Married To My Enemy

Chapter2

As Freya parted ways with her friend, she returned to her new home.

Not long after, the delivery man arrived with the kitchen utensils she had ordered. Wasting no time, she prepared a casserole and pizza—she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in two days. Once finished, she took a warm bath before sitting down to eat. Freya had always preferred homemade meals to restaurant food; she believed it was healthier and far less wasteful.

By the time she cleared the table, it was already 7:35 p.m.—and Hilary was still not home.

She remembered they had exchanged numbers earlier. With a small frown, she dialed his phone. But he didn’t pick up. Assuming he was still at work, she sent him a quick message, though her worry deepened. It was unusual for a white-collar worker to stay so late.

At that very moment, Hilary was inside a conference room. Every attendee had set their phones to silent mode—personal calls were forbidden. Glancing at his screen, he saw an unfamiliar number and, without hesitation, blacklisted it. He didn’t even bother to check further.

Sliding his phone back onto the table, Hilary raised his head—only to find every eye on him. His jaw tightened. With his usual stoic calm, he muttered, “Back to the meeting.”

Back at home, Freya sighed in frustration. She had only wanted to ask if he was coming home. The house was far too big, bigger even than her father’s mansion, and the idea of sleeping alone within its cavernous walls made her uneasy. She wanted Hilary there—not just as her husband, but as her protector. But he had blacklisted her number.

Maybe he wasn’t coming home at all tonight.

Resigned, Freya changed into her pajamas, bathed again, and let exhaustion pull her into sleep.

Meanwhile, Lucian left the conference room his family owned. Thoughts of Freya weighed on him as he decided to return home.

Inside the car, Hilary finally checked his w******p. Three missed calls flashed across the screen. Though the number wasn’t saved, the profile picture revealed the caller. Freya. The very number he had blocked.

His pulse quickened. Why was she calling me? Is she okay?

Immediately unblocking her, he dialed back. But this time, she didn’t answer. Panic stirred in his chest.

“Drive faster,” he ordered in a low, husky voice.

At home, Freya jolted awake to the sound of pounding on the door. Her heart raced as she descended the stairs. “W-Who’s there?” she asked, her voice trembling.

The reply came—a deep, familiar male voice that made her freeze.

She opened the door hesitantly and found Hilary standing there, his face shadowed with restrained anger. For a moment, she smiled awkwardly. “Oh… it’s you.”

But Hilary’s rage was already simmering. She hadn’t picked his calls. She had locked him out. For the first time in years, he felt utterly ignored and embarrassed.

Without a word, he brushed past her, his expression sour.

Freya pouted, sticking her tongue out behind him. “I thought you weren’t coming back tonight. I even called you, but you didn’t answer.”

Hilary didn’t spare her a glance. That was the weight of marrying someone without feelings. Cold distance was all that remained.

Upstairs, he showered, then returned to the dining room twenty minutes later. Sitting at the table, he ate in silence, though his icy gaze occasionally flicked toward Freya as she watched her K-drama with wide, sparkling doe eyes.

For some reason she wasn't feeling sleepy anymore.

He wasn’t a fan of late-night meals, but rejecting her cooking the very first time is not a right thing to do.

Finally, he broke the silence. “I’ll be home every day unless I say otherwise. I Don’t appreciate the way you locked me out again.

Let this not repeat itself.”

“But I—” Freya began,She wanted to tell him that she called him but he didn't pick any of her calls.

But he cut her off sharply

“I don’t have time for talks.”

Her lips trembled, but she bit them shut and nodded.

It was his house. His rules. But that didn’t mean she had to let his words pierce her heart.

“I guess I’ll go back to bed then. Goodnight,” she whispered.

“Reya.”

She froze, turning back slowly. “Yes?”

The name… Reya. He had called her that once, years ago, back in high school. Hearing it again sent a jolt of nostalgia through her chest.

She had thought he’d forgotten her—especially now, with the faint scar marring her temple.

But his face remained impassive, his voice cold as his eyes lingered on her.

The expression on his face didn't look like he remembered her at all.

“Don’t walk around in your pajamas next time.”

Freya’s cheeks flamed red. She hadn’t worn a bra, unfortunately his eagle-sharp gaze had caught her hardened n*****s beneath the thin fabric.

Mortified, she bolted upstairs and slammed her door.

But Hilary’s jaw tightened. He didn’t want any man—ever—to see his wife like that.

Later, in his room, he was faintly impressed at how quickly Freya had organized the place. For all her naivety, she had taken charge where he hadn’t bothered. Still, to him, she remained the same shy, wide-eyed girl who once couldn’t meet his gaze.

As Freya drifted into uneasy sleep, her thoughts tangled with confusion and unspoken emotions. But when she opened her eyes again, her heart leapt into her throat.

Hilary was there—sitting on her bed, h

is cold gaze fixed on her.

“W…what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice trembling.