself, "Callie—Callista saved my life, Grandma. You don't understand."

Catherine, dismissing his explanation, retorted, "Saved your life? That's just a trick. I don't want you near her."

His gaze shifted towards Freya with cold eyes, a silent accusation hanging in the air. Sensing the tension, Catherine decided to speak up.

"She never told me anything, boy. I only mentioned this because I've learned it from others first before you."

Clement, wearing a sarcastic smile, seemed unconvinced, "Worried, huh? Seems like you've got your own way of looking out for me."

Freya, dismayed by Clement's sarcastic tone, swiftly intervened, her expression stern. "Clement! Is that how you talk to your grandmother?"

She did not even care if he was talking to her that way. But there was no way she could let him act that way, considering all the offenses he was hiding from the older woman.

Clement, caught off guard by Freya's reprimand, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The tension in the room escalated as Catherine observed the exchange, her eyes reflecting a mix of satisfaction and something else.

Clement, realizing the gravity of the situation, dropped the smirk from his face and mumbled an apology, "Sorry, Grandma. It just... got to me."

The dining room, once filled with the clinking of cutlery and the hum of family conversations, now echoed with a tense silence.

After they left the dining room, Catherine, sensing the weight of the unresolved issues, initiated a conversation with Freya in a more private setting.

"Freya, I hope you understand that my frustration with Clement isn't directed at you. It's just that his actions have been affecting the family, and I felt compelled to address it."

Freya appreciated the older woman's candor and responded, "I know, Grandma. I just want what's best for everyone, but it's disheartening to see the family strained like this."

She nodded in agreement, "I share your concerns. We need to find a way to mend these rifts and bring back the harmony we once had."

As they delved deeper into their conversation, Catherine revealed, "I didn't want to scold him, but his behavior has been perplexing. He needs to open up and address these issues honestly."

"It's true. There are secrets and tensions within the family that need to be addressed. We can't keep ignoring them."

In the quiet of the night, as they stepped outside, the grandeur of the mansion served as a stark contrast to the unresolved tensions within. Freya couldn't shake off the feeling that the intricacies of family dynamics were far from being untangled, and the path ahead held more challenges than resolutions.

As Freya and Clement prepared to leave the Casa, Freya turned to Catherine with a polite smile, "Thank you, Grandma, for the invitation and the lovely dinner. I've missed our conversations. I promise to visit again when I have more time."

Catherine, a hint of concern in her eyes, responded warmly, "You're always welcome, my dear. Take care of yourself, and don't be a stranger."

Freya exchanged a brief, forced farewell with Clement, her irritation palpable. As they reached their car, Clement stood still with a sullen expression, but Catherine's stern voice cut through the tension.

"Clement, open the car door for your wife. Act like a gentleman!"

The air that night was heavy with unspoken tension, and Freya could not help but wonder how much longer this charade could last.