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Chapter 13
“No, let me.”
Blake looked like he really might insist, so Freya reluctantly took the robe he offered. Blake smiled in satisfaction and pulled out a chair for her. Caught off guard, Freya sat down and looked at the steaming pancakes.
“Please, eat.”
After offering her food, Blake immediately began cutting into his own. Hunger gnawed at her, but Freya did not lift her fork.
Yesterday, she had witnessed her fiancé’s affair. Today, she was having breakfast with her mortal enemy. Her once calm and placid life, like a still lake, was in complete disarray, and she still couldn’t grasp what was happening.
“Not eating the food you’re served is considered an insult to your host, you know.”
Blake, already halfway through his plate, spoke with a faintly dangerous smile. Yes, at the very least, he was the one who had saved her.
No matter how much she disliked someone, if they had helped her, she had to show basic courtesy. That was the principle Freya had always been taught. Reluctantly, she picked up her fork and brought a piece of salad to her mouth.
Blake’s expression shifted slightly as he watched her chew. For several minutes, only the sound of cutlery clinking on dishes filled the silence between them. Finally, when coffee was served for dessert, Blake brought up the real matter.
“You said you’d repay me, didn’t you?”
“Yes. If there’s something you want, just say so. I don’t want to owe you anything.”
“Does that mean you’ll grant me anything?”
“I’ll do my best, within reason.”
Freya scanned his face uneasily, but his features were impossible to read. He was a businessman—skilled at hiding emotion.
Blake deliberately took his time, dropping two sugar cubes into his coffee. He stirred it a few times with a teaspoon before finally speaking.
“Then, work for me, Miss Swan.”
“…What?”
Freya gaped, unsure if she had heard correctly. Blake rested one elbow on the table and continued.
“Exactly what it sounds like. Come work with me. Don’t you want to be useful, even without the count’s title to lean on? I can help you.”
“So what you’re saying is, without belonging to the Count’s family, I’m useless?”
“Well. Interpret it however you like.”
Blake stared directly at her, his gaze so persistent that Freya flinched, though she did not look away. After a brief standoff, he smirked and elaborated.
“It’s nothing too difficult. I’m thinking of starting a furniture business, and I need a model with a noble image. You, Miss Freya Swan, are perfect for it. It won’t be much different from what you already do—just sitting there, looking beautiful.”
His words, laced with mockery despite the request, made Freya glare at him. He was every bit as arrogant and insolent as her father had warned.
She reminded herself not to stoop to his level and forced herself to relax.
“A model? That’s… rather surprising. I’ve never done such a thing. I’d be clumsy and no help at all. Besides, I’m soon to be married. Naturally, I don’t intend to have a job after the wedding—”
“Going back? To the fiancé who was in bed with his mistress on your engagement day? Are you out of your mind? Or maybe just a little slow in the head?”
“How do you know about—”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re a fool who can’t even grasp reality.”
“Good heavens, Mr. Harford! Can’t you show even a shred of courtesy?”
Freya shouted, shocked by his outrageous words. She had done nothing to deserve such insults.
Blake stood abruptly, towering over her before letting out a long sigh. When he raised his head again, his blue eyes glimmered with contempt, like a scolding blade.
“You clearly don’t understand your situation. Allow me to kindly enlighten you.”
He walked over to the window and began tapping the frame rhythmically with his finger.
Tok—tok—tok.
The steady sound drew her focus. Unwittingly, Freya’s eyes followed him.
His polished black shoes, perfectly pressed trousers, broad chest beneath his jacket, the powerful hand adjusting his tie, the luxury watch clasped around his wrist.
Her gaze traveled upward, past his throat where his Adam’s apple moved, to the sharp profile watching the world beyond the window.
Firm lips, a strong nose, glass-like blue eyes, and thick brows slightly furrowed. Freya swallowed hard.
“Your father’s sudden death has made things… complicated.”
His eyes suddenly shifted from the window to her. Startled, Freya quickly looked away, heart pounding as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. Blake chuckled at her reaction before continuing.
“As written in the will, Jacob Swan inherited the title, but he can only access nearly twenty percent of the estate—locked in a trust—if he marries you. If the plan had gone smoothly, marrying you would’ve solved everything. No problem.”
With every word, Freya’s face grew paler. The contents of her father’s will were known only to herself, Jacob, the lawyer, and a few relatives.
How could this man know it in such detail, as if he had the full text?
Blake ignored her shocked expression and went on.
“But there’s a twist. Jacob had a mistress, hidden even from Lancelot. You found out. If you were to marry another man with your dowry, Jacob would suffer a great loss. But your father, Lancelot Swan, wasn’t a man to be trifled with.”
Blake stepped closer. At the sound of his slow, deliberate footsteps, cold sweat broke out on Freya’s forehead.
When he stopped, his face leaned dangerously close. Freya froze, staring at her own reflection in his eyes, unable even to scream.
“Your father despised having his plans disrupted, even if it ruined his daughter’s life. He stated in the will that if you and Jacob weren’t married within three months of his death, the entire trust would be donated to the royal development fund.”
He lowered his head, pressing her with reality once more.
“In other words, unless you marry Jacob, you’re a penniless bride. No dowry. No options. And here I am, offering you the choice of independence.”
“How could you possibly know this?”
“I have many friends. And I make a habit of thoroughly investigating those I plan to employ.”
“I am not your employee. What right do you have to pry into my life?”
“Since I’ve decided to hire you, you’re already as good as my employee.”
“What?”
“Choose. Return to your disgraceful fiancé—or thrive under the protection of my company.”
His lips curled into a mocking smile as he looked her over.
“Of course, you could also marry a man who cares nothing for your dowry and only covets your beauty and reputation. But tell me, could you really endure such dishonor, Miss Freya Swan?”
It felt like a slap across her face. He drove nails into her heart with a casual smile.
Disgusting.
Yes, Blake Harford was insufferable.
Freya usually tried to see the good in people first. But for a man to leave such an impression on her—well, that was impressive in its own way.
She clenched her fists, eyes sharpening in spite of herself.
“And what business is it of yours? Whatever you say, I will become Countess Swan. And your insolent manner is offensive. Even in a changing world, Elvador still respects rank. I suggest you remember that.”
“Ha!”
Blake covered his mouth, shoulders shaking as he laughed for minutes on end. Freya trembled with fury as he looked at her with laughter still glittering in his eyes.
“Ah, forgive me. I didn’t expect Lady Freya to have such a sense of humor.”
No one in the kingdom could rival Freya’s composure. But Blake was a master at provoking tempers.
Furious, she shot up from her seat.
“I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Harford, but I cannot tolerate further insults. I’ll thank you properly another time. For now, excuse me.”
“Blake.”
He caught her wrist and murmured softly.
“Mr. Harford! Let go of me!”
“Call me Blake. Not Harford—Blake.”
Freya struggled to free herself, but when their eyes met, she froze.
His face was twisted with hostility. The hatred in his gaze left her momentarily speechless.
He growled again, low and dangerous.
“Call me Blake.”
