STIGMA

At night, the spacious living room glowed under bright lights as two people sat across from each other, a divorce agreement resting between them.

Kristian Shaw, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, exuded an air of cold detachment. His sharp features remained unreadable, his presence commanding and intimidating. His piercing gaze settled on the silent woman opposite him, his eyes inscrutable.

"We'll divorce on Monday," he declared, his voice firm and emotionless. "Aside from the compensation in the agreement, you may request anything else you need."

"Why so sudden?" Freya Briggs asked, her voice quieter than usual.

Kristian's answer was blunt. "Ashley is back."

Freya knew exactly who Ashley was. After a brief pause, she replied, "Okay."

Kristian hesitated, caught off guard by her immediate acceptance.

Freya opened the divorce papers, her thoughts drifting to the past.

Two years ago, they had met at a nightclub. She had been weighed down by worries; he had been nursing a broken heart. A few drinks later, they found solace in each other's company, talking late into the night.

There had been no impulsive one-night stand—just a quiet parting afterward.

Three days later, he had returned with his assistant to propose marriage. And she had agreed.

After getting married, he had treated her well—tending to her needs, drying her hair with gentle hands, and solving her problems before she even voiced them.

Their relationship had been perfect—until six months ago, when a single phone call changed everything.

Overnight, he grew distant, his warmth replaced by icy indifference.

That was when she learned the truth: Kristian had married her because she bore a faint resemblance to his lost love, Ashley Bradley.

The memory made Freya press her lips together before she asked lightly, "You said I could ask for compensation, right?"

"Yes," Kristian replied flatly.

"Anything I want?" She lifted her gaze to him, her delicate face devoid of its usual brightness.

For a fleeting moment, guilt flickered in his chest. "Yes."

He had already resolved to grant her reasonable demands.

After all, she had been good to him all the time.

Freya's voice was steady. "Then I want the most expensive car in your garage."

"Fine," Kristian agreed.

"A villa in the suburbs," she added.

"Done," he said.

Freya smiled. "And a share of the money you've earned in the last two years."

For the first time, Kristian's composure cracked. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if questioning whether he'd heard correctly. "What did you say?"

Freya, unfazed, repeated her demand. "Our earnings during the marriage count as marital property, don't they? Based on my calculations—excluding investments—your salary and dividends over the last two years amount to several billion. I don't want much—just 40%."

A heavy silence settled between them.

Then, she added, as if casually mentioning the weather, "Of course, you're welcome to take 40% of my income too."

Kristian's patience finally snapped. "Freya!" His voice carried an edge of disbelief.

Had he really felt guilty earlier? How had he never noticed her greed?

Freya met his gaze evenly. "Is that not acceptable?"