Chapter 6

I sneered inwardly.

This was his so-called love—whether for me, or for Freya, it was laughably cheap.

"I won't be like I used to be," I looked up at him, my gaze calm and emotionless. "In this house, I'm your wife, not the housekeeper. Freya's affairs, Winter's affairs—none of that has anything to do with me. I'm just living my own life."

"Okay, okay, whatever you say!" Michael agreed hurriedly, afraid I'd change my mind.

He reached out to take my suitcase, his face breaking into that fake, gentle smile again. "It's cold outside. Let's not leave. I'll have the servants make you something to eat."

He thought he'd won, thought that a few empty promises would trap me back in this cage.

I said nothing more, letting him put the suitcase back where it was, then turned and walked out of the bedroom.

Getting my mother's belongings back from the White Mansion would have to wait.

The priority now was to keep Michael stable and take back everything that was mine.

The next day, I stayed in my room, using my laptop to handle the final procedures for several asset transfers.

My phone suddenly rang. It was Amelia.

I swiped to answer, and before I could speak, Amelia's sharp, nasty voice came through. "Ophelia, I heard you went back to the Johnson Villa? What, can't live without a man? And here I thought you had some backbone."

Her tone was full of gloating. Marlowe must have told her about me being kicked out and then coming back on my own.

"My business is none of yours to judge," I said coldly.

"I'm just kindly reminding you not to forget what you promised Dad. If you keep getting tangled up with Michael and upsetting Mr. Wilson, when Dad blames you, don't expect me to put in a good word for you!" There was a threatening edge to Amelia's tone.

I could almost picture her smug face right now.

She probably thought that my current situation depended entirely on her and Marlowe's "generosity," giving me this way out through marriage to the Wilson family.

I laughed lightly, my fingers tapping on the keyboard with a crisp sound. "Amelia, did you forget? If I don't marry Mr. Wilson, it'll be your turn."

The other end of the line went silent instantly.

I continued unhurriedly, "I'd advise you to behave yourself. If anything goes wrong with this marriage—say, if I accidentally let Mr. Wilson know that the White family actually has another daughter who's more 'eager' for this match—guess what? Do you think he might 'marry' you too, just to show his sincerity to the White family?"

"You... what are you talking about!" Amelia's voice took on a crying tone, clearly scared by my words. "Ophelia, you're crazy!"

"So keep your mouth shut," I cut her off coldly. "Otherwise, I don't mind dragging you to hell with me."

With that, I hung up and blocked her number.

With people like her who bully the weak and fear the strong, reasoning doesn't work. You have to threaten them with what they fear most to make them shut up completely.

In the evening, Michael came home.

Unlike usual, he came back especially early today, holding a large bouquet of champagne roses.

He handed me the flowers with a flattering smile. "For you, to celebrate us getting back together."

I took the flowers expressionlessly and casually stuck them in the empty vase by the entrance, not even bothering to say thank you.

Michael's expression froze for a moment, but he quickly recovered.

He came over and wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, his tone intimate. "What do you want for dinner? I'll have the chef..."

Before he could finish, there was a cry of alarm from upstairs, followed by Winter's panicked shout. "Freya! Freya, what's wrong? Someone come quick!"

Michael's face changed. He immediately let go of me and rushed upstairs.

I stood there without even lifting an eyelid.

The same familiar act again. Whenever my relationship with Michael showed any sign of improvement, Freya would always have some "perfectly timed" incident.

I leisurely changed my shoes and walked into the living room to pour myself a glass of water.

Michael's anxious footsteps came from the stairs as he rushed down carrying Freya, who was pale-faced with her eyes closed.

Winter followed behind, shouting in panic, "Quick! Take Freya to the hospital! She just suddenly fainted!"

Freya lay weakly in Michael's arms, her long lashes trembling slightly, but at an angle I couldn't see, the corner of her mouth curved into a smug smile.

She probably thought that as long as she got sick, all of Michael's attention and guilt would return to her, and I would become that neglected background character again.

Michael, carrying her, paused as he passed me. He looked at me with a complicated expression, as if he wanted to say something.

Winter, on the other hand, glared at me directly and accused me shrilly, "This is all your fault! You must have upset Freya again today! If anything happens to her, I'll never forgive you!"

Faced with her accusation, I merely glanced at her coolly, then shifted my gaze to the "unconscious" Freya in Michael's arms. My tone was calm and flat. "Since she's so seriously ill, why not just call an ambulance and send her to the emergency? If you carry her around like this and miss the best time for treatment, what then?"

My words were like cold water poured over their panic.

Michael's face immediately turned ugly, and Winter was momentarily speechless.

And Freya, who had been "unconscious," had her eyelashes trembling even more uncontrollably.

I couldn't be bothered to watch them act anymore. Carrying my water glass, I walked straight to the sofa and sat down, leisurely turning on the TV. The huge screen began playing financial news, its brilliant images and the host's clear voice making this family's farce look even more ridiculous.

My indifference was clearly more embarrassing to them than any argument.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Michael holding Freya, standing in the middle of the living room, caught in a dilemma.

Winter was shaking with anger, her pointing finger trembling, but she couldn't get any words out.

In the end, Freya couldn't keep up the act.

She weakly opened her eyes and tugged at Michael's sleeve, her voice barely audible. "I'm fine now. I just felt a bit dizzy earlier. No need to go to the hospital. I don't want everyone worrying about me."

As she spoke, she looked at me timidly, as if she'd suffered some great injustice but was holding it in.

"See, it's all because of you that the family atmosphere has become so toxic.

I couldn't even be bothered to spare them a glance. I just turned up the TV volume.