Chapter 34: The First Royalty Payment

Two weeks after signing her contract, Freya received her first royalty statement. The amount wasn't enormous compared with the value of the luxury bags she had sold, but it meant far more to her. The bags represented money the original Freya had spent. The royalties were money Freya herself had earned in this world.

She checked the statement three times before transferring part of the payment into savings. Another portion went into a separate account for taxes and business expenses. Only a small amount remained for personal spending.

When Louis returned that afternoon, he found a bakery box on the dining table. "Another celebration?" he asked. Freya appeared from the kitchen holding two forks. "First royalty payment."

"Congratulations." He sat down. "How much?" Freya told him without hesitation. Louis nodded. "Better than you expected?" "Much better for the first period. The promotion helped."

She cut the cake. "It's funny. I've sold individual bags for more than this entire payment, but this feels better." "Because you earned it." Freya looked at him. "Exactly."

Louis understood more than she realized. Wealth inherited, accumulated, and earned through one's own decisions felt different. He had grown up surrounded by money, but the first company he had built independently still mattered to him more than assets worth many times as much.

Freya handed him a slice. "Don't get used to cake. We're still being financially responsible." "I thought we established that I'm not actually poor." "You're pretending to be poor, which means our grocery budget should maintain the performance."

Louis smiled. "Very dedicated." "Someone has to protect your disguise."

Later, Freya checked her secondhand listings. More than half the bags had either sold or received serious offers. The mountain in her room had visibly shrunk, giving her enough space to move around comfortably.

She decided to keep several classic pieces instead of selling everything. Financial independence didn't require rejecting every luxury. She simply wanted possessions to serve her rather than define her.

That evening, her editor called with another opportunity. The platform was considering an audio adaptation program for successful new novels. Freya's story wasn't selected yet, but its performance had placed it on an early evaluation list.

After the call, she immediately researched audio rights in this world. The market was smaller than the one she remembered, but growing quickly. If she negotiated carefully, the novel could become the foundation of several income streams.

Louis found her surrounded by notes. "New project?" "Potential adaptation." She explained the program. He listened, then asked several questions about rights duration, exclusivity, and revenue sharing.

Freya stared at him. "You really can't stop being a businessman, can you?" "Bad contracts are expensive." "True." She pushed the draft terms toward him. "Then look at this."

Louis reviewed the document and pointed out two clauses she should question if an offer arrived. Freya wrote them down. "Useful. Maybe I should hire you." "Can you afford me?" "You're unemployed. Your market rate has collapsed."

He laughed softly. Freya smiled and returned to her notes. Neither noticed how natural the scene had become: Freya building her new career at the dining table while Louis advised her, their separate lives gradually overlapping.

For Freya, the first royalty payment proved she could survive without anyone. For Louis, watching her celebrate it created a different realization. The more capable she became of leaving whenever she wanted, the less willing he felt to imagine the apartment without her.

Before bed, Freya recorded the royalty payment in her spreadsheet and added a new long-term target beneath it. She wanted her writing income to cover all personal expenses before the apartment lease ended. If she could achieve that, every decision afterward—whether staying, leaving, or starting something new—would be hers alone. She closed the laptop feeling satisfied, unaware that Louis had begun measuring the same six-month deadline very differently.