She Took The House, The Car, And My Heart

At night, the spacious living room glowed under bright lights as two people sat across from each other, a divorce agreement resting between them.

Kristian Shaw, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, exuded an air of cold detachment. His sharp features remained unreadable, his presence commanding and intimidating. His piercing gaze settled on the silent woman opposite him, his eyes inscrutable.

"We'll divorce on Monday," he declared, his voice firm and emotionless. "Aside from the compensation in the agreement, you may request anything else you need."

"Why so sudden?" Freya Briggs asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Kristian's answer was blunt. "Ashley is back."

Freya knew exactly who Ashley was. After a brief pause, she replied, "Okay."

Kristian hesitated, caught off guard by her immediate acceptance.

Freya opened the divorce papers, her thoughts drifting to the past.

Two years ago, they had met at a nightclub. She had been weighed down by worries; he had been nursing a broken heart. A few drinks later, they found solace in each other's company, talking late into the night.

There had been no impulsive one-night stand-just a quiet parting afterward.

Three days later, he had returned with his assistant to propose marriage. And she had agreed.

After getting married, he had treated her well-tending to her needs, drying her hair with gentle hands, and solving her problems before she even voiced them.

Their relationship had been perfect-until six months ago, when a single phone call changed everything.

Overnight, he grew distant, his warmth replaced by icy indifference.

That was when she learned the truth: Kristian had married her because she bore a faint resemblance to his lost love, Ashley Bradley.

The memory made Freya press her lips together before she asked lightly, "You said I could ask for compensation, right?"

"Yes," Kristian replied flatly.

"Anything I want?" She lifted her gaze to him, her delicate face devoid of its usual brightness.

For a fleeting moment, guilt flickered in his chest. "Yes."

He had already resolved to grant her reasonable demands.

After all, she had been good to him all the time.

Freya's voice was steady. "Then I want the most expensive car in your garage."

"Fine," Kristian agreed.

"A villa in the suburbs," she added.

"Done," he said.

Freya smiled. "And a share of the money you've earned in the last two years."

For the first time, Kristian's composure cracked. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if questioning whether he'd heard correctly. "What did you say?"

Freya, unfazed, repeated her demand. "Our earnings during the marriage count as marital property, don't they? Based on my calculations-excluding investments-your salary and dividends over the last two years amount to several billion. I don't want much-just 40%."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Then, she added, as if casually mentioning the weather, "Of course, you're welcome to take 40% of my income too."

Kristian's patience finally snapped. "Freya!" His voice carried an edge of disbelief.

Had he really felt guilty earlier? How had he never noticed her greed?

Freya met his gaze evenly. "Is that not acceptable?"

Absolutely not.

Kristian dismissed the idea instantly.

"Then forget it." Freya set down her pen. "Next time I see your family, I'll bring up your emotional infidelity. I'm sure they'll take my side."

Kristian's expression darkened, his stare turning glacial. He hadn't anticipated this side of her-realizing now that her past docility had been an act.

"Do you really want to negotiate with me like this?" he demanded.

"Yes." Freya held his gaze without flinching. She knew he despised threats-but she despised infidelity more.

"Fine." Kristian's eyes turned stormy, his voice glacial. "You'll get what you want. But if the divorce hits complications, you'll regret it."

Freya leaned back in her chair, her tone razor-sharp. "Kristian Shaw, is that a threat?"

This version of her was foreign to Kristian. For two years, she'd been the picture of compliance-gentle, accommodating, never defiant. Now, she met his anger with unshakable calm.

"No." Already calculating countermeasures, he bit out, "You'll have the assets. We divorce on Monday."

Freya's lashes lowered briefly before she added, "One more condition."

"Speak." His patience frayed.

"Take me shopping tomorrow." She ignored the frost radiating from him. "Afterward, we'll tell your family together that I ended things."

"Deal," Kristian conceded.

With that, he strode toward the door, unable to stomach another second in her presence.

Earlier, he'd even considered granting her a grace period to process the divorce.

How laughable. She couldn't wait to carve up his fortune and be rid of him.

Had Freya been able to read his thoughts, she might have laughed and said, "That little money? Do you really think I care?"

Kristian reached the door and halted. Without turning around, he said, "I won't be back tonight. I'll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning. Make a list of the stores you want to visit."

Freya's voice followed him, calm but laced with something sharp. "Are you going to see Ashley Bradley?"

Kristian's jaw tightened. "That's none of your business."

Freya let out a quiet breath, as if she had already expected that answer. "I don't tolerate cheating," she said plainly. "So before the divorce is finalized, you'd better not end up in bed with her."

Kristian whirled back, looming over her.

Freya didn't blink. "What? Can't endure two more days?"

"I understand your bitterness," he said, eerily composed, "but lashing out won't help. This is a divorce, not war."

Freya blinked at him. For a moment, she was at a loss for words. This man was truly shameless.

Kristian didn't wait for a response. "Good night." And with that, he turned and left.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Freya's gaze drifted down to the divorce papers still lying on the table. She stood there for a long time, unmoving.

To say she felt nothing would have been a lie. She wasn't made of stone.

The moment she discovered she was nothing more than a stand-in, the hurt had settled deep in her bones.

Kristian had been her first love. In twenty-four years, no one else had breached her defenses. Before the betrayal, he'd been perfection itself-attentive, steady, silencing every doubt with his quiet devotion.

So when she learned of Ashley, she'd offered to leave. To free him. But he'd refused.

The reason behind Kristian's refusal was simple. Before Ashley returned, he needed someone to manage his elders at home-and Freya, adored by his parents and grandpa, was the obvious choice.

But sometimes, Freya couldn't help but wonder-did he really think she was a fool? Otherwise, why would he assume she'd play along in hiding his affair?

Now, with his sudden demand for divorce, frustration simmered inside her.

Even after six months of steeling herself, a stubborn flicker of emotion remained.

She let out a slow breath, crossed to the sofa, and grabbed her phone.

She tapped the contact labeled "Fred"-untouched for two years-and typed, "Check if Shaw Group's facing any issues. And find out if Kristian's terminally ill."

Fred's replies exploded onto the screen instantly.

"Holy-Freya?!"

"Never thought I'd hear from you again!"

"Two years, Freya. TWO."

"Where've you been?!"

She didn't bother explaining.

Mood sour, she fired back a single word, "Check."

Fred caved. "On it!"

She tossed the phone aside and waited.

If Kristian was divorcing her to spare her some tragedy, she'd forgive him-maybe even help. But if he was just an unfaithful jerk? She'd drop him without a second thought.

Thirty minutes later, her phone buzzed with Fred's verdict. "Zero troubles. No illness, no crisis. Why the hell are you asking? Kristian's loaded, hot, and sharp-you two are a match. Don't you like pretty boys? Give it a shot!"

She ignored the jab and shot back, "You are so blind."

Then she silenced her phone.

No external factors meant only one thing-Kristian was pure scum.

Fred stared at his screen, baffled. Did Freya wake up in a mood today?

Freya's gaze landed on the divorce papers. After a pause, she snatched a pen, scrawled her name, and shoved them into a drawer. Then she headed for the shower.

When she emerged, her phone was a disaster-dozens of unread messages and 32 missed calls.

No guessing needed. Frederick Price-aka Fred-had clearly blabbed about her resurrection to the entire world.

Towel draped over her damp hair, she reached for her phone-only for it to ring again.

The caller ID flashed; it was her father.

Her chest tightened. Two years of silence, and now he called?

She'd left Alerith City due to a situation involving her mother, and neither had she reached out to her father nor had he contacted her-until now.

After a pause, she answered coolly. "Hello."

Silence.

Freya, never one for patience, was about to hang up when Hugh Briggs' raspy voice cut through. "Mina."

That name clawed at buried memories.

"What do you want?" she asked flatly.

Hugh hesitated, guilt threading his words. "Frederick told me you reached out. Said you were digging into Kristian. Need help?"

"No." Freya had no interest in his involvement.

A beat passed before Hugh ventured, "What's your relationship with him?"

"A couple." She let the word hang. "About to divorce."

Hugh's

breath hitched. She was married?

"You-" he started.

"If that's all, I'm done." Freya didn't want to waste any more breath on him.

"Wait!" he rushed.

She held her tongue.

The line crackled with tension.

Finally, he muttered, "When are you coming back? That woman's gone."

Then, hastily, he added, "Your mom's belongings are untouched."

Her fingers tightened around the phone. For a flicker, emotion crossed her face-then vanished. "Noted."

She hung up before he could protest.

Hugh stared at the dead line, frustration curdling in his chest. He hadn't even asked about her marriage.

Freya didn't spare him another thought. She flicked her phone to airplane mode, towel-dried her hair, and collapsed into bed.

The night passed without dreams.

By eight the next morning, she was up-dressed and breakfasted.

Today, she'd taken care with her makeup. Her skin glowed; her lips, naturally full, needed no enhancement. But her eyes-sharp, luminous-were the real weapon.

Her smile was bright, bringing a warmth that could instantly lift anyone's spirits.

When Kristian arrived, she was already waiting on the sofa. Her shoulder-length hair was pinned back, bangs swept up under a black beret.

At the sight of him, she rose gracefully, reaching for a coat and draping it over her shoulder.

"Let's go." She grabbed her purse, her tone composed and unbothered.

Kristian didn't move. His tailored suit emphasized his height as he said, "Not today."

Freya stilled.

"I have other commitments." His voice was indifferent. His gaze lingered-too long-on her face. "Tomorrow."

"Kristian Shaw." Her tone was a warning.

He disliked it instantly.

"I put on makeup today," she said, her voice deceptively calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. "If you want our divorce to go smoothly on Monday, push aside whatever plans you have. I don't deal with people who break their promises."

Kristian's eyes narrowed.

After a silent calculation, he stepped out to make a call. Fragments floated back-Ashley... hospital... follow-up.

Freya's grip on her purse turned white-knuckled. Inside, she seethed. Even now, Ashley occupied his thoughts completely.

Kristian missed Freya's fury. All he saw was how she shone today-vibrant, untamed. Nothing like the subdued woman he knew.

After hanging up, he inquired where she wanted to shop. Freya mentioned the largest luxury mall in town.

This wasn't shopping. This was a spree. By 10 AM, the four bodyguards trailed behind her like pack mules-arms stacked with watches, jewels, designer bags.

Kristian's phone chimed nonstop with alerts.

As Freya strode into yet another jewelry boutique, his jaw hardened. This wasn't retail therapy; she was intentionally trying to irritate him.

Gerard Todd, Kristian's ever-dutiful assistant, hesitated for a moment before asking, "Sir, should I go ahead and book a restaurant?"

Kristian massaged his temples, irritation flashing across his face. "No need."

He knew Freya was venting her frustration. If splurging eased her temper, so be it-he'd let her spend freely.

The moment the words left his mouth, his phone vibrated. Another alert flashed-over thirty million had just vanished from his account.

Gerard averted his eyes, while the four bodyguards stood stiffly, arms laden with shopping bags like silent, overburdened mules.

Freya strode out of the jewelry boutique and casually handed her latest purchase to Gerard, whose hands were conspicuously empty. Just as she turned to continue her spree, Kristian's phone rang.

His posture shifted instantly. The tension in his shoulders eased, his frown softening as he glanced at the caller ID. Long fingers cradled the phone, his voice uncharacteristically tender as he answered. "Hello, Ashley."

Gerard and the bodyguards exchanged startled glances. Had their boss forgotten Freya was standing right there?

"Ashley was in a car accident on her way to a hospital follow-up. She's unconscious-still in surgery," the voice on the line blurted, frantic. "Please come. She kept calling your name before they took her in."

"Send the address. I'm on my way." Kristian's chest constricted, the words sharp with urgency.

He ended the call, his gaze flickering to Freya.

An explanation hovered on his lips, but he swallowed it. Instead, he turned to Gerard and the bodyguards. "Stay with her. Buy whatever she wants. If it doesn't fit in the car, have it delivered by this afternoon."

"Yes, sir," the five men chorused.

Without another word, Kristian strode off, leaving Freya and the others in his wake.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the group.

Gerard adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, forcing a polished smile. "Mrs. Shaw, don't worry. Mr. Shaw will return once he handles matters."

"What a loyal employee," Freya murmured, her tone laced with something unreadable.

Gerard blinked, thrown by her response.

Freya studied the mall's glittering chandeliers, her voice deliberate. "Being his assistant is one thing. But cleaning up his messes? Tell me, Gerard-have you ever seen a man ditch his wife mid-date to run to his mistress?"

The bodyguards stiffened; Gerard's smile froze.

For a heartbeat, all five men stared at her with something dangerously close to pity.

This might be the price of marrying into wealth-knowing her husband had left her for another woman while she was expected to swallow the insult.

"Save the sympathy." Freya scoffed, amused by their expressions. She gestured to the bags weighing them down. "A single one of those could cover your salary for a year. Maybe ten."

The blow landed perfectly.

She pressed, "Well, anything you'd like?"

Five pairs of eyes widened in unison.

Freya's mind worked in ways they couldn't follow.

"Since he's off playing hero for his darling, let's put his money to better use." She twirled the black card between her fingers, her voice quieter now.

The sting surprised her. She hadn't realized Kristian's departure would still claw at her.

Right now, all she wanted was to drain his account dry.

Gerard and the bodyguards gaped.

Delighted by their shock, Freya resumed shopping, the card clutched like a weapon.

She assumed Kristian would linger at the hospital all day. But as she sat down to eat, he appeared like a storm, his presence slicing through the restaurant's warmth.

Before anyone could react, he seized Freya's wrist and hauled her toward the parking area, his grip ironclad.

Her back slammed against the car door, pain radiating through her. She winced. What the hell was his problem?

His accusation came like a whip crack, "Why hurt Ashley?"

Kristian trembled with suppressed rage. "You hired that hit-and-run driver, didn't you? I gave you everything you wanted, the house, the car, the money. What more do you want? Why did you still hurt her?"

He looked like vengeance personified, his eyes glacial.

"When did I-" Freya's confusion was genuine.

"Still lying?" His voice could've frosted glass. "You planned this. Picked today so I'd be distracted while your hired man ran her down. You know I'd die before letting her suffer."

His voice was Arctic frost, the kind that seeped into bones and made spines stiffen.

Freya's initial fury dissolved into something colder, sharper. His absurd accusation had an ironic effect-it drained her rage, leaving only icy clarity.

She met his gaze, lips curling in derision. "How poetic. Turning betrayal into some grand romance."

"Freya Briggs!" Kristian's control frayed, his shout raw with warning.

"You're delusional." She didn't flinch, status be damned. "Think. Why would I trash my fresh start-my freedom-over someone like her?"

"You know exactly why." His voice dropped lower, a blade pressed to her throat.

A realization flickered. "Ah. You think I'm still obsessed with you?"

Kristian said nothing, but his clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes were answer enough.

"Why should I still want you?" Freya laughed, the sound brittle. "After being treated as a stand-in? After your infidelity? After watching you fawn over another woman?"

The words landed like slaps.

Kristian stiffened. "I didn't cheat," he ground out.

"You handed her your heart while wearing my ring." Her smile was lethal. "That's cheating."

"Enough deflection," he snapped.

"You're the one hallucinating conspiracies!"

Silence. Kristian studied her, as if peeling back layers for the first time. The weight of his scrutiny was suffocating.

Freya refused to wilt. "So she claimed I hired a man to kill her, and you just... believed her?"

"Yes." His anger faltered under her unwavering stare, but the frost remained. "Ashley didn't lie. And she has proof."

Freya's brows arched.

Her fingers dug into her bag strap, knuckles whitening. "Perfect. Let's go to the hospital. Right now."

Kristian blinked. Her immediate agreement threw him.

Guilty people didn't invite confrontation.

Doubt slithered in. Was the evidence fabricated?

"Move." Her command shattered his thoughts.

He released her wrist, disconcerted by her detachment. Something ugly twisted in his chest-annoyance? Guilt? Before he could name it, he yanked out his keys and wrenched the car door open.