26.
If, on the day of Freya’s eighth birthday, it had been Tristan who discovered her rather than himself, their lives might have turned out completely different.
‘If that had happened, would you have looked at Tristan with eyes like these?’
Max scoffed inwardly, his hand instinctively brushing against the corners of his wife’s eyes to verify what he saw.
Does she even know? Even though they are destined for divorce, she still welcomes his touch. She still naturally leans her small frame against him whenever his hand makes contact.
Just like now. Her turquoise eyes were fixed on him, as they always were. Even if the person reflected in those depths was merely a prince who existed only in her fantasies.
‘If we part ways, will someone else be reflected in those eyes?’
Max’s hand, which had been stroking the corners of her eyes, cupped her cheek.
“……Max?”
The woman didn’t think to pull away, simply looking up at him. Within those clear, lake-like eyes, a mixture of confusion and blind affection shimmered transparently.
That couldn’t be true.
Just as it was in the past, just as it is now, and just as it will be in the future. The only person whose image those eyes would hold with such profound intensity was Max Russell.
Fifteen years of obsession shouldn’t be a sentiment so easily shaken off, right? Isn’t that so, Freya?
A base sense of satisfaction soothed his cluttered mind. It seemed it was time to admit the ambivalence within him.
The vague sensation he felt when he saw Freya drifting away on the day they signed the divorce papers, and the more deep-seated emotion he felt whenever he thought of Erle Tristan.
Max Russell wants to be free of Freya Blanc. Yet, at the same time, he does not want Freya Blanc to be free of Max Russell.
It was a contradiction he couldn’t explain to himself, but it was the truth. In the end, while he pretended to be composed on the outside, he was just as broken a man as she was.
A sudden heat surged through his body. Max gave a bitter smile and removed his hand from her soft face. With a look of studied indifference, he took a step back.
“I released the business announcement article today.”
“…I know.”
The woman, who had been instinctively following his retreating hand with her gaze, shifted her eyes to his face. She answered calmly, as if nothing had happened moments ago.
“Is that what you came to tell me?”
“Starting tomorrow, we will be issuing shares at the stock exchange. Anyone interested in the business will be able to buy our stock.”
It was a flimsy excuse to justify why he had come to her bedroom. Yet, his wife shattered his expectations perfectly.
“Yes, I was planning on buying some anyway.”
“…You’re going to buy stock in our company?”
Was she studying how to appear suspicious to him? When Max asked, not hiding his dissatisfaction, Freya answered as if pointing out the obvious.
“I am, after all, your business partner. Besides, where else can one find an investment as profitable as the railway business these days?”
She wasn’t wrong. If it had been anyone but her, Max would have agreed entirely.
In his mind, the image of his wife looking at him with desperate eyes, begging for his trust, overlapped with the Duke blowing smoke in his direction.
‘Did your father tell you to buy it?’
Max swallowed the question.
‘Did the Duke tell you how the Russell Family’s canal business was framed as a fraud?’
This, too, was a question he could not voice—a question that would never receive an answer even if he asked.
“So, Max, this once, please believe in me.”
Freya’s words echoed in his ears. Does she know what it means to him to believe in her?
Auguste’s concerns had been correct. He was weak toward the woman before him.
In the depths of his mind, where he weighed doubt against trust, the Duke’s face vanished, leaving only her. Max clicked his tongue inwardly and replied in a hardened voice.
“…Do as you wish.”
“Thank you.”
For trusting me. Surely, that was what she meant to add. With a bitter feeling, Max turned away.
“I’ll be going now.”
“Yes. Thank you for coming by to tell me.”
Freya called out just as he reached for the bedroom door.
“Max.”
He turned. His wife stood there, no longer madly screaming or clinging to him.
She stood at a distance where he could reach her if he only extended his hand, her posture defenseless, as if she would willingly accept whatever he chose to do.
“Even for a single moment… did you ever love me?”
Her voice trembled.
…Had he ever loved Freya Blanc?
He did not know. Max Russell’s life had revolved solely around her since the days when his parents’ affection was all the love he knew.
Like a moon orbiting the earth, his life repeatedly moved away from her against his will, only to be drawn back.
He had hovered by her side like a terminally ill patient, waiting fifteen years for the day she would finally grow tired of him and pronounce the end of their game.
But, defying everyone’s expectations, the day the noble daughter grew tired of the shiny, hollow toy that was Max Russell never came.
And here they stood, as husband and wife. With an obsession too toxic to call love, and a facade built entirely of lies.
If the moment should come when they were no longer by each other’s side, he could barely imagine what that life might look like, but one thing was certain.
A relationship filled with such illusions must end.
And so, if the day comes when we are freed from the things that have imprisoned our lives, perhaps then, we might truly…
Another foolish thought. Smirking inwardly, Max looked into the turquoise eyes that held a glimmer of expectation.
“Freya, you said you would take me out of this.”
Instead of answering her question, he spoke like a prayer.
“I hope you succeed.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“My son, do you have a moment? There is something I wish to say.”
As he emerged from Freya’s bedroom, Mathilde was waiting in the hallway. Now that Freya had quieted down, his mother seemed determined to stalk him every time she visited the estate.
“What is it this time? If it concerns Freya, you need not say another word.”
“…Very well, that is not what I intended to talk about.”
The cold, clipped attitude stung, but her request took precedence. Mathilde swallowed her displeasure.
“You heard from the butler that I decided to host a salon next Saturday, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“I know you are busy, but I believe everyone would be delighted if you made an appearance.”
Did she even know the business announcement had been released today? It was hard to mask his bitterness upon seeing that even on a day like this, his mother’s own agenda came first.
Furthermore, as he wondered why she had waited outside Freya’s bedroom to ask this, he sensed someone behind him.
“Master, Grand Madam.”
The maid who had come up the stairs stopped, looking bewildered. Holding a tray, she tilted her head, glancing at the two uninvited guests who rarely frequented this area.
“Were you looking for the Madam?”
Before Mathilde could respond, Max spoke.
“Milla, I’m finished with Freya for now, so you may go in.”
As he stepped aside from the bedroom door, Max offered his arm to Mathilde.
“Mother, I don’t believe this is a conversation for the hallway. Let us go to your room.”
“I only did so because I feared you were busy… very well.”
Mathilde glanced at the maid, then placed her hand affectionately on Max’s arm for all to see.
“Regardless, this is the first salon held under the Russell name; wouldn’t it be the polite thing for you, as the head of the household, to at least offer a greeting to the guests?”
Max continued down the hallway at a brisk pace without answering. Mathilde kept pace, passing the stunned maid.
She had been agonizing over how to lure her daughter-in-law into attending the salon, and hearing Max was home, she had sought him out without a second thought.
Her son had been visiting quite frequently of late, and whenever he did, he was always occupied with his wife. It was not a situation she was particularly fond of, but today, she thought she could use their proximity to her advantage.
As she had anticipated, she had seen the maid coming up the stairs just as she finished speaking to her son. Mathilde hadn’t missed her chance.
She hoped the maid would relay their conversation to Freya effectively. No matter how much Freya had changed, there was no way she could remain calm and ignore the news that Max would be attending the salon.
‘Max is coming, and she thinks she can just sit that out?’
No matter how much she struggled, insisting she was no longer a child, Freya Blanc was ultimately in the palm of her hand.
Just as Mathilde wore a triumphant smile, Max said something that soured her mood.
“Mother, I apologize, but the company is very busy right now.”
Since this had been part of a strategy to draw Freya into the salon, she hadn’t thought her son’s response would be critical. But upon hearing the refusal, a surge of indignant bitterness welled up inside her.