Freya had no interest in trading insults with Yvonne and Bailee anymore. She crossed the room, leaned down beside Alexander, and called out his name softly. "Alexander, wake up."

He barely stirred, lost to the world and completely oblivious to the noise around him.

Bailee could not resist taking another jab. "Alexander, open your eyes. Your housekeeper has arrived," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Laughter broke out across the group at the jab.

One of the men chimed in, "Where did Alexander even find such a loyal housekeeper anyway? I heard she's been feeding him homemade soup every single day for three whole years."

"If you looked like him, women would be falling at your feet too. She's just another admirer." Someone else laughed.

The room watched Freya as if she were the butt of a long-running joke.

Freya ignored the laughter and focused on Yvonne. "How much do your paintings go for these days? A hundred thousand each maybe?"

"Why do you even care?" Before Yvonne could say anything, Bailee jumped in with a sharp glare, stepping in to defend her sister.

Freya shifted her gaze to Bailee. "And what about you? How much does your family hand you every month? A hundred grand, two, maybe five hundred?"

Bailee scoffed, "Why is that any of your business?"

Freya only smiled. "No reason at all. I was just wondering if you rich women make more from your allowances than I do as a so-called housekeeper. See, I make a million a month—and I have unlimited access to Alexander's credit card."

The moment Freya spoke, the room fell into a heavy silence.

The words about her unlimited access to Alexander's credit card struck a nerve. Jealousy flickered in Yvonne's eyes, quick but unmistakable.

Freya savored the hush that followed, taking a small pleasure in their stunned faces.

She knew exactly how their allowances stacked up against hers—none of them could match what she received, and every one of them lived with credit limits.

With a cool, dismissive smile, she slipped her arm under Alexander's and started to guide him toward the door.

The bartender rushed over, ready to help.

Just before stepping out, Freya paused and glanced back at the group. "Tonight's all on me. Go wild. If you spend less than a million, you're insulting Alexander's reputation."

Finally, she felt as though some of the weight she carried had been lifted.

She left the club with her head held high, and the bartender helped her get Alexander settled in the car. Freya thanked him, slid behind the wheel, and drove away.

At Bayview Villa, their home, Freya barely managed to get Alexander onto the sofa before he suddenly opened his eyes. The charm that usually hid behind those eyes whenever he was with Yvonne was gone, replaced by pure coldness and open contempt.

So he had not been drunk at all. He just sat there and did nothing when Yvonne and the others humiliated her.

No matter how often this happened, it still stung.

Freya swallowed the pain and kept her tone steady. "Do you want me to fix you something to eat?"

Alexander's lips curled into a sneer. "Didn't you say you'd never cook for me again?"

His words carried a hint of accusation, as if he could see right through every mask Freya tried to wear.

She kept her voice light. "Pouring you a glass of milk won't take much time."

Freya used to make soup for Alexander every single day. He never enjoyed it. Every time, she coaxed and pleaded, but all he ever did was complain that it tasted bitter, like medicine.

He never realized that it was indeed medicine—every bowl brewed to help restore his health.

People whispered that Alexander had no interest in women, and even he seemed to believe he was immune to temptation. No woman, not even one naked in his arms, could spark his desire.

The truth was, he never stood a chance. Chronic illness had left him too frail, and by the time he was grown, his body simply refused to cooperate. Children were out of the question.

Tricia's reason for forcing him into marrying Freya had nothing to do with fear of Yvonne's influence or power. She chose Freya simply because Freya could actually help him recover.

That secret, though, was something Alexander would never uncover.

"Oh, really? How kind of you, indeed!" Alexander scowled, misreading her intentions.

Freya changed course, her tone turning businesslike. "Fine, no milk. Let's just talk about the divorce. Did you see my message? Tomorrow at ten. Don't let your assistant book anything. Let's make it official."

He said nothing, refusing to look her way.

"I'm sorry for standing in Yvonne's place all this time. Just give it one more night, and I'll be out of your life by tomorrow." A dull ache tugged at Freya's heart, but she forced herself to say nothing more.

Alexander should have felt relieved hearing Freya agree to a divorce, but the way she spoke—so calm and detached—only made his anger flare.

His voice turned cold. "So, is this you moving out of the way for me and Yvonne, or am I the one stepping aside for you?"

Freya blinked, caught off guard. "What are you trying to say?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," he retorted, his gaze sharp.

She met his eyes, refusing to let him intimidate her. "If you have something to say, then just say it."

"Don't play innocent. Tricia just died, and now you're eager to leave. Isn't it because you know you won't be getting that monthly million anymore? You're well aware that without her, I wouldn't even let you live in this house, let alone give you unlimited access to my cards. Someone like you, willing to toss your self-respect aside for money, will definitely start hunting for your next target right away," Alexander scoffed.

His words were cruel, but Freya had heard worse over the years. That did not mean they stopped hurting.

In the first year of their marriage, every cent she received from Tricia went straight to her grandfather's cancer treatments.

After Brett passed away, the monthly payments all went to rare herbs and remedies to detox Alexander's body, carefully saved for when he needed them most.

Just last month, a miracle pill sold for twenty-four million at an exclusive auction—Freya was the one who bought it.

That miracle pill was now working its magic inside Alexander. The transformation was undeniable—suddenly, he no longer struggled to show real interest in women.

With all the resources at his disposal, it would take Alexander no time at all to trace exactly how her fortune was spent.

He refused to believe anything good about Freya though, and he clung to the idea that she only cared about money. She figured that even if the truth stood right in front of him, he would still twist it into another ploy she supposedly planned.

"Did I say something that struck you so hard you forgot how to answer?" He pushed for a reaction when she stayed quiet.

Freya had heard so many bitter remarks from him that she grasped how to mask her bitter feelings and let every insult slide past her.

They were ending things tomorrow, and she reminded herself that she only needed to get through one more night.

She steadied her thoughts before offering him a gentle smile. "If believing that helps you sleep at night, then go ahead."

She rose from her seat, ready to walk away.

Right as she moved past him, he caught her wrist and tugged her back onto the sofa.

His height closed in on her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned closer.

"Have you lost your mind?" The closeness made her tense, and she felt danger creeping in on her.

Alexander stared down at her with a coldness that made her uneasy. "Freya, you've been Mrs. Scott for three years, and you've never once acted like it. Do you think our family takes in freeloaders? I want to know if you're really worth the million you take every month."

He didn't wait for a reply and pressed his mouth against hers with a roughness that held no affection.

Freya reacted on instinct and tried to push him away, but her hands went still when a sudden thought crossed her mind.

Seeing her resistance fade only made Alexander's contempt twist deeper in his eyes, yet his body leaned into her, driven by an urge to overpower her completely.

No explanation crossed his mind for the way he suddenly found himself pulled in by Freya's presence.

For three years, they'd shared the same bed, yet he never once allowed himself to think of her with anything more than indifference.

It made sense to Alexander that her new obsession with chasing after another man was what set him off this time.

Their marriage was ending, yet he still wanted to leave behind a memory she'd never forget.

Kindness never factored into how Alexander treated her. He harbored nothing but contempt for Freya.

Tears streamed down her face, but it wasn't his cruel words that broke her this time—it was the sharp, relentless pain.

With nothing left to lose, she fought back. Her nails scratched at him in desperation, which only spurred Alexander to become even harsher, his anger matching her defiance.

Morning light hadn't even settled across the room when the villa's landline jolted Freya awake. Still half-asleep, she reached for the receiver and murmured, "Who's calling?"

Her throat felt raw, and even that small sentence scraped on the way out.

"Freya, what happened to you? Are you feeling sick?" On the other end, Zoie Lambert's worried voice rushed in.

Heat crept up Freya's cheeks, and she couldn't bring herself to admit that Alexander had kept her up all night—not even to her best friend. She forced out a reply instead. "It's nothing serious. I just caught a cold. Why are you calling so early?"

Zoie sounded baffled. "We planned to celebrate your freedom today, remember? I've been waiting at the restaurant forever, and you never showed up or picked up your phone."

That reminder snapped Freya out of her daze. She bolted upright and checked the clock, and her stomach dropped. It was already eleven.

Their appointment to finish the legal procedure for their divorce had already passed.

Her eyes swept across the bedroom, and there was no trace of Alexander anywhere.

She cursed him silently, certain he had slipped out without saying a word.

Later, at Luna Restaurant, Zoie fixated on the bandage wrapped around Freya's hand. After hearing how she got hurt and how she had dealt with it alone, Zoie's temper flared. "Alexander is unbelievable! What kind of husband just disappears when his wife is injured? You needed him to sign the paperwork, and he ignored every call so he could mess around with some other woman. Then he even let you face her insults?"

Her outrage echoed through the restaurant, and several customers turned their heads. Freya lifted a hand to cover part of her face and whispered, "Please, Zoie. Keep your voice down."

"That's not happening! I haven't even given you a proper lecture yet. Have you lost your senses? Are you suddenly second-guessing this divorce?" Zoie nearly exploded.

Freya tried to explain herself in a rush. "It's not like I'm backing out. We just didn't get to do it this morning."

She remembered calling Alexander, but his assistant answered and brushed her off, claiming he was caught up in a meeting.

"Don't tell me you missed it because you slept in!" Zoie was having none of it. She gave Freya a dramatic eye roll. "Three years of marriage with nothing between you, and now you jump into bed with him the night before you're supposed to end things? Is that your idea of a dramatic farewell?"

Trying to defend herself, Freya sighed. "So what if I wanted to let loose a little before it's all over?"

A low laugh cut through their conversation.

Freya's head whipped around, and she found herself staring into Alexander's cold eyes.

He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and standing next to him was another man in an equally sharp suit, whose laughter still lingered.

She recognized Timothy Fowler instantly, Alexander's closest friend.

Right beside Timothy stood Yvonne. After hearing Zoie's outburst and putting the pieces together, Yvonne's cheerful expression faltered for a moment.

Clearly, Yvonne never saw this coming. She had purposely sent Freya that video last night, even arranged for someone to call her, all in hopes of stirring up trouble.

Everything should have gone according to her plan. Alexander was supposed to want nothing to do with Freya, not end up in bed with her.

If anyone understood Alexander's self-control, it was Yvonne.

However, when it came to Freya last night, all of Alexander's self-control seemed to vanish.

Maybe something inside him had shifted, and he hadn't even noticed.

Three years spent oceans apart, but Freya never left his side. Who's to say he didn't start seeing her differently somewhere along the way?

The idea stung, and jealousy wormed its way deeper into Yvonne's chest, souring her feelings toward Freya even more.

While Yvonne stewed in silence, Timothy decided to stir the pot. He grinned at Freya and asked, "So, Mrs. Scott, how was it last night?"

Freya would have ignored a question like that. This time, though, she caught the warning glint in Alexander's eyes and couldn't resist. She flashed a playful smile. "Honestly, it was nothing to write home about."

It was the sort of answer bound to bruise any man's ego, but for someone as proud as Alexander, it was a direct blow.

The look he shot Freya turned colder, nearly dangerous.

She, however, seemed perfectly content. No longer feeling the need to look after his feelings, she matched his glare with a confident tilt of her chin.

The shift in her attitude left Alexander unsettled. He realized Freya wasn't the gentle, patient woman she used to be, not since Tricia's death. Now she stood her ground, tossed sharp words his way, and refused to back down.

But as soon as he remembered how desperate she was to move on, it all made sense. With nothing left to gain here, why would she bother pretending?

"Three this afternoon," Alexander said curtly and turned on his heel, making it clear he wanted nothing more to do with the conversation.

"Alexander." Yvonne hurried to catch up to him, but not before sending Freya one last glare as she disappeared around the corner.

"You've got guts, Freya, calling out Alexander like that. I'm impressed," Timothy remarked with a low whistle, his tone a strange mix of awe and amusement, before trailing after the others.

She didn't waste a second thinking about Timothy's words. Instead, her thoughts drifted to Alexander's announcement—three o'clock at the courthouse, where they would finalize the divorce.

With that settled, a wave of relief washed over her, and for the first time all day, her appetite returned.

After Timothy disappeared from view, Zoie finally broke her silence. Leaning in with wide eyes, she whispered, "Freya, is Alexander really that... you know?"

Freya blinked, confused. "That what?"

A quick gesture from Zoie spelled it out, and everything clicked into place for Freya.

Truthfully, her earlier comment about Alexander was far from the full story. The start had been rough, but things did get better afterward. What Alexander lacked in finesse, he certainly made up for with sheer physical presence.

In that regard, his body picked up the slack where experience didn't.

None of Alexander's shortcomings were really his own doing, though. Had Freya not spent years coaxing him into drinking those herbal tonics, he probably still wouldn't even be capable of intimacy now.

Naturally, there was no chance she'd ever share that part of the truth with Zoie.

"Enough about him, or I'll lose my appetite. Did you get any news about that property I mentioned?" Freya said with a dismissive wave, brushing the topic aside.

Zoie nodded, but her face fell. "I checked into it, but the rent is outrageous. With you about to split from Alexander, and with how much he hates you, do you honestly think he'll give you anything at all?"

"I'm not expecting a thing from him. I'm ready to walk away with nothing," Freya answered without hesitation.

"Why would you settle for that?" That only made Zoie bristle. "You two only get married because his aunt made him, not because you forced him. You spent three years by his side, looking after him without complaint. Now his aunt's gone, and you're stepping aside so Yvonne can have him. What else does he want from you?"

Freya reached across the table and offered Zoie a glass of water. "Calm down, will you? Just breathe."

"How am I supposed to calm down?" Zoie slammed her hand on the table. "Honestly, I hope Alexander can't perform with Yvonne at all!"

For a second, Freya was at a loss for words.

Zoie didn't realize that sort of wish would never come true and Alexander would never have that problem—maybe three years ago, but definitely not now.

If he did, Brett himself might crawl out of his grave just to scold her for being useless.

"You're too forgiving, Freya. That's exactly why Alexander walked all over you for three years," Zoie said with a deep sigh as she watched Freya shrug off the anger. "But maybe this is for the best. Letting go of him will be the best thing you ever do. Honestly, it's his loss. He's going to wake up one day and realize what he threw away."

Freya gave a quiet nod, fully agreeing.

The conversation shifted as Zoie took a steadying breath. "If you're low on funds, I'll put down the deposit for you. That spot won't stay available for long. You can't hesitate, or someone else will snatch it up."

Even though the Lambert family wasn't at the top of Giastead's social circle, Zoie still had plenty more money than Freya could dream of. And that made it easy for Freya to accept her offer.

"Thank you, Zoie. Please go ahead and lock it in for me."

When lunch wrapped up and Zoie headed her own way, Freya flagged down a taxi and set off for the hospital.

Erick Wilson's face lit up with surprise the moment he spotted Freya, but his happiness quickly faded when he caught sight of the bandage on her hand. "What happened to you? Did you hurt yourself?"

Freya shrugged off his concern. "Just a run-in with some broken glass. Nothing serious."

Worried that he'd press for more details, she pretended she was about to peel off the bandage to reassure him.

Erick quickly stopped her, gently holding her hand in place. "Don't even think about it. You need to keep it clean and dry."

Freya felt a wave of relief wash over her. The gash on her hand looked bad, but at least Erick didn't push for a look for himself.

He couldn't help himself as he poured her some water. "So, what brings you by today?"

Instead of answering right away, Freya simply flashed a playful grin. "Erick, would you mind giving me a quick check-up?"

He went into doctor mode instantly, concern sharpening his features. "Are you not feeling well? Where does it hurt?"

Erick wasted no time, running through the tests and checks until the results came back. The instant he saw them, his mood soured, and he shot up from his seat. "You must have lost your mind!"

That was when he noticed the faint marks along her neck, and his expression darkened. "You've spent years helping him recover, and now that he's finally getting better, you went and put yourself in the line of fire just to see if the treatment worked?"