"I understand, Erick." Freya's voice was soft, and the exhaustion in her eyes said it all. "We're getting divorced today. Once I'm gone, I won't be able to watch over him, and who knows how long the toxins will linger in his system? If anything goes wrong, it'll be like all these years meant nothing."

Frustration flashed in Erick's expression. "What's the worst that could happen? His aunt just passed away, and he steps right into her place, running the Scott Group like he owns every street in Giastead."

She tried to calm him down, offering a small smile. "Don't work yourself up over it, Erick. None of this will be my concern much longer. Anyway, could you write me a prescription? I could use something to help me recover."

With a heavy sigh, Erick pulled his chair closer and scribbled on his pad. "You're lucky it's only a minor tear. Are you already taking something for it?"

"Yes, I am." Freya nodded quickly.

That was a lie, but she couldn't bring herself to admit it. She planned to tough it out and let her body heal the slow way.

The kind of medicine Alexander used to take worked miracles but was also far beyond her budget now, and that was the only reason she came to Erick for help.

Once the prescription was ready, Erick had his assistant fetch the medicine for her.

He returned to his seat and looked at her with genuine concern. "So, what's next for you, Freya?"

"I want to open a restaurant focused on medicinal foods. It was my grandmother's dream, and I'd like to carry it on," Freya replied.

Erick shook his head slightly. "Have you thought about working in a hospital? With your knowledge, it feels like a waste to limit yourself to the kitchen."

"You already know I'm not capable of practicing medicine the way I used to," Freya responded, a faint smile barely covering the ache behind her words.

Erick nodded in understanding, but disappointment lingered in his eyes. He had hoped, after all this time—especially after Freya devoted three years to caring for Alexander—she would have finally moved past the old wounds. Clearly, that wasn't the case.

"If Brett were still around, he'd want nothing more than for you to continue his life's work." He tried again to convince her.

"Isn't that exactly what you're doing now? Besides, I'll still be able to help people at the restaurant. If you ever meet patients who could use some dietary guidance, send them my way," Freya remarked, quickly steering the conversation elsewhere, a teasing grin chasing away the gloom.

Erick let out a reluctant laugh and decided to let it go. "I can do that. Do you have enough saved up to get this place off the ground?"

"I'm working with Zoie. She's fronting the money, and I'll handle everything else," Freya replied with a light chuckle.

That answer sparked Erick's irritation all over again. "Who would've guessed that after three years as Mrs. Scott, you'd walk away with nothing to your name? Not even enough for a restaurant lease."

It was true. No one would have expected that outcome. Even Alexander himself would be shocked.

Alexander would probably sit down and tally up the numbers, figuring she pocketed a million each month, so that must mean she walked away with thirty-six million over three years.

The truth couldn't be farther from that. Freya barely had sixty thousand left to her name.

When her medication was ready and she stood to leave, Erick decided to walk her out. While the two waited curbside for a taxi, he glanced over and asked, "So, are you honestly not upset about ending things with Alexander?"

Sadness actually lingered beneath her calm exterior. Yet she had to do this. Alexander never loved her, and Freya refused to waste her life hoping that might change.

There was no point in staying tied to a man who could never return her feelings.

"I'm a little sad," she admitted, sending him a smile. "Mostly because I'll miss living at the Bayview Villa."

That made Erick chuckle. He reached over and ruffled her hair. "If it's a villa you want, I'll buy you one myself."

She barely had time to reply before Erick's arm shot out and yanked her back by the waist.

A sleek luxury car tore down the street, barely missing them as it flew past.

Erick's quick reflexes were the only reason disaster was avoided; he'd yanked Freya out of harm's way in the nick of time.

The color drained from her cheeks, and her breath came in shaky bursts.

Wrapping his arms around her, Erick murmured, "You're alright. I've got you."

From the backseat of the car, Timothy let out a low whistle and couldn't resist a jab. "Isn't that Erick Wilson? He's practically the golden man among doctors these days—everyone with a title in Giastead wants an appointment with him. Even my grandmother won't see anyone else whenever she's under the weather. Looks like Freya has her eyes set on him next. Still, compared to you, Erick's status doesn't even hold a candle."

Alexander's jaw tightened, his face turning grim.

He'd always known Freya wanted out of their marriage, probably to find someone new. Watching her get close to another man before the ink on the divorce papers was dry sparked something ugly inside him.

It almost felt like she was betraying him in broad daylight, and the jealousy burned hotter than he wanted to admit.

Timothy tilted his head, genuinely curious. "Are you angry? Weren't you counting down the days until you could get rid of her? You're finally about to be free, and she's not exactly trading up. Shouldn't you be celebrating?"

Alexander kept silent, but the storm in his eyes only grew darker.

A slow grin spread across Timothy's face as an idea dawned on him. "Don't tell me you've actually caught feelings for her?"

"Shut up," Alexander snapped, his glare sharp enough to cut.

Timothy only laughed, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Guess I struck a nerve, huh?"

That earned him a look so cold it could freeze the air, and he finally held his tongue.

Still, Timothy tucked away his theory, already looking forward to seeing how things would play out.

At 2:40, Freya sat waiting on a bench outside the courthouse, tapping her foot and checking her watch.

3:00 came and went with no sign of Alexander. She reasoned he might be caught in afternoon traffic.

By 3:30, still alone, she pulled out her phone and dialed his number, only to be met with silence—he wasn't picking up.

When the clock hit 4:00, Freya gave up waiting and hailed a cab straight to the Scott Group offices.

Three years of marriage had made the building feel almost routine. Through rain or sunshine, she'd always delivered homemade tonic soup to Alexander.

Today, however, she found herself halted at the entrance by a receptionist she'd never seen before.

"Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked, her tone brisk.

Freya realized the old receptionist—hired by Tricia—was gone, replaced after Alexander took over the company. She couldn't help thinking that Alexander must have truly wanted to erase every trace of his aunt.

Without another word, Freya turned away and sent Alexander a pointed message, saying, "I'm downstairs in your lobby. If you don't want your new receptionist finding out I'm your wife, you'd better send someone to let me up."

She was sure Alexander wouldn't want that part of his life made public.

True to form, Alexander's trusted assistant—Rodney Clayton—appeared a few minutes later, guiding her to the executive elevator reserved for Alexander.

When they reached the top floor, Rodney smiled politely as he opened the office door. "Mrs. Scott, Mr. Scott is in a meeting at the moment. Can I get you a coffee while you wait?"

Freya shook her head, stepped inside, and settled into the office, her mind already racing ahead.

Nothing about Alexander's office had changed. The crisp black-and-white decor remained, sharp lines and cool tones giving the room its familiar air. What always caught Freya's attention every time, though, was the mural behind his desk—a sprawling, striking whale, rendered in rich detail across the back wall.

Her eyes found it once more, lingering on the inscription near the bottom. "The whale is drawn to the sea, and I'm drawn to you."

It was impossible to forget who the message was meant for. Alexander was shouting out his love for Yvonne.

Long before their wedding, Alexander had asked Yvonne to paint it, making his resentment over Tricia's forced marriage arrangements painfully clear.

Every time Freya entered this space, the reminder stung—how much he loved Yvonne and how much he'd resented being tied to her instead.

Lost in these thoughts, Freya didn't notice Alexander walk in until she heard the door click shut.

She quickly looked away from the mural, forcing any hint of sadness from her eyes. "You said 3:00 at the courthouse. Why weren't you there?"

Alexander gave her a wry look, his tone playful. "Funny, yesterday you said ten a.m. But you didn't show up either, remember?"

Freya retorted without missing a beat, "You know why I missed it."

With a smirk, Alexander replied, "Do I? I seem to recall I was the one left cleaning up your mess last night."

For a second, Freya was left speechless.

Only Alexander could talk about something like that with the same ease as discussing the weather. His shamelessness had no limit.

Refusing to engage with his antics, Freya checked the time and steered the conversation back. "Alright, we've each missed an appointment. That makes us even. If we leave now, we can still make it to the courthouse."

Alexander barely spared her a glance. "I don't have time for this," he said, striding toward his desk.

Freya stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "Alexander, care to explain what you're playing at?"

She lifted her right arm, and only then did he notice the fresh bandage wrapped around her hand.

He blurted out, "What happened to your hand?"

"So now you're paying attention? Last night you couldn't see a thing, and today you're suddenly observant, Mr. Scott?" Freya's voice dripped with sarcasm.

The question was out before Alexander could stop himself. A moment later, he wished he hadn't bothered. Why should he care? The sharp bite in Freya's words only made his irritation flare.

He scoffed, "You're really something, biting the hand that feeds you."

Freya held up her bandaged hand, meeting his sneer. "That goes both ways, Alexander."

She wasn't about to let him talk down to her, not anymore.

Something flickered across Alexander's face—a memory of those years when Freya would tease him just to get him to smile and coax him into drinking her bitter herbal soups.

Since Tricia's death, those days felt like a different lifetime. Freya didn't make soup for him anymore. She didn't even try to lift his mood.

"Alexander, are you just going to stand there daydreaming? If we don't leave soon, we'll miss our slot." Freya snapped him out of it, waving her hand in front of his eyes.

Annoyed by the sight of the bandage, Alexander pushed past her and made for his desk. "Can't you see the pile of files? Not all of us have the luxury of sitting at home and watching money roll in."

Freya's patience snapped as he kept harping on the same point. "Why are you so worked up? It's not even your fortune I'm spending. Stop pretending I've raided your accounts."

During their three years together, not once had she dipped into his bank balance.

Alexander gave a short, mocking laugh. "Maybe you're just mad I never handed you some. Did Erick treat you any better?"

His question caught her off guard. "Wait—you saw us?"

"You honestly think I don't see what's happening? Anyone with eyes could tell you two were practically glued together." Alexander sneered, his patience clearly wearing thin.

A memory of Freya's touch from the night before flashed through his mind, making his skin flush hot. He tugged at his tie, trying to shake the feeling.

Freya's face tightened as she tried to explain. "It wasn't like that. There was just a car coming—" She stopped suddenly, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Wait. Was that your car?"

Alexander met her gaze and didn't bother to deny it.

The realization hit Freya hard. After years spent fighting to nurse him back to health, he hated her so much he'd rather run her down in the street.

She forced her voice steady. "If you already saw it, then I have nothing left to say. Erick's the person I want now. Let's just get this divorce over with, so I can move on."

He'd expected her to argue, but instead Freya admitted her relationship with Erick without a fight.

A twist of pain shot through Alexander's chest, though anger burned even stronger.

He scoffed, "You hung around for my money when it suited you. Now that there's nothing left, you're finished with me. Was I just a paycheck to you all along?"

"That's right." Freya didn't hesitate. She understood him too well. Alexander would never stand being used by anyone—least of all her.

Riling him up was exactly her plan. She wanted him to sign the papers that day.

The rules were simple. If they didn't finalize the divorce before the deadline, they'd have to file again, and she'd be forced to wait at least another month. Freya refused to let that happen.

Waiting even one more day was out of the question for Freya.

Anger radiated from Alexander, though his reaction caught her off guard.

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look straight at him. "Not happening," he growled.

For a moment, Freya just stared, thrown by his response.

Not happening? What was he refusing?

He picked up on her confusion right away. "This whole marriage was forced on me. So when you start begging for a divorce, you can forget it. The more desperate you get, the more I'm going to say no."

Freya blinked, trying to process his stubbornness.

Did he even realize how ridiculous he sounded? Where was this backbone when they tied the knot?

Jerking free from his grip, she asked, "Are you sure you won't divorce?"

He gave a sharp nod. "That's right. I'm not divorcing you."

"Great," she said, stretching out her palm in front of him. "Then you owe me. Allowance for last month and this month—two million. Pay up."

Alexander brushed her hand away with a cold flick, not bothering to hide his contempt. "You won't get a cent. Now get out. I have work to do."

Freya hesitated, not ready to walk away when nothing had been settled.

Without missing a beat, Alexander pressed the intercom. "Rodney, take her out."

Rodney entered, bowing politely. "Mrs. Scott, if you'd follow me."

With a last sharp glance at Alexander, Freya drew in a breath and finally let herself be led from the office.

Rodney stayed by her side all the way to the street, even waving down a taxi and holding the door for her. He waited until she was seated inside, not relaxing until the driver was ready to pull away.

"Rodney!" called Freya, sticking her head out the taxi window.

He leaned down, ready to help. "Do you need anything else, Mrs. Scott?"

"If you care about your job, convince your boss to see a doctor. He's got a few screws loose, and I'm not joking." Freya smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm. With that, she rolled the window up and signaled the driver to get moving.

Rodney stayed rooted to the spot, watching the cab disappear into the city, completely baffled.

Throughout all his time at the Scott Group, he'd treated Freya with nothing but respect, even when Alexander ignored her. She never seemed like the type to make trouble for no reason, and Rodney struggled to make sense of her frustration.

Still, he had no intention of delivering her message. He valued his paycheck—and his head on his shoulders—far too much.