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

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.