Chapter 5 The Weight Of Silence

• "Diana, what's that tone?"
• Richard's heartbeat quickened as he gazed at Diana, though he quickly suppressed the feeling. Gently poking her with a cotton swab soaked in medicated wine, he asked with a frown.
• "Didn't you want me to beg?" Diana turned to face him directly, her eyes clear and unyielding.
• What is this? You ask me to beg, but act like it's an inconvenience, she thought.
• Richard felt a spark of irritation rising, but just as he opened his mouth to speak, the screech of brakes pierced the silence. The car lurched violently to a halt, throwing them off balance.
• Diana stumbled into Richard's chest, her face colliding with him—hard. A dull ache spread through her nose as tiny stars danced across her vision.
• "How do you drive?" Richard asked coldly. His tone carried an edge sharper than usual as he turned toward the driver.
• Diana sat back, cupping her nose in one hand. Noticing this, Richard swiftly reached over and gently pulled her hand away, rubbing the bridge of her nose to ease the pain.
• "I'm sorry, Mr. Miller," the driver on the other car stammered. "Someone stepped in front of the car."
• Diana directed her gaze forward. There, under the dim glow of the streetlights, stood a slender woman being supported by an attendant. Her figure was delicate, the curve of her face pale and frail beneath the veil of her hat. A white dress hung loosely from her slight frame as if it were too heavy for her trembling body to bear.
• "Freya."
• "Freya!"
• Both Richard and Diana muttered aloud simultaneously, their tones worlds apart.
• The figure was unmistakable—the very woman who had long occupied Richard's dreams and distant thoughts.
• Although her face was obscured by the hat’s veil, Diana recognized her immediately. Memories stirred within her—the mixture of delicacy and fragility that was so characteristic of Freya Desmond. It had been years since they last crossed paths, yet nothing about her seemed to have changed—except perhaps an added air of vulnerability.
• Standing there, Freya appeared lost and unsteady, her small hands clasped together like a frightened sparrow. She conveyed innocence in its rawest form despite being entirely at fault for stopping in the middle of the road and causing such chaos.
• Before Diana could dwell on this thought further, Richard's voice broke through: "Speak properly in the future," he muttered to Diana under his breath, "especially when you're dealing with another man."
• Without waiting for any rebuttal or reply, he promptly jumped out of the car and hurried to Freya’s side, leaving Diana alone with a sinking sense of bitterness weighing on her chest. He reprimands me now? Yet we're on the brink of divorce—why does it even matter what I do?
• As the car door opened again, Diana was greeted by Freya’s trembling voice—soft and laced with sorrow: "Richard… I've been so worried about you."
• The sound clawed at Diana's nerves like nails dragging across a chalkboard; she couldn't help but shudder in discomfort. The overly clinging tone had once been unfamiliar to her, yet now it was stifling in its familiarity.
• Richard slipped off his coat and draped it over Freya's frail frame protectively. "Why are you out here dressed like this in such cold weather? You'll catch a chill." His voice held warmth Diana hadn't heard for years—if it had ever been there at all.
• Freya offered a trembling smile as though too weak to laugh earnestly: "Richard... I'm not cold." Then, glancing briefly at Diana, she added with delicate embarrassment, "I’m sorry… You know how easily I get nervous around cars." The words seemed deliberately intended for someone else's ears entirely.
• Diana chose silence over acknowledging the jab and busied herself with tidying up the external medicine kit in her lap while keeping her eyes lowered. However, Freya’s voice soon filled the air again:
• "Richard… I heard your grandfather's birthday is approaching. I wanted to choose something special for him but couldn’t decide… Oh! Running into you must be fate." Her contrived casualness was almost laughably transparent.
• What fate? You deliberately stopped this car yet still act like this is some twist of destiny? Diana bit back a sneer at the pretense but said nothing aloud.
• "Alright then," Richard replied after barely hesitating. “Get in the car.”
• The door was pushed open, and Freya along with her maid stepped inside.
• Although both were thin, the atmosphere inside the car immediately felt stifling, as if the space had shrunk.
• Diana quietly leaned further into the corner, unnoticed.
• Freya’s frailty was striking—a skeletal frame that made her seem as delicate as a withered lotus root, her exposed calves emphasizing this even further.
• Once seated, she removed her hat, turned toward Diana, and greeted her softly. “Does it bother you that we’re riding together?”
• At the sight of her face, it felt as if lightning had coursed through Diana’s body. She froze in place, shock rendering her unable to move. She didn't even notice when the small bottle of medicine in her hand tumbled to the floor.
• Freya’s right eye was obscured by a black cloth, while her left eye—the only one visible—seemed almost predatory as it fixed upon Diana without restraint.
• “It’s... fine,” Diana replied hastily, averting her gaze.
• But her mind was spinning. What had happened to Freya’s eyes? Wasn’t she known as a painter?
• “Did you notice my eye?” Freya's voice lingered in the air like an unsettling breeze.
• Her maid, Cassie, interjected tactfully, clearly defending her mistress. “The injury to our young lady’s eye is all thanks to you.”
• She continued without hesitation, “On the day of your wedding, Miss Freya rushed back from out of town just to attend. The weather was freezing and treacherous with snow everywhere. The car skidded and fell into a ditch… her cornea was damaged in the accident and hasn’t healed since…”
• From the driver’s seat, Richard coughed pointedly.
• “Cassie, stop speaking.” Freya interrupted with a hurried tone but maintained her grace. “This was my own mishap. It has nothing to do with Miss Campbell.”
• Diana caught that curious phrase. *Miss Campbell?*
• She wasn’t divorced from Richard yet… but it seemed her status had already diminished from wife to outsider.
• She mulled over this while piecing things together. Freya Desmond, an evidently proud woman, had injured an eye—a grievous blow for someone like her. She would have undoubtedly taken swift action to protect herself. It wasn’t surprising now that she had seemingly pressured Richard toward ending their marriage even before the agreed three-year term.
• Feigning indifference, Diana smiled faintly and said, “What an unfortunate occurrence. Is there any chance it could still be treated?”
• She silently wondered if consulting someone she knew could reignite some hope of recovery for Freya.
• But Freya quietly picked up Diana’s fallen medicine bottle and handed it back, expression softening into something serene and detached. “It’s of little concern whether it can be treated or not. I don’t mind… as long as I can stay by Richard’s side.”
• At those words, Diana dismissed any thoughts of seeking help for Freya herself. Clearly, this wasn’t about physical recovery.
• Richard turned his head slightly toward them. “Don’t worry, Freya,” he said calmly but with a shade of determination. “I’ll find a suitable cornea for you.”
• Freya gave him a gentle nod, watching him turn his attention back to the road ahead before shifting her gaze to Diana. Yet this time, that one exposed eye carried an unsettling chill through its stare.
• The rest of the ride unfolded in heavy silence, an awkward tension filling the air. Diana found herself yearning for an excuse to take a bus for the remainder of her journey.
• Breaking the spell, Richard spoke up again, directing his words at her. “Diana, didn’t you mention you wanted to prepare a gift for Grandpa? Let’s stop by somewhere so you can choose something he’ll really like.”
• *And what next? Stab me while he’s still smiling?* Diana dismissed the thought but complied without protest, nodding before following them into a nearby shopping mall.
• Inside the building, warm air circulated thanks to the heating system. Yet Freya visibly shivered upon entering.
• Cassie immediately retrieved a thermos containing warm water and offered it to her mistress. But after tilting it slightly with anticipation, Freya shook her head gently when no water came out.
• “My apologies, miss,” muttered Cassie nervously. “There’s no more water left—I’ll call someone to bring us another bottle.”
• Freya gently shook her head, exuding the demeanor of a delicate woman. "No, I can handle it for now. I'll drink some water after we're done picking things out." Her body trembled slightly, almost unnoticeable but constant, like a leaf quivering in the wind.
• Richard reached for the water bottle with a firm resolve. "How long are we supposed to wait? There's hot water in the mall. I'll go get some." His voice carried both determination and impatience as he added, "Stay here," directing his words at Diana. He had clearly anticipated her intention to slip away unnoticed.
• Diana had little choice but to nod in reluctant agreement.
• Once Richard was out of sight, Freya suddenly expressed a craving for ice cream. Cassie obligingly turned and left to fetch it.
• Ice cream? In this cold weather?
• Diana saw through the ruse. Freya had orchestrated this moment intentionally—she wanted a private conversation.
• Before Diana could utter a word, Freya broke the silence, her voice calm yet tinged with a subtle edge. "Richard has always been like this," she began. "Concerned about my every need, insistent that no one else can handle things properly. So, he just does everything himself, as always."
• Diana felt an instinctive aversion. She didn’t want to hear this, didn’t care for these details, and certainly didn’t want to engage in this conversation. But Freya's words landed with precision—every sentence pierced her composure, unraveling old wounds she thought were sealed.
• Yes, Richard Miller was meticulous—attentive even. Every detail of significant occasions in Diana's life had been planned and executed flawlessly: wedding anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine’s Day. Yet they were never truly his doing; Scott Biker had orchestrated it all while Richard remained absent from the process.
• And now, here was Freya Desmond—a single request for hot water, and Richard rushed off personally without hesitation.
• The contrast was undeniable and brutal. What had been cautiously buried within Diana now threatened to surface in glaring clarity.
• Her silence stretched thin until Freya broke it again. "You seem surprised by my eye injury," she said, her voice sharp enough to sting.
• Diana felt the accusation but responded evenly, though her own emotions churned beneath her calm exterior. "I truly didn’t know. Richard never mentioned it."
• "Of course, he didn’t," Freya replied, her tone carrying a faint trace of mockery. "You’re so thoroughly shielded."
• Realizing that her words had taken on an acerbic edge, Freya inhaled deeply, resetting her tone to its characteristic softness. "Forgive me," she said gently. "This matter... it started because of you. I overreacted."
• Diana shook her head slightly, indicating that she bore no resentment.
• But then Freya's gaze sharpened once more, her next words cutting straight through the air between them. "The entire Miller family was complicit in keeping this secret from you. You were deliberately kept in the dark."
• The words struck Diana like a cold wind slicing through layers of armor, leaving her heart to constrict under their weight.