?Chapter 395:


    At that moment, it felt as if the very foundation of Freya’s world had crumbled, leaving her standing on uncertain ground.


    Her hands stiffened at her sides, and the light inside her seemed to fade.


    “Mina,” Hugh called out softly.


    Freya didn’t respond, but her eyes reddened.


    Hugh panicked, leaping to his feet and rushing toward her. “Mina, don’t scare me.”


    Freya bit her bottom lip, the pain in her chest unbearable.


    To her, having a happy family had always been her greatest source of strength. During her intense training, she had always drawn strength from the thought of her family. When the going got tough, the idea of protecting her family kept her going. When she wanted to quit, the vision of her happy family was the only thing that motivated her.


    But after her mother’s death, just dayster, she had walked in on her father and Cheryl in bed together. That was when her world had shattered.


    Her father had imed he was framed.


    And Freya had believed him.


    But belief didn’t erase the reality that, despite his words, he had kept Cheryl close—and a rift had formed between them.


    Now, her father was telling her that the foundation of her belief, the happy family she had always trusted in, had never been real. Her parents had never loved each other. Her world came crashing down.


    Now, Freya understood everything. It was no surprise her mother had never urged her or her sister to seek out a man like their father—after all, that marriage had been forged not in love, but in duty. A union stitched together for appearances, not affection.


    It was all theater—smiles painted on like masks at a masquerade.


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    “What does Cheryl mean to you?” Freya asked, her voice gentler than a breeze before a storm, carefully keeping her emotions in check.


    At her question, Hugh said nothing. He simply lowered himself beside her, the silence hanging like fog between them.


    For the next half hour, he peeled back theyers of the past—recounting how he came to marry Freya’s mother and the tangled history he shared with Cheryl.


    When he finally fell silent, Freya felt as though a boulder had taken residence on her chest, pressing her down with every breath.


    She rose, emotions still glistening in her eyes. “I’m going upstairs.”


    “Mina,” Hugh called softly.


    “If you intend to make that woman your wife, then do it. But know this—She and I have only ever had one mother.” With those words, she left the living room, each step a quiet thunderp as she retreated to her room.


    Now, the picture was clear.


    Cheryl had been Hugh’s first love—two young hearts aze, only to be torn apart by Hugh’s father during the fervor of their romance. Duty overruled desire; he was bound to Freya’s mother in a loveless match. Likewise, Freya’s mother had once carried a torch for someone else—but she, too, had been no match for the iron grip of her father’s authority.


    In those days, marriage was rarely born of love. It was a chess game, orchestrated by elders, leaving little space for choice—or joy.


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