Alpha's Rejected becomes the Lycan's Obsession-Chapter 92: Concerning Reports

The luxury sedan cruised smoothly along the highway, the hum of the engine barely audible over the soft classical music drifting through the cabin. Freya sat in the backseat, one leg crossed over the other, her forehead lightly pressed against the cool window. Her gaze followed the blur of trees, houses, and distant hills, but her mind wasn’t with the passing scenery.

She hadn’t slept well the night before. Something gnawed at her, something uneasy. Her thoughts chased themselves in circles. Had something gone wrong with the family business? Was it about her mother? Her fingers tightened slightly around the hem of her dress.

Her father’s tone, though not angry, had held weight, urgency that wouldn’t let her rest. Normally, she could sleep through a storm, but last night, she tossed and turned, haunted by possibilities. She glanced at her reflection in the glass, calm on the outside, but inside, she was anything but.

The cab finally slowed, gravel crunching under the tires as it approached the familiar gates of the Stanford mansion. Her gaze lifted slowly. There it was, unchanged, intimidating in its grandeur. Creamy white pillars held up a wide balcony, trimmed hedges still lined the path, and the fountain in the front lawn burbled softly. The house stood as if it had been frozen in time.

The driver stepped out and opened her door. Freya smoothed her coat and stepped into the soft light of the morning. Almost instantly, the side gate creaked and a familiar figure emerged—Mr. Harris.

"Miss Freya!" he called out, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

She smiled, a real one this time. "Mr. Harris," she said, moving toward the older man who had been head of security at the mansion for as long as she could remember. He looked thinner, his hair now completely white, but the kindness in his eyes was the same.

"You’ve grown even more beautiful," he said proudly, pulling her into a careful hug. "Your mama’s twin."

Freya chuckled softly. "You haven’t changed at all."

"Well, my knees might disagree," he replied with a laugh. "But I’m still standing."

"I’m glad you are."

After a few more pleasantries, she made her way to the entrance. The butler opened the massive oak doors just as she reached them. The moment she stepped into the foyer, a sense of nostalgia wrapped around her. Same marble floors, same soft lighting, same lingering scent of polished wood and lilacs.

She walked further in, and then paused.

There, in the grand living room, her father sat in his usual chair, back straight, hands clasped, watching her entrance with his signature composed stare and a smile on his lips. That wasn’t what stopped her.

It was the man seated next to him. Gary.

Her brows pulled together sharply. What in God’s name was he doing there?

Before a single word could leave her lips, hurried footsteps echoed behind her, and her mother burst into view, wrapping her in an eager embrace before Freya could even process what was happening.

"My baby," her mother whispered into her ear, holding her tightly. "Oh, my darling girl. Look at you." She pulled back, scanning her face. "You’ve lost weight. You’re not skipping meals again, are you? And your hair—it’s shorter. Are you sleeping well?"

Freya let out a shaky breath, still processing the unexpected welcome. "I’m okay, Mom. Promise."

Her mother cupped her face gently, searching her eyes as if they could reveal every truth her mouth wouldn’t say. "You always say that."

"Because it’s true."

Satisfied—for the moment—her mother stepped back, still holding one of her hands.

Seeing her mother in good health brought a wave of relief crashing through her. That had been one of her fears. The urgency in her father’s message had led her to worry something terrible had happened to either of them. But here her mother stood, radiant as ever, fussing over her like old times. frёeωebɳovel.com

With her pulse steadying, she turned her attention to her father. He rose from his seat and extended his arms. Freya stepped into the embrace, which was brief but firm.

"Welcome home, princess" he said into her ear, his voice low and steady.

"It always feels good to be home, Dad," she murmured.

As they separated, she finally looked toward Gary again, unable to pretend he wasn’t there any longer. His presence in this house was the biggest question mark of them all.

She crossed her arms slowly. "What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you again, Freya," Gary said with a tight, practiced smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Freya narrowed her gaze, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. Seriously? What kind of answer was that? She had asked a direct question and instead of answering, he was playing nice like some old acquaintance. The nerve.

She frowned, the lines between her brows deepening. "You saw me two days ago," she pointed out coldly. "Why are you acting like it’s been years?"

Gary shrugged, his demeanor far too casual for her liking. "Is there a law stating that I cannot be here?"

Her suspicion flared. Something was definitely off. She didn’t appreciate the evasion, and she hated being made to feel like the outsider in her own family home.

Before she could snap back with something sharp, her father’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. "He is my guest, Freya."

That silenced her momentarily. Her lips parted, but no words came. She clenched her jaw, swallowing whatever retort she had.

"I’ll be upstairs," she said coolly, turning on her heel. Without sparing Gary another glance, she climbed the stairs and retreated into her old bedroom.

At that point, Freya decided there was no use panicking. Whatever was happening, letting her emotions spiral would only cloud her judgment. One way or another, she would get to the bottom of it.

Time crawled by in slow, uncomfortable silence. Freya remained seated on the edge of her bed, arms folded tightly across her chest. She stared at the room’s familiar wallpaper, the same pale gold color it had always been, but it brought her no comfort. A knock suddenly echoed from the door, making her straighten.

She stood, brushing her hands against her jeans before moving to open it. Her mother stood there, but to Freya’s irritation, she wasn’t alone. Gary stood beside her, hands in his pockets.

"I’ll leave you two to talk," her mother said gently, then turned and disappeared down the hallway without giving Freya a chance to protest.

Freya’s eyes narrowed. "What do you want?" she demanded once her mother was gone. Gary hadn’t spoken, just stared at her like he was trying to figure out what to say.

"I came to tell you that I’m leaving," he said finally, his voice unusually calm. "That’s not a crime, right?"

Freya crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe, arching a brow. "Why do you need to tell me you’re leaving? Did you tell me when you decided to come? You didn’t even have the decency to warn me you’d show up in my father’s house."

Gary sighed and took a few steps closer, his expression heavy with something between regret and frustration. "Look, I’m sorry, Freya. I know I messed up—"

"There’s nothing to be sorry about," she cut in sharply. "You can leave. That’s what you came to tell me, right?"

"You see, that’s your problem," Gary snapped, the mask of calm slipping. "You won’t even let me talk. How do we resolve anything if you won’t hear me out?"

"There’s nothing to resolve," Freya replied coldly, her voice void of emotion. "I’ve heard enough of your lies, Gary. I don’t need more of them cluttering my life."

Without giving him another glance, she turned and walked back into her room, slamming the door firmly behind her.

Leaning against the door for a second, she exhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat to steady.

Minutes passed, and when the next knock came, it was softer, more hesitant. She hesitated before opening the door again, half-expecting Gary, but this time it was her parents. Her father walked in first with a familiar air of authority, while her mother followed, closing the door gently behind her.

They settled into the room without asking—as if they were stepping into a time machine, back to when she was just their daughter coming home from school, not a grown woman navigating complicated relationships.

Her father took the sofa, adjusting his tie like he always did when he had something serious to say. Her mother perched beside her on the bed, patting her leg lightly, comfortingly.

"I know you’ve been wondering why I asked you to come home," her father began, his voice steady but low. "And I think it’s time I explained."

Freya sat up straighter, bracing herself. "I’d appreciate that."

He nodded, looking her directly in the eyes. "It’s because I received some reports. Concerning ones."

Freya’s brows furrowed. "What kind of reports?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said, "That you’ve been seeing Mr. Baliante. Of the Xylonica Group."

The words hit her like a blow to the chest. Her breath caught.

"What?" she whispered, her voice nearly failing her.

"Yes," her father confirmed, his expression unreadable. "Multiple sources. Freya," her father said more gently, "please tell me it isn’t true."