?Chapter 369:


    “First, figure out who was behind those incidents,” Freya began, ticking off the challenges one by one. “Second, beat me in marksmanship.” Kristian didn’t find either of those demands particrly daunting. “And the third?”


    “I haven’t decided on that yet,” Freya replied, her eyes settling on him with quiet calction. “Once you’ve handled the first two, I’ll let you know. But let me make one thing perfectly clear—if you don’t outdo me in both of them, don’t ever bother me again.”


    “Deal,” Kristian said without missing a beat.


    Freya felt a quiet wave of relief wash over her. For the first time in days, she could finally enjoy a moment of peace.


    She nced at her watch. It was already past ten. “Can you open the door now so I can go home?” she asked, carefully enunciating each word.


    “You’re staying here tonight,” Kristian replied, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You’ll handle the second task first thing tomorrow morning.”


    He turned, grabbed a bag, and handed it to her. “Here’s something to change into.”


    Freya was at a loss for words. She wanted to refuse, but after a moment’s hesitation, she figured it wasn’t worth the fight.


    She took the bag from him and walked to the room he had indicated. Once inside, she locked the door, shrugged off her coat onto the bed, and picked up the pajamas before stepping into the bathroom.


    Kristian heard the soft click of the lock. For a moment, he couldn’t decide whether to admire her caution or feel disheartened by how wary she still was around him.


    Meanwhile, Freya stood under the shower, letting the water run over her.


    Her mind drifted back to the conversation with Kristian earlier. Thoughts began to coalesce. She hadn’t originally nned to investigate those incidents—they were petty and tedious.


    But when she viewed them through the eyes of the mastermind, she realized she couldn’t just ignore them.


    Kristian’s sudden reappearance in Alerith, followed by his repeated run-ins with her, was bound to attract the attention of whoever was pulling the strings from the shadows. It was only a matter of time before she was dragged into trouble again.


    It was a headache she hadn’t asked for.


    Elsewhere, in a dimly lit basement across the sea, a womany sprawled on the cold concrete floor. Her hair was a mess, her face bruised and streaked with angry red welts.


    Her eyes were shut, and her body was restrained by iron chains—around her neck, wrists, and ankles.


    All around her, lifeless snakesy scattered like discarded threats. Footsteps rang out, echoing through the basement.


    The sound made the woman in white flinch uncontrobly. It was a reflex born from relentless torment—a deep, primal fear triggered by that sound.


    A man stepped into view, dressed in a sharp suit, his very presence radiating menace.


    His pale skin gave him a sickly, almost unnatural look.


    “Wake her up,” he ordered, flicking ash off his cigarette with practiced ease.


    His eyes moved to the corner where Ashleyy in chains.


    One of his men immediately sshed a bucket of ice-cold water in Ashley’s face.


    The freezing jolt yanked her back to consciousness. She gasped, jerking upright as the icy water soaked through her clothes, sending shivers down her spine.


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