Marrying You is A Mistake

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."