Chapter 40

FREYA'S POV

I was halfway through the quarterly projections when Lucy burst into my office with an energy that made me finally look up.

“Freya! You’re not going to believe this—” She bounced in on one foot, her eyes sparkling. “Gerald’s setting up a shareholders’ party. It’s going to be a thank-you gala—cocktails, light hors d’oeuvres, the whole nine yards. You know… to show appreciation for everyone’s support this year.”

I stretched a hand toward her, hiding a tired smile behind a yawn. “That sounds… unexpected.”

She grinned. “It kind of is. But here’s the thing—since you’re now officially part of the family, married to the VP, you’re technically a shareholder. Gerald wants both of us there.”

I blinked. “Me? At a shareholders’ gala?”

“Of course, you. Right now you’re probably the most important partner this company has. That little announcement isn’t just ceremonial—it’s strategic. They want to affirm solidarity after last quarter’s shift in leadership.”

Lucy sat across from my desk, tapping her phone. “It’s next Friday evening. Formal attire. And there’s a second notification that being Gerald’s son’s wife—well, it’s protocol to be there.”

I stared at her for a moment as reality landed. A mood of mounting dread threatened to sneak in—until I felt Lucy’s confidence shift something inside me.

I exhaled. “All right. I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic.” Lucy closed her notebook with a snap. “I’ll send you the invitation and get your dress sorted. And I’ll be there to help prep any notes you need to say.”

I sat back in my chair, consideration blooming. This was serious. Big. Public. But it didn’t terrify me the way it might once have. “Thanks, Lucy. Honestly, I don’t want to go in just as the onboarded wife. I want to be seen.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Good. You will be. I promise.”

Later that afternoon, during a lull between meetings, I sent a text to Brandon:

> Are you going to the shareholders’ party next Friday?

Would it be a good time to make a... personal announcement? 😉

His reply came almost instantly:

> Yes. That’s perfect.

My heart fluttered. Finally—a chance to do more than tick the box of being his “right side.” A chance to share something truly ours, in public, on our terms.

I leaned back in my chair, imagining the moment: slow, deliberate, shared with everyone important to us—family, board members, shareholders still skeptical of this “new direction.”

And yes… I’ll admit I let my imagination linger on one face in particular: Bryan’s. I wanted to see surprise. A flash of something real—envy, shock, perhaps a momentary collapse of that polished arrogance he’d wielded at the dinner party.

Because that would be justice.

Over the weekend, I blocked out any lingering anxieties in my mind and allowed myself to anticipate the evening. I scrolled for cocktail dress options and watched Lucy’s mood board ideas—a palette of soft pastels and elegant silvers, something fresh and hopeful, like the news itself. Light makeup. A statement necklace. Shoes I could walk in, but that still felt understatedly confident.

The shift inside me felt huge. I’d moved from hiding to celebrating. From quiet introductions to bold declarations. From suspicion to a public reveal—curated, glowing, ours.

And it was still early in the week. Next Friday felt like a mountain. But I walked taller in the office now. Clients nodded at me with fresh interest. Colleagues offered congratulations already—mostly scripted, but I didn’t care. It was something I deserved.

As Lucy tidied the corner of my desk that evening, she paused.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

I smiled at her, lifting the little sonogram picture on the smart stand.

“More than okay,” I whispered. “I’m ready.”

She grinned, squeezing my shoulder.

“You’ll get him,” she said, referring to Gerald. “Everything will click. And I’ll be right there to catch—and hype—you.”

I tapped the photo, thinking about the baby, about Brandon’s calm confidence, about the unshakeable feeling that we were here to stay.

If someone had told me months ago that I’d be shopping for a gown to wear to a shareholders’ party hosted by Gerald Lefevre himself, I would’ve laughed—maybe even choked on my coffee. Me? A caterer turned... what exactly? A VP’s wife, a future mother, a reluctant heiress to expectations I wasn’t born into. The thought still felt foreign sometimes, like I was borrowing someone else’s life.

But today, I was trying my best to wear it like it fit.

“Okay,” Lucy announced, tugging open the glass door to a boutique with the kind of energy only she could summon before noon. “This is our third stop, and I swear if we don’t find something in here, I’m putting you in a sequin jumpsuit and calling it avant-garde.”

I laughed, trailing behind her into the polished interior. The place smelled of lavender, leather, and something expensive I couldn’t name. The lighting was soft, flattering. Racks gleamed with silk, lace, satin—fabrics I used to admire from behind catering trays.

“You’ve got too much faith in sequins,” I said, amused.

“I have too much faith in you,” she corrected, turning to give me a knowing look. “And in your ability to pull off absolutely anything. You’re the VP’s wife now. You walk into that party and own it.”

I hesitated, pretending to be distracted by a gold-threaded dress on the nearest rack. “I don’t know if ‘owning it’ is what I’m worried about. It’s more like...not looking like I snuck in.”

Lucy raised a perfectly arched brow. “Freya, you didn’t sneak in. You were invited. You’re a Lefevre now, like it or not. And no one—especially not Rachelle—gets to question your right to be in that room.”

I looked up at her and smiled softly. Lucy had this way of throwing daggers wrapped in compliments. She made loyalty look fierce. I was lucky to have her—not just as my assistant, but as a friend.

“Alright,” I sighed dramatically. “Let’s find something that says: ‘I didn’t stumble into wealth—I married it on purpose.’”

She grinned. “That’s the spirit.”

We started combing through the racks, letting our fingers trail over fabrics and designs. Lucy, of course, had an eye for drama—backless gowns, thigh-high slits, plunging necklines. I gravitated toward simpler cuts: elegance over flash, grace over noise. But I knew tonight wasn’t about subtlety. It was about presence.

“How about this?” she asked, holding up a sleek emerald dress with beading around the sleeves.

I tilted my head. “Gorgeous, but probably too tight around the waist right now. I’m only showing a little, but I’d rather not spend the whole night sucking in and regretting dinner.”

Lucy frowned. “True. We need something that honors the bump without turning the event into a baby shower. Statement, not announcement.”

“Ironic, considering we’ll be making one,” I said under my breath.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, you’re really doing it?”

I nodded, heart fluttering even now. “Brandon and I talked. He thinks it’s the perfect time. His father will already be speaking. Everyone who matters will be there.”

“And Bryan?”

I smirked. “Exactly.”

We shared a look. Nothing else needed to be said.

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out of the fitting room in a dress that made even me pause. It was a deep sapphire blue, the kind of color that looked richer under light. The neckline was structured but modest, with cap sleeves that gave it an old Hollywood feel. The fabric draped perfectly over my figure and gathered gently at my waist—loose enough to accommodate the subtle swell of my stomach, but tailored enough to make me feel powerful.

Lucy’s jaw dropped. “That’s the one.”

I turned toward the mirror, smoothing a hand down the front of the dress. For a moment, I didn’t see the caterer from a working-class family. I didn’t see the woman who once stood quietly in the background while men with titles made all the noise.

I saw someone who belonged. Someone who’d fought, loved, endured—and still stood tall.

“You really think so?” I asked, quieter now.

“I know so,” Lucy said, walking over to adjust the fabric on my shoulder. “It’s elegant, it’s regal, it’s you.”

I met her gaze in the mirror. “I don’t know who ‘me’ is right now. I feel like I’m still learning.”

She shrugged. “You’re a woman learning how to exist in a world that wasn’t built for her. That doesn’t mean you don’t belong in it.”

That stuck with me. Her words wrapped around my ribs like armor.

We bought the dress—well, Brandon’s card did—and left the boutique with a garment bag in hand and renewed confidence in my chest. As we walked down the street, a light breeze catching the ends of my coat, I looked over at Lucy.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

She gave me a playful side-eye. “For what? My fabulous taste?”

I laughed. “For that and... for reminding me who I am. I needed that today.”

She smiled, softer now. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry—we’re not done yet. Hair, nails, makeup—we’re making an entrance.”

I groaned. “God, I forgot about the rest of the prep.”

“Oh no,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “You’re not just attending this event. You’re starring in it.”

We stopped to grab lattes from a nearby café, sitting near the window with our drinks in hand. The city moved outside like a film on loop—cars, pedestrians, life pressing on as if it didn’t know how much mine had changed.

“Do you ever think about how fast everything’s happened?” I asked, stirring my drink.

“All the time,” Lucy replied. “But honestly? You’ve handled it better than most would.”

“I just don’t want to mess it up,” I confessed.

She leaned in, tone firm. “You won’t. Because you’re not faking anything. You’re not playing dress-up or pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re just becoming.”

And I realized then that this wasn’t just about a party, or a dress, or even making an announcement. It was about claiming space—one step at a time—in a world that hadn’t expected me to arrive.

But here I was.

And this time, I wouldn’t be shrinking to fit in.