My Pretty Sweetheart (Arianna) novel Chapter 1850

Was he acting like a spoiled child?

He was over 1.8 meters tall, dressed in leather and jeans. He was a hunk outside, but was a little puppy on the inside. How interesting.

Had Freya changed her preference?

Wait! Wife?

I took a deep breath, shocked. Freya had only been abroad for a little over a month and she was married?

Freya saw my confusion and quickly explained, "Stop imagining things. Things are not what they seem."

"Why not? You will marry me eventually. By then, you will be my wife," Cyril didn't give up and argued.

"Shut up." Freya rolled her eyes coldly. "It was just a one-night stand."

Cyril's expression turned more aggrieved. "So, you won't take responsibility then, my dear?"

Freya was so mad that she glared at him.

I couldn't help chuckling. Who would have thought that the sharp- tongued Miss Moore would be speechless one day?

"I think you should first comfort this child's injured heart, and then have a good talk." I was probably a bad friend.

Freya sighed helplessly and said, "You head back first. Leave this man to me."

Hearing this, I had no choice but to take my leave after bailing Cyril out.

I patted Freya's arm to calm her down. Then, I got back in the car and left.

As the car pulled away, I subconsciously looked into the rearview mirror. Cyril kept trying to inch closer to Freya, but she avoided all of his attempts, not giving him any chance to do as he wanted.

Honestly, although Freya was much older than Cyril, they looked like a perfect match when they stood together. They were entangled with each other, and there was even a hint of sweetness and love between them.

"Okay, that's great."

Roger quickly arranged a room for me. Mullen stayed in the living room downstairs, closest to the main hall, the best place for her to handle any oncoming assault.

After my shower, everyone had already gone to sleep.

I found Hendrix's parents' room based on what I could recall. The door was unlocked, and I opened it gently.

When the light was turned on, the room instantly lit up.

The furniture and decoration were still the same as before. Even the curtains that had been used for so many years were replaced with the same pattern and design.

I walked around the room, not finding anything strange. There was a single sofa in front of the French window; that must be Hendrix's usual spot.

When I approached the sofa, I saw a photo frame on the floor with the glass pieces shattered all over.