FREYA'S POV
I stared at his cold face, and I carefully considered his threatening words regarding his stepmother. I knew I needed to survive the next twelve months in this hostile environment so I could secure the five million dollars for my future bakery, and I decided to choose my battles strategically today. I left the plate of cooked eggs on the granite counter, and I turned around to walk back up the massive marble staircase without arguing with him any further.
Once I reached my assigned bedroom in the east wing, I opened the heavy wooden closet door and immediately noticed a large black garment bag hanging from a brass hook. I pulled the metal zipper down, and I carefully removed a beautiful emerald green dress from the protective plastic covering.
The fabric felt incredibly soft against my skin when I slipped the garment over my head, and the tailored waistline fit my physical measurements perfectly. Mason had evidently ordered Leon to acquire my exact clothing sizes from my previous employment records, and this invasive action irritated me deeply.
I walked into the attached bathroom and applied a thin layer of black mascara to my eyelashes alongside a clear gloss to my lips because I wanted to look presentable without completely changing my daily routine.
I removed my canvas sneakers, and I pushed my feet into a pair of black leather heels that were resting on the closet floor before I left the bedroom.
I walked back down the stairs, and I found Mason waiting near the heavy front doors. He heard my heels clicking against the marble tiles, and he turned his head to look at my new outfit.
A brief flash of genuine surprise appeared in his dark eyes when he saw the expensive green dress, but he quickly blinked and completely erased the emotion from his face before he replaced it with his usual expression of absolute indifference. He did not offer me a single verbal compliment, and he simply instructed me to follow him outside to the waiting luxury vehicle.
Leon opened the passenger door, and I slid onto the smooth leather seat while Mason sat on the opposite side of the spacious cabin. We did not speak a single word to each other during the first twenty minutes of the drive into the city center, and the heavy silence inside the car felt completely suffocating.
"You must remember to smile when we stand in front of the city clerk," Mason suddenly instructed me while he stared out the tinted glass window.
"The municipal employees will report any suspicious behavior to the local press, and I cannot afford a public scandal regarding the legitimacy of this marriage document. You will answer all of their standard questions politely, and you will pretend that you are entirely happy to be there."
"I will cooperate with the legal process because I signed the contract, but you must remember that I am not a professional actress," I replied firmly while I adjusted the hem of the green dress over my knees. "I will not pretend to be deeply in love with you, and I will only provide the basic answers required to finalize the paperwork."
"I do not expect you to fake romantic affection, because nobody would ever believe that I would genuinely fall in love with a stubborn waitress," Mason countered maliciously, and he turned his head away from me to end the conversation completely.
Leon parked the vehicle in front of a tall grey municipal building, and we walked through the revolving glass doors to enter the public courthouse.
The interior of the building was incredibly sterile, and the fluorescent overhead lights buzzed loudly while dozens of people waited in long lines to process various legal documents.
We walked into a small administrative office on the second floor, and a bored city clerk sat behind a thick glass window surrounded by stacks of paper files.
"We are here to file a marriage license and finalize the legal union today," Mason told the clerk in a highly authoritative tone that clearly demanded immediate service.
The clerk requested our official identification cards, so I pulled my worn plastic driver's license from my pocket while Mason handed her a pristine international passport. The woman typed our personal information into her computer system, and she printed a thick stack of legal papers before she pushed them through the small slot in the glass window.
"I need both of you to verify your full legal names, and I need you to confirm that you are entering this marriage voluntarily without any external coercion," the clerk stated in a monotonous voice while she held a rubber official stamp in her right hand.
"My name is Mason Kingsley, and I am entering this union completely voluntarily," Mason answered smoothly without showing any physical hesitation.
The clerk shifted her gaze to my face, and she waited for my verbal confirmation. I swallowed the nervous tension in my throat, and I remembered the violent loan sharks who had threatened Carl's Diner the previous day.
"My name is Freya Summers, and I am entering this union voluntarily," I lied directly to the government employee because I had no other practical options to secure my future.
Mason picked up a cheap plastic pen from the counter, and he signed his name rapidly on multiple dotted lines without reading the dense paragraphs of legal jargon. He handed the pen to me, and my fingers trembled slightly when I pressed the blue ink against the white paper to officially bind my life to a ruthless billionaire.
There was no romantic music playing in the background, and we certainly did not share a celebratory kiss after the paperwork was finalized.
The entire process was simply a cold business transaction, and Mason immediately folded the stamped marriage certificate and placed it inside his suit jacket because he needed the physical evidence to secure his corporate position from the board of directors.
We returned to the luxury vehicle, and Leon drove us back to the Kingsley estate. I felt completely exhausted by the emotional stress of the morning, and I actively dreaded the upcoming family breakfast. Mason unlocked the heavy front doors, and we walked into the grand foyer of the mansion.
The sharp sound of hard high heels clicking rapidly against the polished marble floor echoed through the large open space, and I immediately tensed my shoulder muscles. A tall, elegant woman walked down the main staircase, and a younger girl with long brown hair followed closely behind her.
The younger girl wore casual clothing and she looked incredibly nervous, but the older woman carried herself with an air of absolute superiority.
The older woman wore a tailored white designer suit, and thick diamond rings glittered brightly on her fingers.
This woman was Eliza, Mason's stepmother, and she immediately stopped walking when she reached the bottom step. She crossed her arms over her chest, and she inspected my physical appearance from my hair down to my shoes with an expression of intense, undisguised disgust.
Eliza looked directly at Mason and delivered her harsh assessment without caring if I heard her cruel words.
"You cannot seriously expect me to believe you married this uncultured, lower-class woman voluntarily, because she clearly belongs in the servant's quarters instead of our family dining room," Eliza stated loudly while she glared at my face.
I refused to remain silent in the face of her blatant disrespect, and I took a confident step forward to defend myself.
"I might lack your expensive jewelry, but I certainly possess better manners than a woman who insults her guests in the entryway of her own home," I replied firmly.