Freya's heart felt like it was splitting open as she stood there, Helena's cold words echoing in her ears. Did her father not love her even a little? She had always known he disliked her and her mother—but today, the truth struck deeper. It wasn't just dislike. Her existence, their existence, didn't matter to him at all.
He never did anything unless it served a purpose. People—feelings—meant nothing unless they were useful. And once they weren't... he discarded them. Just like now.
Freya tightened her grip on the handle of her worn suitcase and stepped outside the grand Bankwood House. She paused at the threshold, casting one last glance over her shoulder. The house stood tall and cruel against the gray sky, silent and indifferent. She turned away after a few seconds, her spine straight but her soul unraveling.
From a balcony above, Amelia watched with a crooked smile playing on her lips. Everything was going as she had planned. She had orchestrated all of this—the confrontation, the hotel scandal, even slipping drugs into that guy's drink to ruin Freya's reputation. That plan had failed. But at least one thing had worked: Freya was out of the house.
Amelia had hated her since childhood. Because Freya was the illegitimate one. Because their so-called friends always compared Amelia to her. Because Freya was the one people admired—beautiful, soft-spoken, effortlessly radiant. Freya stole attention just by breathing.
And for that, Amelia wanted her gone. Erased. Forgotten. If Freya no longer existed, no one would ever compare her again.
She picked up her phone and dialed. Her voice was sweet but laced with venom.
"This is your last day, Freya. You'll regret ever being born into the Backwood family."
---
Kingsley Industries
Inside his sleek office, Soren sat back in his chair, staring at the man across from him. Rian placed a red file on the desk and began.
"Sir, her name is Freya Walker. Twenty-four years old. Dropped out of university—working full time now. Her mother's name is Louisa Walker. Currently hospitalized with late-stage cancer. They don't have funds for the surgery. Freya's been trying to save up, but…" he hesitated, "We couldn't track their home address. Just the hospital."
Soren leaned back, fingers tapping the desk slowly. A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.
"Freya… even your name sounds as sweet as you looked that day. I remember—" his voice trailed off. His gaze grew distant, darker. "You were just a girl back then. So delicate. And now…"
His eyes burned with a possessive hunger as he picked up the file. His fingers lingered over the photograph clipped inside. Freya, in a white shirt, looking heartbreakingly innocent. A light no one had the right to touch. No one except him.
"Keep watch at the hospital," he ordered, eyes still fixed on her image. "She'll visit her mother. Let me know the moment she does."
"Yes, sir," Rian nodded, then quietly left the room.
Soren flipped through the rest of the file, but his eyes returned again and again to the picture. The obsession gleamed in his gaze—dark, possessive, untamed.
His phone rang, dragging him out of his trance. The screen flashed "Mom." Soren picked up.
"Soren," came Eleanor Kingsley's soft voice.
His expression softened. If there was one person who could still reach the humanity left in him, it was his mother.
"Why the call, Mom? Is everything alright?"
"You haven't come home in a month. You live in that villa like a stranger. Tonight, you'll have dinner with us. No excuses."
Soren exhaled slowly. "You know why I don't go there. To them, I don't exist. Only for you… only for you, I will come. But I'm busy right now. We'll talk later."
And with that, he hung up.
---
Sunshine Hospital
Freya stood just outside her mother's ward, watching her fragile form through the glass. Her chest ached. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. A doctor approached gently from behind.
"Miss Freya?"
She wiped her tears quickly. "Yes, Doctor?"
"Your mother's condition is critical. If we don't operate soon…" he hesitated, "We won't be able to save her. Please arrange the funds as soon as possible."
And then he was gone.
Freya stepped outside the hospital, the city's chaos fading into a blur. She had reached out to everyone she knew. No one could—or would—help. Even those with money gave excuses. Her hope was slipping through her fingers like sand.
Rain poured heavily. The sky wept with her. The wind was icy, slicing through her soaked clothes. Every step felt heavier. Her vision blurred, her limbs trembled. Weakness sank deep into her bones. At last, she reached a bus stop and sat down, her body giving in. Her head fell forward, and she dozed off, unaware of the storm she was about to step into.
---
Across the road, black luxury cars pulled up like a royal convoy. One of the guards stepped out, umbrella in hand. The back door opened.
Soren emerged. His eyes scanned the area and locked instantly on the frail figure huddled on the bench. Freya. Rian had informed him she'd left the hospital, and he had followed—quietly, patiently.
He crossed the street, rain soaking into his coat. As he stood in front of her, his heart twisted. She was shivering uncontrollably. He knelt, placed his hand on her forehead—she was burning up.
His eyes turned cold and sharp. Without a word, he scooped her into his arms. At his touch, even in her delirium, Freya clung to him instinctively, her body recognizing the warmth.
Inside the car, heat enveloped her. Color returned faintly to her face. The lines of worry softened as her body relaxed. Soren stroked her damp hair, his voice low.
"Sweetheart… why do you do this to yourself? You have no idea how much it kills me to see you like this. I can't watch you suffer anymore."
---
They arrived at his private villa. The staff, surprised to see a woman in their boss's arms, bowed quickly without comment. Doctors were already waiting.
Rian stood in the corner, watching with a strange mix of curiosity and concern. So this was the girl—the girl who had claimed Soren Kingsley's mind and heart like no one else ever had.
After the examination, the lead doctor approached Soren.
"She's just exhausted. Exposure to the rain, stress, and hunger triggered the fever. I've given her an injection. She should wake up in a few hours."
Soren gave a slight nod. Rian escorted the doctors out, and silence returned.
He moved closer, sitting beside her. His gaze lingered on her sleeping face, soft and trusting even now. For the first time in days, something inside him felt still.
Then her phone buzzed on the nearby table. A name flashed on screen—Liam.
Soren answered. But he said nothing.
"Freya?" Liam's voice crackled with concern. "I heard what happened. Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were friends. Is this still because I proposed to you that night? I didn't mean to ruin our friendship. Please… tell me how much money you need. I'll transfer it right now."
Click. Soren ended the call, his jaw tight.
His eyes were no longer calm. They blazed.
"You're mine," he whispered, voice sharp as broken glass. "Even thinking of someone else is a sin I won't forgive. Your pain, your peace… everything belongs to me. Only me."
He stood, gaze never leaving her face.
"I'll make sure you can never leave me, sweetheart. I'll chain you to me in ways you won't even see coming."
---
Bankwood House
Meanwhile, Amelia paced in her room, phone pressed to her ear.
"I paid you. A simple job. Yet you failed. What kind of killer are you?" she hissed.
"Ma'am, I tried. She was alone at first. Then suddenly—cars showed up. Expensive ones. Some man took her. I couldn't act."
"You're full of excuses. I want to speak to your boss."
She hung up, frustrated. For the first time, doubt crept in. Was someone actually protecting Freya?
Her lips curled bitterly.
"So… someone's helping you now, Freya? Let's see how long they last."