contract marriage/ Freya pain

A faint rustling stirred the silence.

Moments later, Freya's eyelashes fluttered open, her head pounding. Groaning softly, she lifted her hand to her temple and slowly looked around. The sterile scent, the high ceiling, the elegant yet unfamiliar furniture—it was clear she wasn't in any place she recognized. Panic crept in.

Where the hell was she?

As she began to rise from the bed, a cold, deep voice sliced through the air like a blade.

"Stay right there, sweetheart."

Her breath caught in her throat.

Frozen, Freya snapped her head toward the direction of the voice. There, lounging on the sofa like he owned not just the room but her fate, was a man—dark eyes locked on her, unmoving, unreadable.

He was watching her like a predator studying his prey.

She stared back in alarm, her heartbeat thundering. The man rose from the couch with deliberate ease and began walking toward her. Freya recoiled, fear clawing up her spine.

"Who are you?" she demanded, her voice cracking. "Where am I? Did you… did you kidnap me? Answer me!"

But before she could utter another word, he was in front of her.

He pressed a single finger against her trembling lips.

"So many questions, sweetheart," he said, almost amused. "Can't you ask them one at a time?"

Freya stiffened.

Sweetheart?

That one word unsettled her more than the silence that followed. Her brows furrowed in confusion. Who was this man? Why was he speaking to her as if they were lovers?

Soren saw her expression, and a crooked smile formed on his lips.

"Forgotten me already, sweetheart?" he said, voice low and dangerous. "Were my marks really that faint that your body doesn't remember them? Or… are you just pretending you don't?"

Like a dam bursting, memories surged in Freya's mind—fragments of a night she'd buried deep. A night wrapped in darkness, heat, and drunken impulse. Her body trembled, not from cold but from the brutal clarity of it all.

She remembered.

The man. The night. The mistake.

Seeing her reaction, Soren's eyes softened, though the crimson in them was unmistakable.

"I see your memories are coming back," he murmured. "Well, of course they would. It was… unforgettable, wasn't it? For both of us."

Freya's head jerked toward him in disbelief.

This was him.

The faceless stranger from that night.

She'd never intended to see him again. Never wanted to. That night had cost her everything—her peace, her dignity, and now... her freedom?

Pulling herself together, she met his gaze, voice shaking but firm. "Why did you bring me here? I don't even know you. Whatever happened that night—it was a mistake. I was drunk, and so were you. We should've just let it go. Why kidnap me for that?"

She didn't want to admit it out loud, but she blamed herself too. And with everything else spiraling in her life, she had no strength left to fight ghosts from her past.

Soren's smirk vanished. His eyes darkened, and the warmth in them turned glacial.

He moved swiftly.

Before she could react, his hand gripped the back of her neck, pulling her face close to his. Their lips mere inches apart, his voice dropped to a whisper.

"A mistake? That's what you call it?" His breath was fire. "Do you have any idea what you were to me that night? You were the first woman I ever let that close. The first woman who mattered. The first… everything."

Freya's breath hitched. The way he spoke—the conviction, the obsession—it terrified her.

"I don't consider it a mistake," he said coldly. "And I won't let you treat it like one."

Her eyes widened, panic surging again. "What do you want from me?" she asked, desperate now. "What do I have to do to fix this?"

Soren studied her face. Then, without a word, he turned and walked to the bed, placing a folded document on it.

Freya blinked, hesitant, then slowly picked it up.

As her eyes scanned the top line, her hands began to tremble.

Marriage Agreement

Her mouth fell open. She looked at him, horror-stricken.

"What is this? What are you trying to do? Are you planning to keep me prisoner? Is this some kind of twisted joke?"

Soren laughed softly, a sound that didn't reach his eyes. "Prisoner? No, sweetheart. I'm not imprisoning you. I'm offering you the only way out."

He stepped closer again.

"I want to make you my wife."

Freya stared, stunned.

Was he insane?

"And before you argue," he added, voice suddenly turning sharper, "let me remind you—your mother's surgery is tomorrow. And if the fee isn't paid by tonight... she won't survive."

That hit her like a hammer.

Freya staggered back.

"How... how do you know about that?" she whispered. "Have you been spying on me? Are you blackmailing me?"

Her voice cracked with helplessness. Her eyes welled with tears, fear twisting in her chest. This man… he knew too much. He had power over her in ways she hadn't even imagined.

Soren didn't flinch.

He looked into her eyes—those eyes full of desperation—and his own hardened.

"I'm not blackmailing you," he said softly. "I'm giving you a choice. Two, actually."

He held up two fingers.

"First—you become my wife. Officially. Legally. Completely mine. Second—you don't marry me, but you still stay with me. No titles, no signatures. Just me and you."

He took a step back, his voice cooling again. "I'll let you choose whatever makes you more comfortable, my love."

Then he sat back down on the couch, waiting.

Freya stood frozen, her soul spiraling. Her mother's face flashed before her eyes—fragile, in pain, her only family. She couldn't lose her. Not like this.

Tears spilled, but Freya wiped them away with trembling hands. Her decision was already made.

She picked up the pen, stared at the contract for a few seconds… then signed it.

Soren smiled, the predator once again pleased.

He walked over, collected the papers, and looked into her eyes. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You're now Freya Soren Kingsley. Welcome to your new life."

Freya stared at him with hatred. She had never felt this helpless, this trapped.

She had just married a stranger she feared… and despised.

Tucking the papers into his coat, Soren said casually, "Get some rest, sweetheart. You're still recovering. If you need anything, ask the servants. I have work—I'll be back late."

And with that, he left the room.

Freya didn't move.

She sat there, eyes fixed on the door. Her world had changed completely, and now… this place was her home.

---

Kingsley Palace

The sleek black car pulled into the grand estate.

Guards rushed to open the door as Soren stepped out and strode into the mansion. Inside, the Kingsley family had gathered in the formal dining hall.

Ignoring them all, Soren removed his coat and flung it over a chair, sitting down at the dinner table like he owned the world.

His father, Alistair Kingsley, was the first to speak.

"Soren," he said in his clipped tone. "Have you thought about what I told you?"

Soren didn't even blink. "I don't repeat myself, Father. I already told you—I'm not interested in taking over the Kingsley Group. My own company keeps me more than busy."

Alistair's face darkened.

"You do realize what you're throwing away?" he snapped. "Men would kill for what you're refusing. I've told you before—your line of business taints the Kingsley name. And with your skill, you should be the CEO. That's what this family needs."

Sitting nearby, Tristan—Soren's elder brother—remained outwardly calm, but his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Something dangerous shimmered behind that gaze.

Soren leaned forward now, his voice flat. "I'm done discussing this. If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."

But Alistair wasn't finished.

"I've arranged your marriage," he said firmly. "To the daughter of our business partner—the Williams family."

Silence fell across the table.

Soren's jaw tightened. He said nothing.