Chapter 3

Kieran drove Freya to the Vance manor.

When she was five, Freya's parents had abandoned her beside a roadside dumpster. If not for Jonathan, she would have died that winter.

She owed him a proper goodbye.

"All these years, I've thought of you as my own daughter," Jonathan said.

"If you want to leave, I won't stop you. But I want you to know—there will always be a place for you in this family."

Leaving the manor, Freya's heart was a tangled mess of emotions. If not for that so-called Prophet, if Chloe had never appeared, her life might have been complete.

But life was never that simple.

When she arrived home, she found the housekeeper had moved all her belongings out of her room and dumped them in the storage closet.

Before she could ask what was going on, Chloe emerged from her room with a bright smile.

"Miss Gilbert, I'll be staying here for a few days. You don't mind, do you?"

Freya froze. Was this Francis's idea too?

"Freya, let Miss Swanson have your room for now. You can stay with me these next couple of days."

Freya's fingers curled into fists. She let out a bitter laugh. "Francis moved my things without my permission. I want her to apologize."

"And I have no intention of sharing a bed with you."

In all the years Francis had known her, Freya had never spoken to him so sharply.

He stared into her dark eyes, and for a moment, she felt like a stranger.

Chloe acted as though the tension was unbearable.

She flicked her wavy hair over her shoulder. "If Miss Gilbert doesn't want me here, forget it. I have plenty of places to go."

With that, she sauntered off, hips swaying.

Francis hesitated for a second, then grabbed his jacket and went after her.

The sight cut Freya to the bone.

Once upon a time, Francis had been that attentive to her feelings.

Freya lay down in her empty room, exhausted, and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, she was roughly shaken awake by a makeup artist Francis had hired.

"Miss Gilbert, the young master has arranged a makeup wedding at the amusement park you two used to visit as children."

"We're on a tight schedule. Please cooperate."

Freya, still groggy and irritated, said flatly, "Get out. I'm not going through with this wedding."

But the makeup artist insisted on doing her face. When Freya's temper flared and she tried to leave, the woman jabbed a needle into her arm—a sedative.

Freya's pupils contracted sharply. Her body went limp, and she was carried to the venue.

The entire amusement park was blanketed in red roses. Romantic. Dreamlike.

As Freya was helped out of the car, the first thing she saw was Chloe clinging to Francis's arm, beaming.

She looked around. The park was empty except for staff.

"Miss Gilbert," Chloe said sweetly, "I'm here to apologize for my rude behavior at the wedding the other day. To show my sincerity, I personally designed this makeup ceremony. Do you like it?"

So that was it. That's why she'd been dragged here against her will.

"Francis, I'm not marrying you. Marry whoever you want. I have things to do. Enjoy yourselves."

But Chloe's hand shot out faster than Freya could move.

"Miss Gilbert, I've always been the one people fawn over. You're being rather rude, don't you think?"

Francis frowned, his voice low and final. "Freya, that's enough."

"Miss Swanson went to all this trouble for you. You should be grateful."

In Francis's mind, everything Freya said was just anger talking. As far as he was concerned, she had been his wife since they were five years old.

The wedding was just a formality.

Freya tried to shake off Chloe's grip, but she had no strength left.

"Miss Gilbert, I hired a professional photographer to take wedding photos of you and Francis. I read online that roller coasters make for the best shots."

Freya's pupils contracted. She had a severe fear of heights.

But Chloe gave her no chance to refuse, dragging her onto the roller coaster.

Four seats. Francis sat in the middle.

Freya kept her eyes shut the entire ride. Every sound around her seemed amplified a hundredfold.

"Francis! If there's a next life, you have to wait for me!"

"Francis, I know you agreed to let me design this wedding as your way of making it up to me—giving me a wedding of my own. Thank you!"

Francis's voice, thick with emotion, drifted into her ears. "I'm sorry this is the only way I can give you what you want."

So that was it. This so-called makeup wedding was just to fulfill Chloe's fantasy of marrying him.

Freya's chest tightened until she could barely breathe.

In that moment, she felt like the villain—the one tearing two lovebirds apart.

Suddenly, the car shook violently. The next second, it derailed, sparks flying from the friction.

The violent drop made Freya's heart leap into her throat.

The car crashed to the ground. In the split second before the pain hit, Freya saw Francis shielding Chloe beneath him.

How fitting.