alister vs soren / freya curiosity

Soren's icy gaze met his father's, a glint of defiance shimmering in the stillness. Across the grand dining hall, Tristan wore a sinister smile—exactly the reaction he'd been waiting for. He knew all too well that if someone could bring Soren to his knees, it would be their father. And Tristan would relish every second of watching that fall.

But Soren Kingsley was a man who had never bowed to anyone—not even as a child. He lived by his own rules, followed his own path, and never once allowed anyone to dictate his choices.

Eleanor's anxious eyes lingered on her son. She had known this confrontation was inevitable. She also knew her husband well enough—Alistair Kingsley's word was law, not just in the family but in the entire empire. No one disobeyed him. Not without consequence.

But she didn't want her son to be forced into a marriage. Not like this. Eleanor had always wished for Soren to choose love on his own terms, to find happiness—not duty.

She had watched her son grow into a cold and reserved man. Independent. Solitary. Never demanding, never indulgent like other heirs born into fortune. He built his world on discipline and silence, always keeping to himself, studying, working, evolving. Never asking for anything. Always alone.

Soren's voice broke the silence like a blade.

"Did you ask for my permission before deciding who I should marry?" His voice was low. Cold. Laced with quiet fury.

The room fell silent. Every family member turned to him, wide-eyed. Tristan, still leaning back in his chair, watched it unfold with amusement. Only Soren had the nerve to speak to their father like this—and live to tell the tale.

But Alistair Kingsley wasn't a man who backed down either.

"I don't need your permission," Alistair snapped, his voice sharp and commanding. "I am the head of this family. I've made a promise to the Williams family, and my word is final. You know better than anyone, Soren—my word is stone. Unbreakable."

Soren met his father's glare without flinching. "And you know me well enough to understand—I have never lived according to anyone else's will. I've done what I wanted. Built what I dreamed. You have no right to decide for me now."

Alistair's jaw clenched. "Don't forget—I'm your father. I have every right to make decisions for you. I've never stopped you from doing anything you wanted. Even when you created that empire worth two trillion dollars that nearly tainted our family's reputation, I stayed silent. But this... this decision you will follow."

Eleanor's hands tightened in her lap, her heart pounding. She knew both father and son—once they made up their minds, nothing could move them. Not logic. Not love. Not even each other.

As Alistair finished speaking, Soren's mind flashed with the image of Freya's innocent face. The one girl he had never planned to allow into his world… and the only one he could never let go of now.

He stood from his chair, calm but unrelenting. "You may be my father, but I have lived every moment of my life on my own terms. I have earned my power—every ounce of it—so no one can question my orders or my decisions. I've built an empire so vast even you can't control it. So don't think you can control me."

He turned, grabbing his coat from the chair, preparing to walk out.

Alistair's voice thundered after him. "You have no idea what you're saying, Soren! If you defy me, I will destroy your empire overnight! I can—and will—do anything to uphold my promise."

Soren paused at the doorway, his back still turned. "If you want to challenge me in the business world, be my guest. It would be an honor to finally meet someone who can match me. But I'm not weak. I won't be swept away by a passing storm."

And with that, Soren walked out of Kingsley Palace.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Alistair turned to Eleanor, eyes burning with blame. "This is your fault. You failed to raise him properly. Look at him—raising his voice to his own father."

He didn't wait for a response, storming out toward his private quarters.

Eleanor's eyes welled with tears. She was always the one stuck between them—husband and son, both kings of their own worlds, both refusing to kneel.

The rest of the family exchanged uncomfortable glances, then resumed their dinner. None of them wanted to get involved.

In the shadows of the hallway, Tristan stepped into his room and made a call. His tone turned dark.

"What did you find?"

The voice on the other end replied, "Nothing concrete, sir. Soren's security is airtight. CCTV footage from the hotel—deleted. We believe someone from his side erased it. But… we suspect there's a girl. Someone close."

Tristan's eyes gleamed. "Interesting. Keep eyes on him, but don't get too close. If Soren finds out, your body might never be found."

"Yes, sir." The line disconnected.

Tristan chuckled darkly to himself. "So… little brother has a love interest? How charming. He's always kept his distance from women. Now I simply have to find out who she is… the girl who managed to steal Soren Kingsley's heart."

---

Later that night…

Soren arrived at the villa. As he stepped into the room, his gaze instantly fell on Freya—curled up on the bed, shivering in her sleep. The cold must've seeped into her bones during the chaos.

For the first time in days, a faint smile touched his lips.

He dropped his coat on the sofa and lay down beside her. His arm slid around her waist, pulling her gently against him. Freya stirred at the sudden warmth, her body tensing as she realized who was beside her.

She tried to pull away, but Soren held her firmly, his voice a low whisper against her ear. "Sweetheart, relax. We're married now. Don't push your husband away… I just want to hold you tonight."

Freya froze.

She couldn't move. Her limbs wouldn't obey. Panic crawled through her chest.

Soren, gently running his fingers through her hair, murmured, "You know… the first time I felt your presence, it was like I'd known you forever."

There was something ancient in his voice. A longing. A memory unspoken.

But Freya, terrified and overwhelmed, kept her eyes shut, pretending to sleep.

Eventually, she drifted into unconsciousness.

Soren lay beside her, silently watching her sleep. He knew she was scared. He knew she didn't trust him. Yet he couldn't help but kiss her forehead before closing his own eyes, slowly surrendering to sleep.

---

The Next Morning

Freya's eyes fluttered open.

For a moment, peace lingered. She'd slept better than she had in days. But as reality came crashing down, her smile faded. This wasn't her home. And last night… wasn't a dream.

She remembered the wedding. The stranger she was now bound to.

She looked around. Soren was gone.

Relief swept through her like a breeze. She rose from bed, freshened up, and made her way downstairs.

Servants moved about quietly, attending to their tasks. One of them set breakfast on the long table for her. She hesitated, then sat down, eating quickly.

Still no sign of Soren.

Curiosity finally got the better of her. She asked one of the maids, "Is… he not here?"

The maid blinked. "Who, ma'am?"

Freya cleared her throat. "Soren… Soren Kingsley."

"Oh! Sir doesn't usually have breakfast here. He either eats at his office or skips it altogether."

Freya gave a small nod and began eating faster.

Her mother's surgery was today. She couldn't afford to be late.

After breakfast, she changed into a simple crop top and jeans and stepped outside. A black car waited for her. The driver bowed, "Where to, ma'am? I'll take you wherever you wish."

But Freya shook her head. "No. I've already booked a taxi. I'll go on my own."

She didn't wait for his response and walked off toward the villa gate.

She didn't want to owe that man anything—not a ride, not a favor, not even a glance.

Not now. Not ever.