Chained To The Cold CEO: Why Won't My Husband Let Me Leave?

"The number you are calling is currently unavailable. Please try again later." A monotone recording echoed through the sterile emergency room.

The nurse, clearly growing restless, eyed Freya Brown. "Still can't get through?"

Freya set her phone aside and mustered a weary smile. "Would it be alright if I just sign for it myself?"

With a sigh, the nurse handed her the anesthesia consent form, muttering about the holdup.

Freya had already called Alexander Scott seven times and had yet to hear his voice. If this had been a matter of life or death, she thought, she might have been gone before her husband even noticed.

Numbness settled into her hand after the anesthetic took effect, and the doctor began plucking out bits of glass from her palm, while asking about how she got injured.

Nothing about her accident was overly dramatic-she just could not sleep and figured she might as well do something useful. Somehow, her attempt at cleaning a window had ended with glass's sudden burst and shattering everywhere.

While the doctor worked, he glanced up and asked if she always had trouble sleeping.

Freya shook her head and said that most nights she slept just fine, but tonight was different. There had been too much on her mind.

Her phone buzzed, cutting the conversation short.

She reached for it, swiped to unlock, and noticed a message from an unfamiliar number. Attached with it was a video.

Though the lighting was dark and unclear, Freya instantly recognized Alexander.

He sat in the suit she had chosen for him that morning, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, his tall frame relaxed on the sofa. No matter where he went, those sharp features always seemed to draw every eye in the room.

Still, no warmth lingered in his eyes. Even when he smiled, there was a distance that kept everyone at arm's length.

But as Freya watched, it became clear just how close he had gotten to the woman beside him.

Three years had passed, yet she immediately recognized Yvonne Barnes.

Alexander's heart had always belonged to Yvonne.

Perched right next to him, Yvonne wore a vintage black silk dress that made her smooth skin and delicate features stand out even more. Her time overseas had given her an elegant, artistic charm. She gazed at Alexander with so much affection, her feelings plain for anyone to see.

Laughter and playful shouts from the crowd urged the two of them to drink together. Yvonne's cheeks turned pink, though her eyes never left Alexander, hopeful and eager.

Alexander kept his easy, careless smile as he lifted his glass, his eyes cool and unreadable.

The video stopped there.

Freya held her phone tightly, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

Suddenly, it all made sense-why Alexander had not picked up her calls.

Of course, he would be with Yvonne the moment she came back.

The thought had nagged at Freya all night, which was exactly why she could not sleep.

Knowing something and seeing it for oneself were never quite the same. No matter how hard Freya tried, she could not bring herself to act indifferent.

Her right hand, freshly wrapped in bandages, shook as she typed a message to Alexander. "It's time to finalize the divorce. I'll see you at the courthouse at ten tomorrow."

Not once in three years of their marriage had Alexander ever looked at Freya with anything resembling affection. Every glance from him carried nothing but coldness or contempt.

He never hid his resentment. His aunt, Tricia Scott-the person he despised most-had been the one to force him into this union. For Alexander, marrying Freya had meant three years spent apart from the woman he truly loved.

Back then, Freya had also felt trapped. Her grandfather, Brett Brown, was battling cancer, and the life-saving treatments cost a fortune. When Tricia offered a way to help her family in exchange for marriage, Freya had no room to refuse.

Guilt had lingered with her from the beginning. She poured herself into caring for Alexander, meeting his every need, and quietly swallowing all his harsh words.

Part of her hoped he might recognize her efforts one day-perhaps show her the smallest bit of kindness after all she had done. But when Freya needed him most, needing only his signature for a routine medical procedure, he was off somewhere drinking with the woman he adored.

A heavy ache settled in her chest as tears spilled through the cracks between her fingers.

By the time she finished her IV at the hospital and made her way out, darkness had already settled over the city. She had barely turned the key in her car's ignition when her phone rang, the custom ringtone signaling it was Alexander.

Logic told her to ignore it, but habit overpowered reason and she picked up.

She forced her voice to sound indifferent. "Hello?"

The voice on the other end was unfamiliar. "Freya, Alexander's had too much to drink at Nocturne. Come and take him home."

Before she could reply, the call disconnected.

She had no intention of going, but a new worry crept in-if Alexander ended up spending the night with Yvonne, would he even bother to show up for their divorce tomorrow?

Her mind raced for a moment, and then she started the engine and drove toward the nightclub.

Once she parked the car, Freya glanced down at the white bandage wrapped around her right hand. For a brief moment, Yvonne's poised image from the video flashed in her mind. She peeled off the bandage, not wanting to show weakness or walk in looking defeated.

Tonight, dignity mattered more than comfort. Even if she had lost, she would not let them see her fall apart.

Stepping into the private lounge, Freya found the place littered with people slumped over from too many drinks. Alexander sat apart from them all, in the same pose as in the video-eyes closed, seemingly asleep, looking far more peaceful than he ever did awake.

Still, her attention first landed not on Alexander, but on Yvonne, who leaned against him, flushed and delicate from the alcohol.

Yvonne's rosy cheeks only added to her charm.

Freya could not help but notice her own reflection in the glass-a hurriedly thrown-on cardigan over her loungewear, no makeup, no style. She looked every inch the tired housewife, and the contrast with Yvonne's elegance was almost painful.

The moment Yvonne saw her at the door, she quickly straightened, feigning surprise. "Mrs. Scott, please don't take this the wrong way. I just had a few drinks too many and got a little dizzy, so I leaned on Alexander for support," she explained, her tone innocent.

Freya instantly heard the layer beneath Yvonne's soft words. It was the kind of gentle innocence Yvonne used to disguise her own intentions, a talent she had polished well over the past three years.

Before Freya could respond, another voice cut in, "Yvonne, don't be ridiculous! Everybody knows Alexander likes you. He can't stand that woman, and he hates hearing anyone call her 'Mrs. Scott'."

The remark came from Bailee Barnes, Yvonne's younger sister.

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, each person looking at Freya with the same old disdain they always showed her.

Yvonne rushed to play the peacemaker. "Bailee, that's enough. Whether Alexander cares for her or not, she's still his wife," she said, chiding her sister with just the right amount of gentleness.

She turned to Freya with a sweet, apologetic smile. "Please don't mind her. She's always been spoiled."

Freya felt no anger rise in her. "It's alright. She's telling the truth. Alexander does hate me."

Bailee let out a sharp laugh. "At least you finally admit it."

Freya gave Yvonne a measured smile. "Isn't it funny? No matter how much Alexander can't stand me, I'm still his wife. And no matter how much he prefers you, you're still just the other woman."

The line hovered in the air, sharp enough to draw blood.

Yvonne's face, pink from the drinks, faded to white.

"You have some nerve! You're the reason Alexander and Yvonne aren't together. If you never showed up, they'd be a real family with their own beautiful children by now." Bailee's anger flared.

A bitter laugh almost escaped Freya. Children? Maybe someone should ask if Alexander was ever capable of giving Yvonne a child at all.

For three years, she had nursed him back to health, handling every little detail so he could have a normal life.

Now, after all the work she put in, she was supposed to step aside so Yvonne could take her place?

The thought soured her mood even more the longer she dwelled on it.

Freya had no interest in trading insults with Yvonne and Bailee anymore. She crossed the room, leaned down beside Alexander, and called out his name softly. "Alexander, wake up."

He barely stirred, lost to the world and completely oblivious to the noise around him.

Bailee could not resist taking another jab. "Alexander, open your eyes. Your housekeeper has arrived," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Laughter broke out across the group at the jab.

One of the men chimed in, "Where did Alexander even find such a loyal housekeeper anyway? I heard she's been feeding him homemade soup every single day for three whole years."

"If you looked like him, women would be falling at your feet too. She's just another admirer." Someone else laughed.

The room watched Freya as if she were the butt of a long-running joke.

Freya ignored the laughter and focused on Yvonne. "How much do your paintings go for these days? A hundred thousand each maybe?"

"Why do you even care?" Before Yvonne could say anything, Bailee jumped in with a sharp glare, stepping in to defend her sister.

Freya shifted her gaze to Bailee. "And what about you? How much does your family hand you every month? A hundred grand, two, maybe five hundred?"

Bailee scoffed, "Why is that any of your business?"

Freya only smiled. "No reason at all. I was just wondering if you rich women make more from your allowances than I do as a so-called housekeeper. See, I make a million a month-and I have unlimited access to Alexander's credit card."

The moment Freya spoke, the room fell into a heavy silence.

The words about her unlimited access to Alexander's credit card struck a nerve. Jealousy flickered in Yvonne's eyes, quick but unmistakable.

Freya savored the hush that followed, taking a small pleasure in their stunned faces.

She knew exactly how their allowances stacked up against hers-none of them could match what she received, and every one of them lived with credit limits.

With a cool, dismissive smile, she slipped her arm under Alexander's and started to guide him toward the door.

The bartender rushed over, ready to help.

Just before stepping out, Freya paused and glanced back at the group. "Tonight's all on me. Go wild. If you spend less than a million, you're insulting Alexander's reputation."

Finally, she felt as though some of the weight she carried had been lifted.

She left the club with her head held high, and the bartender helped her get Alexander settled in the car. Freya thanked him, slid behind the wheel, and drove away.

At Bayview Villa, their home, Freya barely managed to get Alexander onto the sofa before he suddenly opened his eyes. The charm that usually hid behind those eyes whenever he was with Yvonne was gone, replaced by pure coldness and open contempt.

So he had not been drunk at all. He just sat there and did nothing when Yvonne and the others humiliated her.

No matter how often this happened, it still stung.

Freya swallowed the pain and kept her tone steady. "Do you want me to fix you something to eat?"

Alexander's lips curled into a sneer. "Didn't you say you'd never cook for me again?"

His words carried a hint of accusation, as if he could see right through every mask Freya tried to wear.

She kept her voice light. "Pouring you a glass of milk won't take much time."

Freya used to make soup for Alexander every single day. He never enjoyed it. Every time, she coaxed and pleaded, but all he ever did was complain that it tasted bitter, like medicine.

He never realized that it was indeed medicine-every bowl brewed to help restore his health.

People whispered that Alexander had no interest in women, and even he seemed to believe he was immune to temptation. No woman, not even one naked in his arms, could spark his desire.

The truth was, he never stood a chance. Chronic illness had left him too frail, and by the time he was grown, his body simply refused to cooperate. Children were out of the question.

Tricia's reason for forcing him into marrying Freya had nothing to do with fear of Yvonne's influence or power. She chose Freya simply because Freya could actually help him recover.

That secret, though, was something Alexander would never uncover.

"Oh, really? How kind of you, indeed!" Alexander scowled, misreading her intentions.

Freya changed course, her tone turning businesslike. "Fine, no milk. Let's just talk about the divorce. Did you see my message? Tomorrow at ten. Don't let your assistant book anything. Let's make it official."

He said nothing, refusing to look her way.

"I'm sorry for standing in Yvonne's place all this time. Just give it one more night, and I'll be out of your life by tomorrow." A dull ache tugged at Freya's heart, but she forced herself to say nothing more.

Alexander should have felt relieved hearing Freya agree to a divorce, but the way she spoke-so calm and detached-only made his anger flare.

His voice turned cold. "So, is this you moving out of the way for me and Yvonne, or am I the one stepping aside for you?"

Freya blinked, caught off guard. "What are you trying to say?"

"You know perfectly well what I mean," he retorted, his gaze sharp.

She met his eyes, refusing to let him intimidate her. "If you have something to say, then just say it."

"Don't play innocent. Tricia just died, and now you're eager to leave. Isn't it because you know you won't be getting that monthly million anymore? You're well aware that without her, I wouldn't even let you live in this house, let alone give you unlimited access to my cards. Someone like you, willing to toss your self-respect aside for money, will definitely start hunting for your next target right away," Alexander scoffed.

His words were cruel, but Freya had heard worse over the years. That did not mean they stopped hurting.

In the first year of their marriage, every cent she received from Tricia went straight to her grandfather's cancer treatments.

After Brett passed away, the monthly payments all went to rare herbs and remedies to detox Alexander's body, carefully saved for when he needed them most.

Just last month, a miracle pill sold for twenty-four million at an exclusive auction-Freya was the one who bought it.

That miracle pill was now working its magic inside Alexander. The transformation was undeniable-suddenly, he no longer struggled to show real interest in women.

With all the resources at his disposal, it would take Alexander no time at all to trace exactly how her fortune was spent.

He refused to believe anything good about Freya though, and he clung to the idea that she only cared about money. She figured that even if the truth stood right in front of him, he would still twist it into another ploy she supposedly planned.

"Did I say something that struck you so hard you forgot how to answer?" He pushed for a reaction when she stayed quiet.

Freya had heard so many bitter remarks from him that she grasped how to mask her bitter feelings and let every insult slide past her.

They were ending things tomorrow, and she reminded herself that she only needed to get through one more night.

She steadied her thoughts before offering him a gentle smile. "If believing that helps you sleep at night, then go ahead."

She rose from her seat, ready to walk away.

Right as she moved past him, he caught her wrist and tugged her back onto the sofa.

His height closed in on her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned closer.

"Have you lost your mind?" The closeness made her tense, and she felt danger creeping in on her.

Alexander stared down at her with a coldness that made her uneasy. "Freya, you've been Mrs. Scott for three years, and you've never once acted like it. Do you think our family takes in freeloaders? I want to know if you're really worth the million you take every month."

He didn't wait for a reply and pressed his mouth against hers with a roughness that held no affection.

Freya reacted on instinct and tried to push him away, but her hands went still when a sudden thought crossed her mind.

Seeing her resistance fade only made Alexander's contempt twist deeper in his eyes, yet his body leaned into her, driven by an urge to overpower her completely.

No explanation crossed his mind for the way he suddenly found himself pulled in by Freya's presence.

For three years, they'd shared the same bed, yet he never once allowed himself to think of her with anything more than indifference.

It made sense to Alexander that her new obsession with chasing after another man was what set him off this time.

Their marriage was ending, yet he still wanted to leave behind a memory she'd never forget.

Kindness never factored into how Alexander treated her. He harbored nothing but contempt for Freya.

Tears streamed down her face, but it wasn't his cruel words that broke her this time-it was the sharp, relentless pain.

With nothing left to lose, she fought back. Her nails scratched at him in desperation, which only spurred Alexander to become even harsher, his anger matching her defiance.

Morning light hadn't even settled across the room when the villa's landline jolted Freya awake. Still half-asleep, she reached for the receiver and murmured, "Who's calling?"

Her throat felt raw, and even that small sentence scraped on the way out.

"Freya, what happened to you? Are you feeling sick?" On the other end, Zoie Lambert's worried voice rushed in.

Heat crept up Freya's cheeks, and she couldn't bring herself to admit that Alexander had kept her up all night-not even to her best friend. She forced out a reply instead. "It's nothing serious. I just caught a cold. Why are you calling so early?"

Zoie sounded baffled. "We planned to celebrate your freedom today, remember? I've been waiting at the restaurant forever, and you never showed up or picked up your phone."

That reminder snapped Freya out of her daze. She bolted upright and checked the clock, and her stomach dropped. It was already eleven.

Their appointment to finish the legal procedure for their divorce had already passed.

Her eyes swept across the bedroom, and there was no trace of Alexander anywhere.

She cursed him silently, certain he had slipped out without saying a word.

Later, at Luna Restaurant, Zoie fixated on the bandage wrapped around Freya's hand. After hearing how she got hurt and how she had dealt with it alone, Zoie's temper flared. "Alexander is unbelievable! What kind of husband just disappears when his wife is injured? You needed him to sign the paperwork, and he ignored every call so he could mess around with some other woman. Then he even let you face her insults?"

Her outrage echoed through the restaurant, and several customers turned their heads. Freya lifted a hand to cover part of her face and whispered, "Please, Zoie. Keep your voice down."

"That's not happening! I haven't even given you a proper lecture yet. Have you lost your senses? Are you suddenly second-guessing this divorce?" Zoie nearly exploded.

Freya tried to explain herself in a rush. "It's not like I'm backing out. We just didn't get to do it this morning."

She remembered calling Alexander, but his assistant answered and brushed her off, claiming he was caught up in a meeting.

"Don't tell me you missed it because you slept in!" Zoie was having none of it. She gave Freya a dramatic eye roll. "Three years of marriage with nothing between you, and now you jump into bed with him the night before you're supposed to end things? Is that your idea of a dramatic farewell?"

Trying to defend herself, Freya sighed. "So what if I wanted to let loose a little before it's all over?"

A low laugh cut through their conversation.

Freya's head whipped around, and she found herself staring into Alexander's cold eyes.

He looked like he'd stepped straight out of a fashion magazine cover, and standing next to him was another man in an equally sharp suit, whose laughter still lingered.

She recognized Timothy Fowler instantly, Alexander's closest friend.

Right beside Timothy stood Yvonne. After hearing Zoie's outburst and putting the pieces together, Yvonne's cheerful expression faltered for a moment.

Clearly, Yvonne never saw this coming. She had purposely sent Freya that video last night, even arranged for someone to call her, all in hopes of stirring up trouble.

Everything should have gone according to her plan. Alexander was supposed to want nothing to do with Freya, not end up in bed with her.

If anyone understood Alexander's self-control, it was Yvonne.

However, when it came to Freya last night, all of Alexander's self-control seemed to vanish.

Maybe something inside him had shifted, and he hadn't even noticed.

Three years spent oceans apart, but Freya never left his side. Who's to say he didn't start seeing her differently somewhere along the way?

The idea stung, and jealousy wormed its way deeper into Yvonne's chest, souring her feelings toward Freya even more.

While Yvonne stewed in silence, Timothy decided to stir the pot. He grinned at Freya and asked, "So, Mrs. Scott, how was it last night?"

Freya would have ignored a question like that. This time, though, she caught the warning glint in Alexander's eyes and couldn't resist. She flashed a playful smile. "Honestly, it was nothing to write home about."

It was the sort of answer bound to bruise any man's ego, but for someone as proud as Alexander, it was a direct blow.

The look he shot Freya turned colder, nearly dangerous.

She, however, seemed perfectly content. No longer feeling the need to look after his feelings, she matched his glare with a confident tilt of her chin.

The shift in her attitude left Alexander unsettled. He realized Freya wasn't the gentle, patient woman she used to be, not since Tricia's death. Now she stood her ground, tossed sharp words his way, and refused to back down.

But as soon as he remembered how desperate she was to move on, it all made sense. With nothing left to gain here, why would she bother pretending?

"Three this afternoon," Alexander said curtly and turned on his heel, making it clear he wanted nothing more to do with the conversation.

"Alexander." Yvonne hurried to catch up to him, but not before sending Freya one last glare as she disappeared around the corner.

"You've got guts, Freya, calling out Alexander like that. I'm impressed," Timothy remarked with a low whistle, his tone a strange mix of awe and amusement, before trailing after the others.

She didn't waste a second thinking about Timothy's words. Instead, her thoughts drifted to Alexander's announcement-three o'clock at the courthouse, where they would finalize the divorce.

With that settled, a wave of relief washed over her, and for the first time all day, her appetite returned.