Fiction Made Me His Wife (Freya and Louis) novel Chapter 32

Chapter 32 Testing the Waters

Chapter 32 Testing the Waters

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The laptop screen was still on the email inbox. From those lips that countless women had fantasized about came a soft sigh. Louis tapped his index finger on the desk, intentionally or not, in a rhythmic pattern. His brows furrowed slightly. After a while, he picked up his phone and made a call:

“Hello, Mr. Samuel? I wanted to ask–do you think it’s possible for someone to suddenly seem like a completely different person, even without having dissociative identity disorder or schizophrenia? Like, even their habits and worldview seem to have totally changed?”

A few minutes later, he ended the call and leaned back in his chair, relaxing his body. His expressionless face suddenly curved into a faint smile.

“Heh… spirit possession?”

The next morning, they had a feast for breakfast. Louis took his time finishing a bun, scooping up porridge one spoonful at a time while waiting for his cereal to cool. Then, as if something had sparked his interest, he suddenly looked up.

“What kind of stories do you usually write?”

Freya was happily munching on a steamed bun. She paused mid–bite. “Me? All kinds, I guess. I don’t really limit myself to one type, I want to try writing everything. But my favorites are time–travel stories–quick transmigration, crossover worlds, getting sucked into a book, that kind of thing. I love them all.”

“Then what do you think you were in your previous life, if you really did time travel?” Louis continued asking.

Freya tilted her head slightly, and without thinking too much, an image of her past life popped up.

“Probably someone pretty happy. A peaceful family, a fulfilling life. Loving parents, an only child, free to do what I wanted. Maybe the parents died suddenly one day, but I studied what I loved, never had to worry about food or money. Life was going okay. If I ended up time traveling, maybe it was because I got stabbed to death trying to save someone. Yeah, a really unlucky kind of death.”

As she said it, the memory of her bad luck resurfaced. She had just tried to help someone retrieve a stolen bag–who would’ve thought the thief would be so vicious and stab her right in the stomach? She’d never done anything bad in her entire life, and that was how it ended. If she hadn’t woken up to find herself inside a book, given a second chance at life, she would’ve died spitting blood from sheer frustration.