Chapter 32

FREYA

I had barely settled into my new office when the knock came—not tentative or respectful, but firm and demanding. The kind of knock that didn’t wait for permission.

I looked up from the schedule Lucy and I were mapping out. She glanced at me, brows raised. I already had a feeling who it was.

Sure enough, Bryan walked in without waiting for an answer, his presence like a storm cloud in an otherwise peaceful room.

He shut the door behind him. “So,” he said, arms crossed, scanning the room with the same disdain one might reserve for something offensive on their shoe. “It’s true. They actually gave you an office.”

I stood slowly, matching his energy—not with hostility, but with the calm steadiness I’d learned in kitchens and conflict alike.

“I didn’t realize I needed your blessing,” I said.

Bryan scoffed, stepping further inside. “Let’s cut the niceties, Freya. You were a caterer. You planned parties and made miniature tarts for weddings. Now you’re here in one of the biggest corporate towers in the country acting like you belong.”

My jaw tightened, but I refused to let him see any flicker of insecurity.

“I see your memory’s still conveniently selective,” I said coolly. “I also managed a full-scale business. Staff, logistics, deadlines, clients—you know, actual people skills. Maybe not boardroom lingo, but certainly more grounded than whatever performance you’ve been putting on with your overpriced suits and empty reports.”

His nostrils flared slightly, but he masked it with a smug grin. “It’s cute that you think you’re on the same playing field.”

“And yet,” I said, stepping around my desk, “you seem awfully threatened for someone so confident in their position.”

He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “I just find it fascinating how quickly you got the title of executive wife turned company asset. One minute you’re planning someone’s engagement dinner, the next you’re holding boardroom meetings. What exactly do you know about running a corporation, Freya?”

I stared at him, letting silence fill the room for a few heartbeats. Then I smiled.

“The same amount Rachelle knew when you handed her a title.”

He blinked. I watched the words hit him like a cold slap.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I continued sweetly, “Was she an investment strategist before you gave her own department to ‘oversee’? Or did she pick that up from her days posting filtered vacation photos and calling it brand work?”

His jaw flexed. “Don’t bring my wife into this.”

“You brought mine into it,” I snapped, the softness in my tone dropping.

The room went quiet.

I took a breath, stepping forward until we were only a foot apart. “Let me make this very clear, Brhan. I’m not here for you. I don’t owe you anything. I’m here because my husband asked me to be—because he trusts me, values me, and believes in what I can bring. That may be difficult for you to understand, considering loyalty has never been your strong suit.”

His expression changed—not angry, not smug. Something more complicated.

Jealousy. And just the slightest crack of guilt.

“You really think Brandon brought you in because of your capabilities?” he asked, voice lower now. “You think this isn’t just a way to… keep you close? Protect you?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t need protection, Bryan. What I need—and what I have—is a partner who believes I’m capable of standing beside him, not behind him.”

His lips parted, but he said nothing. I could see the tension in his jaw, the way he fought to maintain control over his expression. But I’d already seen what I needed to.

This wasn’t about me being unqualified. This was about me being in a space he never expected me to occupy.

And worse—being there with Brandon.

“You know,” I said softly, “you never quite managed to hide how much it bothered you. That I moved on. That I could love someone else after everything you put me through.”

“Don’t,” he muttered.

“Don’t what?” I challenged. “Tell the truth? You hated that I didn’t wait around for you to realize you wanted me. That someone else saw me—really saw me—and chose me.”

His gaze dropped for a moment. When he looked up again, the mask was back.

“Well,” he said, reaching for the doorknob, “I just hope you’re ready. This world isn’t as simple as dinner parties and fondant cakes. You’ll have to work for respect here.”

“Good,” I said. “I like earning things.”

He hesitated at the door, his hand still resting on the handle. Then he looked over his shoulder, voice barely audible. “He’s not like you think, Freya.”

I tilted my head. “Neither are you. But at least now I know that.”

And with that, he left.

The door closed quietly behind him.

I stood there for a moment, heart pounding—not from fear, but from adrenaline. From that charged mix of anger and pride and clarity.

I wasn’t just stepping into a new role. I was standing my ground.

Lucy peeked in a few seconds later. “That looked intense.”

I exhaled and walked back to my desk. “It was overdue.”

She shut the door behind her and came to sit across from me. “You okay?”

I nodded, settling into my chair. “Better than okay.”

“What did he want?”

“To remind me of my place,” I said. “And I reminded him I don’t take directions from ghosts.”

Lucy grinned. “God, you’re so much cooler than you were six months ago.”

I laughed. “Six months ago, I was just trying to survive. Now? I’m ready to fight.”

She looked at me for a long beat, then said, “Let’s make this office the real power seat, huh?”

I nodded and reached for the next folder on my desk. “Let’s show them what they really underestimated."