Raisel’s POV
What the hell? I opened my phone to find a naked photo of Alaric with a ribbon tied around his d**k. The message read, “Be ready to go on a ride after the honeymoon.” What the actual hell? Is he seriously this inconsiderate?
“If you take me on a ride, you’ll end up dead,” I texted back coldly.
“s**t, my bad for sending that to you,” he replied. “It was meant for Davina.”
“Bad for her. Because that average-sized d**k of yours would bore the hell out of her just like the three years of our marriage did to me,” I shot back.
“Whatever, Raisel. Go shack up with Loser Soren and stop being such a sourpuss.”
“I’m just stating facts,” I responded. “Soren may not have the biggest d**k, but his maturity and kindness are more than you could ever have.”
“Raisel, what’s going on?” I looked up to see Soren standing there in athletic shorts, shirtless. Every day he just looks hotter, like the summer heat that only intensifies as the days go by.
“You’re red. What’s going on? Your silence is scaring me,” Soren said, concerned.
“Nothing, just a dull headache,” I lied. I glanced at the text Alaric had sent but didn’t want to open it, not wanting to fight with him. Soren sat next to me, and we watched an episode of ‘You’ on Netflix. Another text chimed in, and even Soren glanced at my phone. His face showed a hint of disappointment before he looked away. I quickly flipped the phone over, not wanting to get more riled up and take it out on him.
“Are you talking with Alaric?” he asked, not meeting my gaze.
“Not really. That asshole is just a pain in the ass,” I sighed. “He just boils my blood. Every conversation with him turns into a fight.”
“Block him,” Soren said, his tone more of a command than a suggestion.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snapped, still annoyed from my interaction with Alaric.
“It’s for your own good. You’re sulking and angry, and it’s not healthy,” he said calmly. I opened Alaric’s latest text. “SOREN IS NOT WHAT YOU THINK. ONCE YOU FIND OUT THE TRUTH, YOU’LL BE SHOCKED,” it read, followed by a picture and an agreement showing he’d sold the house. I blinked in disbelief.
“What’s wrong?” Soren asked.
“He sold the house, but that bastard didn’t give me my share. I put my savings from my part-time job into that place, but I was stupid enough not to put my name on the papers,” I hissed.
“How much money did you invest?” he asked.
“It’s not a lot. Forget it,” I sighed. “I don’t want anything from that man—not even the money I put in.”
“Come on, Raisel. Don’t be naive. Just tell me the amount, whether it’s small or not.”
“Thirty thousand dollars.” Soren nodded, then picked up his phone to show me something.
“I bought the house, and now you’re the owner,” he said, showing me the PDF of the agreement on his phone. My name was on it.
“Why… and Alaric didn’t know he was selling his apartment to you?” I asked. “Why is my name on it?”
“Alaric only sees money and nothing else. Consider this a gift from me to you,” Soren said. “You didn’t take anything from Alaric, even though you had every right to. You deserve support or at least the apartment you put so much effort into.”
Soren’s words surprised me. Could it be true, what Alaric had texted me? Why am I even questioning Soren? He’s a good guy, and this gesture is his way of acknowledging all those unappreciated years I spent as a housewife, years that Alaric never valued.
“Soren, this apartment must’ve cost you a fortune. I can’t accept such a gift,” I said.
“You can. Think of it as being paid back for the years you spent taking care of that house and that asshole,” Soren said through clenched teeth as he spoke the last part.
“It’s still too generous,” I started to say, but Soren placed a finger on my lips, silencing me. His eyes held a deep emotion. Before he could speak, his phone rang, and his expression darkened. I glanced at the caller ID—it was Davina. Soren quickly walked away to take the call, leaving Alaric’s warning echoing in my head. Why is she calling Soren?