?Chapter 412:


    Meanwhile, after n and Toby stepped out, Gerard couldn’t help himself. “Sir, do you think Mr. Briggs actually has a thing for you?” He’d definitely noticed the way n kept ncing over during the meeting.


    “No,” Kristian replied coolly, his face unreadable.


    Gerard looked intrigued. How could Kristian be so certain?


    “I’m guessing he’s Freya’s cousin,” Kristian said, thinking his hunch was probably right. “He likely already knows about the divorce.”


    “Cousin?”


    Gerard looked genuinely surprised.


    “Are we still going for dinnerter?” Gerard asked, his voiceced with uncertainty.


    In his mind, Kristian, who had once deeply hurt n’s cousin, should feel the weight of this dinner invitation like a trap set by fate. It was like walking straight into the lion’s den.


    When Kristian finally spoke, his gaze a turbulent sea of emotions, barely veiled beneath a calm exterior, he replied, “Why not?” His voice remained steady.


    Despite knowing he was stepping into hostile territory, where n’s grudge simmered just below the surface, Kristian hadpelling reasons to face the ordeal. n wasn’t just anyone; he was Freya’s rtive, the one person Kristian couldn’t risk upsetting.


    Half an hourter, n’s secretary finalized the dinner arrangements and escorted Kristian to the restaurant.


    Freya stood quietly by the doorway, her eyes following them as they disappeared into the distance.


    As the day dwindled into evening, Freya’s ns took an unexpected turn. Just as she was preparing to leave for home, her phone rang. It was Winslow Alvarez, her maternal grandfather, inviting her to visit. Winslow, a man of profound influence and aplex history, had always cast a long shadow over her life.


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    Ever since they were children, he had shown nothing but kindness to both her and Ethel—always patient, always attentive, like a doting grandfather you’d read about in storybooks. If she hadn’t uncovered the truth—that he had once pressured her mother into a cold, loveless arranged marriage—she would have continued holding onto the image of him as a warm, gentle elder who meant no harm.


    With a brief message to Ethel informing her of the change in ns, Freya was picked up by a driver sent personally by Winslow.


    By the time she arrived, the sky had already turned a deep shade of indigo—it was seven in the evening.


    Their evening unfolded in the familiar, intimate setting of Winslow’s dining room, where history and the present mingled over a quiet meal shared between just the two of them.


    When the meal had ended, Winslow invited her for a stroll through the garden, his hands sped behind his back as he walked at an unhurried pace.


    Freya could tell he wasn’t just out for fresh air—he had something on his mind.


    As they wandered along, Winslow, well into his eighties, broke the silence, his voice gentle and infused with warmth. “I heard you’ve been away from Alerith these past two years, living in Jeucwell and getting married?” His eyes, crinkled at the corners, conveyed genuine curiosity and concern.


    Freya responded openly, her tone light and unguarded. “Yes, that’s right.”


    “And how did he treat you?” Winslow inquired, his expression softening.


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