After what Corrin revealed, Freya knew Adelyn would have questions.
She didn’t know if she would be able to explain herself when the mont ca. There was little she could truly clarify about what had been exposed —not without reopening wounds she had long tried to bury.
But if Adelyn asked ... she wouldn’t hide anything.
She would tell her everything —every truth, every stain —and leave the choice to her whether to believe it or walk away.
Adelyn paused and looked at her. Her gaze lingered on Freya for a mont —quiet, searching ... as if weighing sothing far deeper than re curiosity.
And just when Freya thought he would ask, Adelyn curved her lips into a smile and shook her head.
"There is no need for to ask anything you aren’t very comfortable telling, Sister Freya. You trusted when no one else did, and I will do the sa. I trust you with my career. I believe you will make shine."
Freya paused at her words. Adelyn had said it so easily, but she knew trust was never that simple —not when there were more reasons to doubt than to believe.
"You signed under our personal managent," Alia spoke, not able to hold herself back. "You know what that ans, right? Thatcher didn’t lie when he said your career could easily be destroyed without a banner na if soone decides to target you. Aren’t you scared?"
Adelyn’s smile deepened. "I was scared," she admitted honestly. "I even had second thoughts when he ntioned it so explicitly."
Alia frowned. "Then why did you still sign?"
Adelyn’s gaze shifted slowly to Freya before she answered in a tone of quiet certainty. "Because I realized Sister Freya is fully capable of protecting when the ti cos. Just like she protected you before. Isn’t that right, Sister Freya?"
She asked with a smile —the kind that made Freya’s lips curve as well.
Nodding, Freya humd softly, "Since you are now my artiste, I will protect you."
Adelyn turned to Alia and shrugged lightly, "See. That isn’t a big problem here."
Alia felt speechless. "Fine, don’t be too smug," she muttered. "Even if Freya says she’ll protect you, you can’t go looking for trouble. Don’t make things harder for us."
"I know," Adelyn nodded in understanding. "And rest assured, I will be good. I won’t go looking for trouble on my own."
"Are you sure on that?" Alia asked —not because she openly doubted her, but because sothing in her gut told her otherwise.
And little did she know, her instincts weren’t wrong. Managing Adelyn’s affairs would be far more complex. It would never be smooth —no matter how much they tried to keep things simple.
"Sister Freya," Adelyn said, not bothering to reassure Alia again. "I moved into a low-key residential society today. The place is good, affordable and safe. You don’t have to worry about anymore."
Freya nodded. "Good. Then don’t stay here any longer. You must be tired. Go back and rest."
Adelyn had been waiting to hear that. The mont Freya said it; she nodded and hurried out.
Alia watched her leave and sighed. "Freya, I am telling you —this girl will cause us more trouble than we can count on our fingers. She —"
Her words stopped mid-sentence when she noticed Freya’s expression change. The tension from earlier returned to her eyes, and her gaze grew distant ...
"Freya," she said gently, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Are you still thinking about Kathlyn?"
She asked, but she didn’t need an answer. She already knew.
More than anyone, Alia understood the weight of that na, that incident ... the wound it left behind ... the guilt Freya never truly escaped, even after years.
Her hand seized Freya’s shoulders lightly.
"Don’t bla yourself. You know what Corrin Thatcher is like," she murmured softly. "You can’t let his words or cheap tricks get to you. It wasn’t your fault. We both know that ... better than anyone."
Freya remained silent for a mont. Then she spoke quietly, her voice steady but distant.
"Alia ... go back first. I want to stay alone for a while."
Alia’s brows furrowed. "But Freya —"
"Please."
The word was soft ... but final.
Alia hesitated, searching her face as if hoping to find even the smallest sign that she might change her mind. But there was none.
In the end, she only nodded ... and quietly left the room. "I will leave you alone, but I am not leaving you. I am waiting for you right outside."
And with that, she closed the door after her.
—————
anwhile, the black Rolls-Royce drove into Sanctuary Heights.
As the car pulled outside the house, Ford announced quietly, "We have arrived, Sir."
The lights inside the car were off, yet even in the darkness, Dylan’s eyes seed to hold their own faint glow. He looked out through the window ... but didn’t step out imdiately.
Silence lingered inside the car for a mont —heavy, unhurried.
Ford waited patiently, already accustod to these pauses. His hand rested lightly on the steering wheel, unmoving, as though even the smallest motion might disturb whatever thoughts held his master still.
After a long stretch, Dylan finally shifted.
Pushing the door open, he stepped out slowly, his shoes touching the ground with quiet precision.
The night air brushed against him — cool, still ... almost watchful.
He straightened, his gaze lifting briefly toward the outline of the house before him.
Then he paused.
Sothing back in the car caught his attention.
His gaze drifted back inside the car —towards the rear seat where Adelyn had sat before.
There, lying carelessly against the dark leather ... was a scarf.
Soft fabric. Light in colour. Slightly creased, as if forgotten in haste. One end had slipped down towards the edge of the seat.
For a mont, Dylan didn’t move. The air around him seed to still further ... tightening into sothing subtle, imperceptible ... yet unmistakably heavy.
For noticed the shift in his attention and followed his gaze. Recognition dawned upon him.
"Oh ... this must be —"
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