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

At 2:40, Freya sat waiting on a bench outside the courthouse, tapping her foot and checking her watch. 3:00 came and went with no sign of Alexander. She reasoned he might be caught in afternoon traffic. By 3:30, still alone, she pulled out her phone and dialed his number, only to be met with silence—he wasn't picking up. When the clock hit 4:00, Freya gave up waiting and hailed a cab straight to the Scott Group offices. Three years of marriage had made the building feel almost routine. Through rain or sunshine, she'd always delivered homemade tonic soup to Alexander. Today, however, she found herself halted at the entrance by a receptionist she'd never seen before. "Do you have an appointment?" the woman asked, her tone brisk. Freya realized the old receptionist—hired by Tricia—was gone, replaced after Alexander took over the company. She couldn't help thinking that Alexander must have truly wanted to erase every trace of his aunt. Without another word, Freya turned away and sent Alexander a pointed message, saying, "I'm downstairs in your lobby. If you don't want your new receptionist finding out I'm your wife, you'd better send someone to let me up." She was sure Alexander wouldn't want that part of his life made public. True to form, Alexander's trusted assistant—Rodney Clayton—appeared a few minutes later, guiding her to the executive elevator reserved for Alexander. When they reached the top floor, Rodney smiled politely as he opened the office door. "Mrs. Scott, Mr. Scott is in a meeting at the moment. Can I get you a coffee while you wait?" Freya shook her head, stepped inside, and settled into the office, her mind already racing ahead. Nothing about Alexander's office had changed. The crisp black-and-white decor remained, sharp lines and cool tones giving the room its familiar air. What always caught Freya's attention every time, though, was the mural behind his desk—a sprawling, striking whale, rendered in rich detail across the back wall. Her eyes found it once more, lingering on the inscription near the bottom. "The whale is drawn to the sea, and I'm drawn to you." It was impossible to forget who the message was meant for. Alexander was shouting out his love for Yvonne. Long before their wedding, Alexander had asked Yvonne to paint it, making his resentment over Tricia's forced marriage arrangements painfully clear. Every time Freya entered this space, the reminder stung—how much he loved Yvonne and how much he'd resented being tied to her instead. Lost in these thoughts, Freya didn't notice Alexander walk in until she heard the door click shut. She quickly looked away from the mural, forcing any hint of sadness from her eyes. "You said 3:00 at the courthouse. Why weren't you there?" Alexander gave her a wry look, his tone playful. "Funny, yesterday you said ten a.m. But you didn't show up either, remember?" Freya retorted without missing a beat, "You know why I missed it." With a smirk, Alexander replied, "Do I? I seem to recall I was the one left cleaning up your mess last night." For a second, Freya was left speechless. Only Alexander could talk about something like that with the same ease as discussing the weather. His shamelessness had no limit. Refusing to engage with his antics, Freya checked the time and steered the conversation back. "Alright, we've each missed an appointment. That makes us even. If we leave now, we can still make it to the courthouse." Alexander barely spared her a glance. "I don't have time for this," he said, striding toward his desk. Freya stepped in front of him, blocking his way. "Alexander, care to explain what you're playing at?" She lifted her right arm, and only then did he notice the fresh bandage wrapped around her hand. He blurted out, "What happened to your hand?" "So now you're paying attention? Last night you couldn't see a thing, and today you're suddenly observant, Mr. Scott?" Freya's voice dripped with sarcasm. The question was out before Alexander could stop himself. A moment later, he wished he hadn't bothered. Why should he care? The sharp bite in Freya's words only made his irritation flare. He scoffed, "You're really something, biting the hand that feeds you." Freya held up her bandaged hand, meeting his sneer. "That goes both ways, Alexander." She wasn't about to let him talk down to her, not anymore. Something flickered across Alexander's face—a memory of those years when Freya would tease him just to get him to smile and coax him into drinking her bitter herbal soups. Since Tricia's death, those days felt like a different lifetime. Freya didn't make soup for him anymore. She didn't even try to lift his mood. "Alexander, are you just going to stand there daydreaming? If we don't leave soon, we'll miss our slot." Freya snapped him out of it, waving her hand in front of his eyes. Annoyed by the sight of the bandage, Alexander pushed past her and made for his desk. "Can't you see the pile of files? Not all of us have the luxury of sitting at home and watching money roll in." Freya's patience snapped as he kept harping on the same point. "Why are you so worked up? It's not even your fortune I'm spending. Stop pretending I've raided your accounts." During their three years together, not once had she dipped into his bank balance. Alexander gave a short, mocking laugh. "Maybe you're just mad I never handed you some. Did Erick treat you any better?" His question caught her off guard. "Wait—you saw us?"