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

"You honestly think I don't see what's happening? Anyone with eyes could tell you two were practically glued together." Alexander sneered, his patience clearly wearing thin. A memory of Freya's touch from the night before flashed through his mind, making his skin flush hot. He tugged at his tie, trying to shake the feeling. Freya's face tightened as she tried to explain. "It wasn't like that. There was just a car coming—" She stopped suddenly, suspicion creeping into her voice. "Wait. Was that your car?" Alexander met her gaze and didn't bother to deny it. The realization hit Freya hard. After years spent fighting to nurse him back to health, he hated her so much he'd rather run her down in the street. She forced her voice steady. "If you already saw it, then I have nothing left to say. Erick's the person I want now. Let's just get this divorce over with, so I can move on." He'd expected her to argue, but instead Freya admitted her relationship with Erick without a fight. A twist of pain shot through Alexander's chest, though anger burned even stronger. He scoffed, "You hung around for my money when it suited you. Now that there's nothing left, you're finished with me. Was I just a paycheck to you all along?" "That's right." Freya didn't hesitate. She understood him too well. Alexander would never stand being used by anyone—least of all her. Riling him up was exactly her plan. She wanted him to sign the papers that day. The rules were simple. If they didn't finalize the divorce before the deadline, they'd have to file again, and she'd be forced to wait at least another month. Freya refused to let that happen. Waiting even one more day was out of the question for Freya. Anger radiated from Alexander, though his reaction caught her off guard. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look straight at him. "Not happening," he growled. For a moment, Freya just stared, thrown by his response. Not happening? What was he refusing? He picked up on her confusion right away. "This whole marriage was forced on me. So when you start begging for a divorce, you can forget it. The more desperate you get, the more I'm going to say no." Freya blinked, trying to process his stubbornness. Did he even realize how ridiculous he sounded? Where was this backbone when they tied the knot? Jerking free from his grip, she asked, "Are you sure you won't divorce?" He gave a sharp nod. "That's right. I'm not divorcing you." "Great," she said, stretching out her palm in front of him. "Then you owe me. Allowance for last month and this month—two million. Pay up." Alexander brushed her hand away with a cold flick, not bothering to hide his contempt. "You won't get a cent. Now get out. I have work to do." Freya hesitated, not ready to walk away when nothing had been settled. Without missing a beat, Alexander pressed the intercom. "Rodney, take her out." Rodney entered, bowing politely. "Mrs. Scott, if you'd follow me." With a last sharp glance at Alexander, Freya drew in a breath and finally let herself be led from the office. Rodney stayed by her side all the way to the street, even waving down a taxi and holding the door for her. He waited until she was seated inside, not relaxing until the driver was ready to pull away. "Rodney!" called Freya, sticking her head out the taxi window. He leaned down, ready to help. "Do you need anything else, Mrs. Scott?" "If you care about your job, convince your boss to see a doctor. He's got a few screws loose, and I'm not joking." Freya smirked, voice dripping with sarcasm. With that, she rolled the window up and signaled the driver to get moving. Rodney stayed rooted to the spot, watching the cab disappear into the city, completely baffled. Throughout all his time at the Scott Group, he'd treated Freya with nothing but respect, even when Alexander ignored her. She never seemed like the type to make trouble for no reason, and Rodney struggled to make sense of her frustration. Still, he had no intention of delivering her message. He valued his paycheck—and his head on his shoulders—far too much.