Chapter 294: Chapter 294 Freya
Alexa sat with her legs crossed on the velvet armchair, sipping delicately from a porcelain cup as though she were born to be served. "Thank you, Archer!!" she had said brightly, flashing a smile toward her husband. But even as she spoke, her thoughts turned bitter. Why on earth did he have to hire someone so pretty? A personal maid should look plain, invisible. Ugly would have been fine. But this one—this Freya—slim, delicate, eyes too big, that small, innocent-looking face... she looks like a storybook heroine, not a servant.
Archer, oblivious to his wife’s fuming, had simply nodded. "Take care of her," he said curtly to the maid.
Freya bowed her head with practiced grace. "Yes, sir," she replied softly, her voice as sweet as her appearance. When she lifted her face, she smiled politely, and the faint dimple on her left cheek showed.
Alexa’s eyes narrowed instantly, her smile faltering. A dimple too? Of course. How perfect. She pressed her lips tightly, fighting the urge to scoff until Archer finally left for the day.
The moment the door closed, Alexa turned her sharp gaze on Freya. "So, what’s your name?" she asked, her tone clipped.
The maid straightened politely. "Ma’am, my name is Freya," she said, her lips curving into that same infuriatingly sweet smile.
Alexa’s eyes flashed, her patience snapping. "He’s gone," she snapped coldly, leaning forward. "Why are you still smiling like that? Drop the act. Let me make one thing very clear—he is my husband."
Freya’s eyes widened at the sudden outburst. Her smile faltered, her dimple disappearing as her expression sobered. "Alright, ma’am," she said quietly, her tone stripped of warmth.
Alexa leaned back, satisfied for the moment, but when she saw Freya’s downcast face, her irritation spiked again. "The fuck!" she barked. "Why do you look like you’re at a funeral? My husband pays you well. Your job is to attend to me, not sulk. You’re my maid, and your life’s motivation should be serving me. Do you understand?"
Freya swallowed hard, her lashes lowering as she nodded quickly. "O-okay, ma’am."
"Good." Alexa tossed the empty cup onto the table with a clink. "Now get me another coffee."
Freya turned and disappeared into the kitchen. When she returned, she placed the cup carefully in front of Alexa. The rich aroma filled the air as Alexa sipped, savoring it for a moment. Then she put the cup down. "Bring me another," she ordered carelessly.
For the first time, Freya hesitated. Her green eyes flickered nervously as she wrung her hands. "Ma’am... you should drink coffee in moderation," she said softly, her voice laced with genuine concern. "Too much can make you sick."
Alexa’s lips slowly curved into a smile but it wasn’t warm. It was sharp, icy, dangerous. She tilted her head, studying the maid like a snake eyeing prey. "Oh?" she said smoothly. "Since when does a maid tell her mistress what to drink?"
Freya’s eyes widened. She shook her head quickly. "I-I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean—"
But Alexa was already rising from her seat, her smile growing sharper. "Careful, Freya. You’re not here to worry about me. You’re here to obey me." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping, her eyes narrowing. "And if you forget that again, you won’t be here at all."
Freya swallowed hard, bowing her head instantly. "Yes, ma’am," she whispered.
Alexa smirked, satisfied, before reclining back into her chair. "Now," she said casually, picking up her cup again, "go brew another one. And make it stronger this time."
Freya returned carefully, balancing the steaming cup on the porcelain saucer. Her movements were quiet and graceful, almost too careful, as though she feared even the sound of her footsteps might anger Alexa. She set the cup gently before her mistress and stepped back with a small bow.
Alexa lifted it, blowing lightly across the surface before taking a slow, deliberate sip. For a heartbeat her expression was calm, almost unreadable. Then suddenly, she recoiled dramatically.
"So hot!" she hissed, glaring at Freya as if she had been served poison. Without warning, she flung the cup forward.
The coffee splashed violently against Freya’s arm, soaking through the thin fabric of her sleeve. A sharp cry tore from her throat before she could stop it. The scalding heat bit into her skin, burning deep, leaving her arm raw and red within seconds.
"Ma’am—!" she gasped, her voice trembling. She clutched at her arm instinctively, her lips quivering as pain radiated through her. Tears welled in her green eyes, threatening to spill.
Alexa leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs elegantly, her smirk cruel and unbothered. "If you can’t even serve a proper cup of coffee without trying to burn me, then perhaps you should be the one burned instead," she said coldly, her eyes glittering with malice.
Freya stood frozen, her breath shaking as she fought to keep her composure. She wanted to cry out, to defend herself, to remind Alexa that she had only been worried for her. But all she could do was bow her head, her tears slipping silently down her cheeks.
"Pathetic," Alexa muttered, swirling the last drops of coffee in the bottom of the cup before setting it down with a careless clink. "Go fix your face. I don’t want to see you looking like a wet cat while you’re serving me."
Freya bit her lip hard, forcing herself to nod. "Y-yes, ma’am," she whispered, her voice breaking. She turned quickly, clutching her scalded arm against her chest, her tears dripping onto the floor as she hurried out of the room.
Behind her, Alexa leaned back into her chair, smiling with satisfaction. She didn’t care about the spilled coffee, the burn, or the pain. All she cared about was reminding Freya who held the power in this house.
Freya slipped quietly into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a trembling hand. The moment the lock clicked, the tears she had been holding back spilled freely down her cheeks. She pressed her back against the cold tiled wall, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, clutching her scalded arm tightly against her chest.
The pain was unbearable—sharp, throbbing, raw. The skin on her arm burned as though fire had seared into her veins. Every breath she took shook with the effort of swallowing sobs. She lifted her sleeve, her eyes blurring as she saw the angry red mark spreading across her delicate skin.