Chapter 1 I'm Still His Wife

"The number you are calling is currently unavailable. Please try again later." A monotone recording echoed through the sterile emergency room.

The nurse, clearly growing restless, eyed Freya Brown. "Still can't get through?"

Freya set her phone aside and mustered a weary smile. "Would it be alright if I just sign for it myself?"

With a sigh, the nurse handed her the anesthesia consent form, muttering about the holdup.

Freya had already called Alexander Scott seven times and had yet to hear his voice. If this had been a matter of life or death, she thought, she might have been gone before her husband even noticed.

Numbness settled into her hand after the anesthetic took effect, and the doctor began plucking out bits of glass from her palm, while asking about how she got injured.

Nothing about her accident was overly dramatic-she just could not sleep and figured she might as well do something useful. Somehow, her attempt at cleaning a window had ended with glass's sudden burst and shattering everywhere.

While the doctor worked, he glanced up and asked if she always had trouble sleeping.

Freya shook her head and said that most nights she slept just fine, but tonight was different. There had been too much on her mind.

Her phone buzzed, cutting the conversation short.

She reached for it, swiped to unlock, and noticed a message from an unfamiliar number. Attached with it was a video.

Though the lighting was dark and unclear, Freya instantly recognized Alexander.

He sat in the suit she had chosen for him that morning, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, his tall frame relaxed on the sofa. No matter where he went, those sharp features always seemed to draw every eye in the room.

Still, no warmth lingered in his eyes. Even when he smiled, there was a distance that kept everyone at arm's length.

But as Freya watched, it became clear just how close he had gotten to the woman beside him.

Three years had passed, yet she immediately recognized Yvonne Barnes.

Alexander's heart had always belonged to Yvonne.

Perched right next to him, Yvonne wore a vintage black silk dress that made her smooth skin and delicate features stand out even more. Her time overseas had given her an elegant, artistic charm. She gazed at Alexander with so much affection, her feelings plain for anyone to see.

Laughter and playful shouts from the crowd urged the two of them to drink together. Yvonne's cheeks turned pink, though her eyes never left Alexander, hopeful and eager.

Alexander kept his easy, careless smile as he lifted his glass, his eyes cool and unreadable.

The video stopped there.

Freya held her phone tightly, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

Suddenly, it all made sense-why Alexander had not picked up her calls.

Of course, he would be with Yvonne the moment she came back.

The thought had nagged at Freya all night, which was exactly why she could not sleep.

Knowing something and seeing it for oneself were never quite the same. No matter how hard Freya tried, she could not bring herself to act indifferent.

Her right hand, freshly wrapped in bandages, shook as she typed a message to Alexander. "It's time to finalize the divorce. I'll see you at the courthouse at ten tomorrow."

Not once in three years of their marriage had Alexander ever looked at Freya with anything resembling affection. Every glance from him carried nothing but coldness or contempt.

He never hid his resentment. His aunt, Tricia Scott-the person he despised most-had been the one to force him into this union. For Alexander, marrying Freya had meant three years spent apart from the woman he truly loved.

Back then, Freya had also felt trapped. Her grandfather, Brett Brown, was battling cancer, and the life-saving treatments cost a fortune. When Tricia offered a way to help her family in exchange for marriage, Freya had no room to refuse.

Guilt had lingered with her from the beginning. She poured herself into caring for Alexander, meeting his every need, and quietly swallowing all his harsh words.

Part of her hoped he might recognize her efforts one day-perhaps show her the smallest bit of kindness after all she had done. But when Freya needed him most, needing only his signature for a routine medical procedure, he was off somewhere drinking with the woman he adored.

A heavy ache settled in her chest as tears spilled through the cracks between her fingers.

By the time she finished her IV at the hospital and made her way out, darkness had already settled over the city. She had barely turned the key in her car's ignition when her phone rang, the custom ringtone signaling it was Alexander.

Logic told her to ignore it, but habit overpowered reason and she picked up.

She forced her voice to sound indifferent. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was unfamiliar. "Freya, Alexander's had too much to drink at Nocturne. Come and take him home."

Before she could reply, the call disconnected.

She had no intention of going, but a new worry crept in-if Alexander ended up spending the night with Yvonne, would he even bother to show up for their divorce tomorrow?

Her mind raced for a moment, and then she started the engine and drove toward the nightclub.

Once she parked the car, Freya glanced down at the white bandage wrapped around her right hand. For a brief moment, Yvonne's poised image from the video flashed in her mind. She peeled off the bandage, not wanting to show weakness or walk in looking defeated.

Tonight, dignity mattered more than comfort. Even if she had lost, she would not let them see her fall apart.

Stepping into the private lounge, Freya found the place littered with people slumped over from too many drinks. Alexander sat apart from them all, in the same pose as in the video-eyes closed, seemingly asleep, looking far more peaceful than he ever did awake.

Still, her attention first landed not on Alexander, but on Yvonne, who leaned against him, flushed and delicate from the alcohol.

Yvonne's rosy cheeks only added to her charm.

Freya could not help but notice her own reflection in the glass-a hurriedly thrown-on cardigan over her loungewear, no makeup, no style. She looked every inch the tired housewife, and the contrast with Yvonne's elegance was almost painful.

The moment Yvonne saw her at the door, she quickly straightened, feigning surprise. "Mrs. Scott, please don't take this the wrong way. I just had a few drinks too many and got a little dizzy, so I leaned on Alexander for support," she explained, her tone innocent.

Freya instantly heard the layer beneath Yvonne's soft words. It was the kind of gentle innocence Yvonne used to disguise her own intentions, a talent she had polished well over the past three years.

Before Freya could respond, another voice cut in, "Yvonne, don't be ridiculous! Everybody knows Alexander likes you. He can't stand that woman, and he hates hearing anyone call her 'Mrs. Scott'."

The remark came from Bailee Barnes, Yvonne's younger sister.

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, each person looking at Freya with the same old disdain they always showed her.

Yvonne rushed to play the peacemaker. "Bailee, that's enough. Whether Alexander cares for her or not, she's still his wife," she said, chiding her sister with just the right amount of gentleness.

She turned to Freya with a sweet, apologetic smile. "Please don't mind her. She's always been spoiled."

Freya felt no anger rise in her. "It's alright. She's telling the truth. Alexander does hate me."

Bailee let out a sharp laugh. "At least you finally admit it."

Freya gave Yvonne a measured smile. "Isn't it funny? No matter how much Alexander can't stand me, I'm still his wife. And no matter how much he prefers you, you're still just the other woman."

The line hovered in the air, sharp enough to draw blood.

Yvonne's face, pink from the drinks, faded to white.

"You have some nerve! You're the reason Alexander and Yvonne aren't together. If you never showed up, they'd be a real family with their own beautiful children by now." Bailee's anger flared.

A bitter laugh almost escaped Freya. Children? Maybe someone should ask if Alexander was ever capable of giving Yvonne a child at all.

For three years, she had nursed him back to health, handling every little detail so he could have a normal life.

Now, after all the work she put in, she was supposed to step aside so Yvonne could take her place?

The thought soured her mood even more the longer she dwelled on it.