Freya stared at the man in disbelief, her lips twitching as she struggled to process what he’d just said. It sounded absurd—impossible. Yet here he stood, calm and unwavering, as if he truly believed his own words.

"My mother?" Freya finally repeated, letting out a hollow laugh. It started small, but it grew louder and sharper, cutting through the stillness of the garden. She crossed her arms, shaking her head. "You’re telling me my mother sent you?"

The man didn’t flinch or respond to her laughter. His silence only irritated her further.

"Listen," she snapped, taking a step closer, her eyes blazing with anger and disbelief. "My mother has been...