?Chapter 472:


    Freya tugged against his grip, but his hold was unrelenting, his fingers mped so tightly around hers it felt like they might snap her bones. If it hadn’t been Lionel’s grand birthday celebration, she might’ve lost it right then and there.


    What an absolute brute. It hurt like hell.


    With a heavy thud, Kristian shoved her against the corridor wall, boxing her in.


    There wasn’t a soul in sight, and the distance from the main hall meant no one would hear even if things escted.


    “What the hell is wrong with you?” Freya scowled, wincing as her back throbbed from the impact.


    “Do you really like that boyish Cyril?” Kristian snapped, irritation bubbling beneath his calm facade.


    He had convinced himself that after everything, he owed Freya an apology—he should go along with her wishes, stop pushing her.


    But it was clear now—he had miscalcted. Whether he treated her right or not, she would still rather talk to some stranger like Cyril than give him the time of day.


    If this kept up, she’d never agree to remarry him.


    “What I like or dislike has nothing to do with you,” Freya shot back,pletely fed up. “And in what role are you asking?” Kristian faltered.


    Freya pressed on, “As my ex-husband? Or someone hoping to start over?”


    “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t speak to me again?” Kristian asked, his voice dropping to a low, bitter chill.


    Freya stayed silent. He really was losing it.


    She didn’t want to waste another minute in his presence. “Step aside.”


    “You haven’t answered my question,” Kristian said stubbornly, his eyes fixed on hers.


    “I don’t owe you an answer,” Freya said coolly, her patience nearly gone. “And if you don’t move, I won’t hold back.” The ce was deserted, after all.


    Her outfit might not have been ideal for a fight, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t throw down if she had to.


    “Try me,” Kristian challenged, his jaw tight.


    Freya swung her arm to punch him, but he caught her hand in a sh. Without missing a beat, she lifted her leg to kick him, but he pivoted, dodging just in time.


    “Today’s Lionel’s birthday. I don’t want to cause a scene here,” Freya warned, always one to respect her elders. “You’d better know when to quit.”


    “You talk like you’re on some moral high ground, just to hide the fact that your heart’s already somewhere else,” Kristian said, knowing she wasn’t that kind of woman—but that didn’t mean he wanted to let her walk away so easily.


    Even if it meant arguing. Even if it meant fighting. He needed there to be something—anything—between them.


    Freya looked at him like he was some kind of idiot and shot back, “Even if I have changed my heart, at least I didn’t start seeing someone else before the divorce papers were signed.”


    “I’m not in touch with her anymore,” Kristian muttered, his voice clipped, his lips barely moving.


    “That’s only because she doesn’t want you. If she’de back just for you, if the terminal illness thing was actually true,” Freya retorted. “Wouldn’t you already be hitched to her by now?”


    Kristian’s brows knit together, the depth of her words settling into his features.


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