Rex had his eyes on Freya again. That subtle smile on her lips, the kind that barely touched her eyes, was enough to stir something wild in his chest. They had been college friends once—just friends. But somewhere along the line, his heart had betrayed him. He had fallen for her. Deeply. Desperately. And yet, he never told her.
Why? Because he didn't want to lose her friendship. That bond meant too much to him. And because—more importantly—he knew Freya had built walls no one could climb. She didn't let anyone close. Not romantically. She kept to herself, surrounded only by her female friends, uninterested in love or relationships. Men had tried, many of them, confessing their feelings like fools under her spell. But she'd rejected every single one.
So Rex had waited. Patiently. Quietly. He believed that someday, when the time was right, he'd tell her how he felt.
And today felt like that day.
He approached her with tentative courage and said softly, "Freya, would you like to grab a coffee with me? I… I need to talk to you about something."
Before Freya could respond, a voice sliced through the air like a cold blade. Deep, intense, and possessive. "Sweetheart, how much longer will you keep me waiting?"
Freya turned sharply, startled. Rex followed her gaze—and saw him.
A man walked toward them, tall and commanding. He came straight up to Freya, slid an arm around her waist, and pulled her into his side in a way that made it unmistakably clear: she belonged to him.
Rex stood frozen, stunned by the sight. His voice was hollow when he asked, "Freya… who is this? A friend of yours?"
He hoped—prayed—it was just that.
Before Freya could speak, the man smiled, answering instead. "I'm her husband. Freya is my wife."
Rex's world tilted.
Wife?
No. That couldn't be true.
His wide eyes darted to Freya, silently begging her to deny it. But she didn't. She just stood there, silent, her expression unreadable. That silence said more than words ever could.
Still, Rex clung to hope. "Freya… is it true? Did you really get married?"
Freya hesitated… then slowly nodded.
The confirmation hit him like a punch to the gut. But it wasn't just shock that rooted him to the ground—it was confusion. Freya didn't look happy. And the way that man clung to her—like a possession, not a partner—it unsettled him.
She tried to pull away from the man's hold, but his grip only tightened.
"Sweetheart," the man whispered to her with a deceptive tenderness, "it's getting late. Let's go."
He began to lead her away, but Rex couldn't stop himself. He reached out and caught Freya's wrist.
"Freya, please. I need to talk to you. Just for a moment."
Freya froze.
The man—Soren—froze too.
His expression darkened in a flash. His eyes, once playful, turned glacial. The temperature around them seemed to drop.
Freya glanced at Soren and flinched. His eyes were bloodshot now, and his grip on her waist turned punishing.
She quickly pulled her hand out of Rex's grasp and said in a firm voice, "Not now. We can talk some other time. I… I have to go."
She didn't look back as she walked away with Soren.
But Rex had seen it.
In her eyes—fear.
She wasn't happy. This marriage wasn't one of love. Something was wrong.
Rex took out his phone and made a call. His voice was sharp, urgent. "I want you to find everything you can on Freya… and this guy named Soren."
After ending the call, Rex whispered to himself, "I didn't confess to you when I had the chance, Freya. But now… I won't back down. You're not alone. I'll fight for you. Because from the moment I first saw you, I knew—you were mine. And no one, not even your so-called husband, can change that."
---
At Kingsley Villa...
Soren dragged Freya inside, still gripping her wrist tightly. She struggled, wincing.
"Let go! You're hurting me! What's wrong with you?!"
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled her close by the waist again and murmured coldly, "How dare you, sweetheart? How dare you hug another man… laugh with him… let him touch you? You belong to me. Only me."
Freya's eyes widened. She stared at him in disbelief.
"What the hell are you talking about? He's just a friend! You can't control who I talk to!"
Soren's grip tightened further, making her wince.
"You clearly didn't read our contract thoroughly," he said with a cold smile. "It states very clearly—you are not allowed to get close to any other man. You belong to me, body and soul. Do you know what happens when you break the rules, Freya?"
Her heart pounded in her chest. Is this real? Is this man serious?
Was he trying to turn her into a prisoner?
Fury blazed in her eyes. "You don't get to control me! I only married you because of my mother, not because I love you. You can't control who I talk to! Let go of me!"
But instead of letting go, Soren's hold became possessive—obsessive.
"What did you say?" he whispered darkly. "Who am I, sweetheart? I'm the man whose name is tied to yours. Everything you are belongs to me—your breath, your soul, every inch of you. Don't ever question who I am to you again."
And then, without warning, he crashed his lips onto hers.
Freya froze, her body paralyzed with shock. The kiss wasn't soft or tender—it was claiming. Dominating. Possessive. When she came to her senses, she pushed at his chest, trying to break free, but his grip was unrelenting.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally pulled back—but he didn't move away. Their faces were still inches apart.
His voice was a low growl, dripping with warning. "If anyone else touches you again… looks at you again… the punishment will be far worse. Remember that, sweetheart."
He kissed her forehead and walked out of the room like nothing had happened.
Freya stood there, shaken. Her body trembled. Her heart thundered. Her mind reeled.
She couldn't understand what had just happened.
Was this… obsession? Madness?
She rushed into her bedroom and locked the door behind her, sliding down onto the floor. She needed space. Silence. Time to breathe.
---
Meanwhile…
Elsewhere in the city, Tristan sat in his office, flipping through files. His phone rang, and as he answered it, a slow, amused smile curled across his lips.
After the call ended, he leaned back in his chair and chuckled to himself.
"So… my little brother has fallen in love. And with her, of all people."
"I thought I'd have a hard time getting you out of the way, little brother," Tristan whispered to himself. "But it looks like you've just made my job easier."
He rose from his chair, his eyes glinting with malice.
"Now I just need to light the match… and the fire will take care of the rest."