The Unexpected Enemy

CHAPTER 2: A CELEBRATION AND AN UNWANTED REVELATION

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy drapes of Freya’s bedroom, casting golden hues over the intricate patterns of her canopy bed. Yet, it was not the gentle embrace of the morning sun that pulled her from slumber, but rather the commotion echoing through the grand halls of the Delos Santos estate.

Voices overlapped, some hurried and commanding, others excited and eager. The rhythmic clatter of dishes and trays being set upon tables resonated from the lower levels, accompanied by the scent of freshly baked bread and brewing coffee wafting through the corridors. The estate, which had been so eerily quiet the night before, was now alive with activity.

Freya rubbed the sleep from her eyes, momentarily disoriented by the abrupt shift in atmosphere. The celebration—her father’s grand birthday gathering—was finally here.

Rising from bed, she stretched before making her way toward the window. Below her, the vast garden had been transformed overnight. White silk drapes adorned the towering gazebo at the center, and tables were elegantly arranged beneath strings of delicate lanterns, their bulbs unlit but ready to bathe the evening in a soft glow. The servants moved in practiced efficiency, setting up the final details, while florists arranged bouquets of roses, orchids, and carnations in every available space.

With a sigh, Freya turned away. This was how things always were—extravagant, meticulously planned, and meant to uphold the prestigious reputation of the Delos Santos family. But for all its splendor, she couldn’t shake the feeling of exhaustion settling in her bones.

She knew how these nights played out: laughter, pleasantries, and the careful dance of social maneuvering, where every word carried weight and every smile concealed unspoken intentions.

By midday, the mansion had become a whirlwind of preparations. The kitchen was a symphony of clinking utensils and sizzling ingredients, while the halls filled with the sound of hurried footsteps and polite exchanges. Servants, dressed in crisp uniforms, moved swiftly, ensuring every detail was perfect. Freya, though obligated to oversee some of the arrangements, found herself retreating more often than not, preferring solitude over the suffocating demands of the celebration.

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By the time evening arrived, the estate had transformed into a vision of opulence. Chandeliers bathed the ballroom in golden light, casting soft shadows against the polished marble floors. The guests began arriving in waves, each dressed in their finest garments—women in shimmering gowns, their jewels catching the light, and men in finely tailored suits, exuding confidence and status.

Freya stood near the entrance, watching as carriages and luxury automobiles lined the driveway, their occupants stepping out one by one. She recognized many of them—business magnates, government officials, and socialites who thrived in this world of wealth and power.

At the heart of it all was her father, Gustavo Delos Santos, standing on the stage with effortless poise. His presence alone commanded respect, his sharply tailored suit reflecting his status as one of the most influential businessmen in Central Spain. A waiter handed him a microphone, and with a dignified clearing of his throat, he addressed the crowd.

"Good evening, dear friends and esteemed guests." His deep voice carried across the ballroom, commanding the full attention of the gathering. "I am truly honored to see so many familiar faces gathered here tonight. This is not just a celebration of another year in my life, but also a testament to the success and blessings I have received. None of this would have been possible without our Lord and, most importantly, the unwavering love and support of my family. So tonight, I invite you all to enjoy the festivities and celebrate with me. Thank you."

A round of applause erupted through the venue as Gustavo stepped down from the stage, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with his well-wishers.

Freya remained in place, offering polite smiles to passing guests but keeping her thoughts elsewhere. She scanned the crowd, searching for one particular family—the Suarez family.

Moments later, her gaze landed on them.

Ariana Suarez entered first, her golden gown flowing elegantly around her as she stepped into the ballroom. Beside her walked her parents—Cerio and Lysandra Suarez—their presence as commanding as ever. Lysandra carried a neatly wrapped gift in her hands, its silver wrapping paper catching the light. Its size and shape revealed nothing of what lay within.

Before Freya could approach, her mother, Carmen Delos Santos, intercepted them with an enthusiastic smile.

“My dear friends! You’ve finally arrived!” Carmen greeted warmly, extending her arms in welcome. “Come, take your seats and join us for dinner.”

Lysandra returned the smile, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. “Of course, Carmen.”

The two women exchanged pleasantries as they made their way toward the dining area. Freya, trailing a few steps behind, took note of Cerio’s unusual behavior. Unlike his wife, he seemed distracted, his gaze flitting across the room as if searching for someone.

Carmen, noticing this as well, tilted her head in curiosity. “Cerio?” she called gently. “Is something the matter?”

The man blinked, as though pulled from deep thought. “Huh?”

Lysandra turned to him, arching a brow. “What’s the matter with you? You look like you’re searching for someone.”

Cerio let out a soft chuckle, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s nothing. I was just looking for Gustavo. Where is he?”

Carmen gestured toward a corner of the room. “He’s over there, speaking with some of our guests.”

“Alright then,” Cerio murmured, nodding.

The group took their seats, and soon, the conversation shifted to the very topic Freya had been dreading—arranged marriages.

“You know,” an older gentleman at the table mused, “these unions between powerful families ensure stability. The younger generation must understand their duty.”

Another guest chimed in, “Indeed. Love is secondary in matters of wealth and legacy.”

Freya felt her stomach twist. This was not the first time she had heard such conversations, but tonight, it grated on her nerves more than usual. Her mother had always held firm beliefs about marriage being a strategic alliance rather than a union of love.

Beside her, Ariana sat quietly, picking at her plate, her expression unreadable.

Freya clenched her hands beneath the table, forcing herself to remain composed. But as the discussion grew more insufferable, she knew she could endure it no longer.

“Pardon me,” she murmured, rising from her seat. “I need to use the bathroom.”

No one questioned her departure.

As soon as she was free from the suffocating conversation, she exhaled a slow breath, making her way toward the hallway.

The cool water from the bathroom faucet provided a brief reprieve, but the lingering discomfort in her chest remained. She needed air—fresh air, away from the stifling expectations that surrounded her.

Instead of returning to the ballroom, she took a detour toward the poolside.

The night breeze caressed her skin, carrying the faint scent of roses and freshly cut grass. The moon’s reflection shimmered on the water’s surface, casting an almost hypnotic glow.

But just as she was about to take a seat by the edge of the pool, movement behind a cluster of flowering plants caught her attention.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She wasn’t alone.

Carefully, she stepped closer, peering past the leaves.

And then she froze.

Her father stood there—speaking in hushed tones with Lysandra Suarez.

A strange tightness gripped her chest.

Why were they hiding? Why were they speaking in secret?

And then—she heard it.

“Gustavo, you will do exactly as I say,” Lysandra murmured, her voice laced with quiet venom. “If you don’t, I won’t hesitate to tell Carmen about us. Imagine how that would affect your perfect reputation… your precious family.”

Freya’s breath hitched.

Her father’s eyes widened in shock, his usual composed demeanor cracking.

What was Lysandra talking about?

Before she could process the weight of what she had just heard—she sneezed.

Both figures turned sharply, their eyes locking onto hers.

And in that moment, Freya knew she had stumbled upon something she was never meant to hear.