Bab 19: A Scandal And A Kidnapping

"I can't keep staying in your house. I just… I can't," I repeated, my voice steady but laced with an edge.

Sylus's eyes darkened. "Why? Is this because of what Alexander and Isabella said?" His tone sliced through the space between us, sharp and accusing.

"No," I shot back, fists clenched at my sides. "It's not that."

"Bullshit, Freya!" He slammed his fist against the table and stormed toward me. "You let them control you. Why can't you see that?"

"Who the hell do you think you are to tell me that?!" I snapped, my chest tight with frustration. "You don't get to a say in my life either! You're not my father, and you're not my husband!"

"Thank God for that," he shot back, his voice colder now. "I'd hate to be a deadbeat father or a weak man like that husband of yours."

The words hung heavy between us, and I swallowed the sting. But I wasn't going to back down.

"That may be true, Mr. Thorn, But it doesn't change the fact that I want him. Not you," I spat. His jaw clenched, and something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

"You say that," he growled, stepping closer. I took a step back, but he closed in, refusing to stop. "But your body tells me otherwise. You crave my touch. Your lips beg me to kiss them… I bet you're wet for me right now."

I hit the wall, my breath catching. His words sent a wave of heat through me, sparking something I didn't want to acknowledge.

He tilted my chin up with a single finger, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Tell me you want me, Freya," he murmured, his voice a low, commanding whisper. "Let me make you mine."

For a moment, I couldn't move. I was trapped in his gaze, my thoughts tangled in the heat between us.

But finally, I found my voice. "I can never love you, Sylus," I said, pushing him away. His grip loosened, but his eyes didn't waver. "You'll never have my heart because it belongs to Alexander. I'll be taking a leave of absence, Mr. Thorn. You'll hear from me when I'm ready to return."

I turned on my heel and walked upstairs, each step heavier than the last. I needed to get out of there before I did something I'd regret. When I reached my room, I began to pack my things by the time my suitcase was half-packed, I stood staring at the clothes I had folded. Was I making the right decision? Leaving Sylus felt like running, but staying felt suffocating. And Alexander… why did I still love him, even after everything?

It was frustrating. I wanted to scream, but instead, I pushed down the emotions and kept packing. I wouldn't cry. Not now. I grabbed my suitcase and headed downstairs.

Sylus stood by the doorway, a drink in his hand, his gaze locked on me. He didn't say a word, just watched as I walked past him.

His voice stopped me when I reached the door. "Where are you going to stay?"

I paused, not turning around. "That's not your concern. Mr. Thorn."

I opened the door, the cool night air washing over me. "Thank you, Mr. Thorn," I said, glancing back briefly. "I hope the next time we meet, we'll be nothing more than employer and employee."

Before he could respond, I stepped outside, the door clicking shut behind me. A second later, the sound of glass shattering echoed through the house, but I didn't look back. I couldn't.

I wandered aimlessly down the street, pulling out my phone to find a hotel. Anywhere cheap and far away. As I scrolled, a news alert flashed across the screen, and my heart sank.

"Ashford Heir and His Wife Step Out with Their Hookups: Freya Sinclair Caught in Scandal."

My breath hitched. No, no, no. I clicked the notification, my hands shaking. A picture of me, Sylus, Alexander, and Isabella at the restaurant filled the screen, twisted lies and accusations pasted beneath it.

"No," I whispered, my chest tightening. "No, no, no…"

Before I could process it further, a cloth was pressed against my mouth. I struggled as my vision blurred, but my body weakened, and everything faded into darkness.

---

When I awoke, my wrists and feet were bound, and the air was thick with silence. My heart raced, panic clawing at me as I tried to make sense of my surroundings.

"Hello?" I called, my voice trembling. "Is anyone there?"

A cold voice responded. "Shut the fuck up."

I froze, fear sinking into my bones. "Who are you? What do you want?" My voice cracked, fear creeping in.

A low chuckle echoed in the dark. "You can't recognize your husband's voice anymore?"

My heart stopped. "Alex?" I breathed. "Is that you?"

"The one and only," he replied, his arrogance unmistakable.

Rage surged through me. "You bastard! Did you have me kidnapped?!"

He laughed again, a cruel sound. "I'm tied up too, or are you blind?"

I squinted in the dark, barely making out his form beside me. "I wear glasses," I muttered under my breath.

"For fuck's sake," he groaned. "Ugly and blind? What a catch."

His insult suddenly didn't hit me like it usually did. "We've been married three years, and you never knew I wore glasses?" My voice was sharp, cutting through the tension.

"Why would I pay attention to a worthless lowlife like you?" he snapped back.

His words no longer hurt. I'd grown numb to his cruelty. "But you cared enough to fuck my stepsisters, didn't you?"

The room fell silent, and before he could respond, heavy footsteps echoed through the space. Two figures appeared from the shadows.

"Shut up, both of you," one of them growled.

"Who are you guys? What do you want with us?" I threw question after question at them.

Before I could react, a hand struck my face. Pain radiated through my cheek, and I gasped.

In the corner, Alexander laughed. "About time someone shut her up."

But his laughter was cut short when the second figure punched him hard across the face.

"I said shut up!"

Alexander groaned but he didn't stop talking "Do you know who I am? I'm Alexander Ashford. My family will have your heads for this. Release me now and I'll forget this ever happened."

The figure only laughed and punched him again and again until…

"Enough," the other figure commanded. "We don't want to kill him."

They shared a look before leaving the room, the door creaking shut behind them.

I blinked through the pain. "Are they gone?" I whispered.

Alexander groaned. "Shut up."

I ignored him and asked again, my voice soft. "Are they gone?"

With a frustrated growl, Alexander screamed, "Yes, they're gone! Now, can you please shut the fuck up? I'm trying to think."

But I wasn't listening to him anymore. My hands, though tied, had found something interesting. The fabric around my wrists wasn't as strong as I'd first thought. It felt like linen ribbon—tight, but not strong enough to hold under pressure. The texture was rough, almost brittle, as if it would start to fray with just a bit of friction. I started rubbing my wrists together, feeling the fibers slowly giving way.

A relieved laugh escaped me.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Alexander hissed. "Didn't I tell you to shut up?"

But I didn't care about his tantrum. My mind raced, focusing on escape.

"I think I can—"

"Shut up," he interrupted me. "I don't want to hear a word. I doubt anything intelligent could come out of your mouth."

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to argue. His arrogance and uncaring attitude made my blood boil, but I had to stay focused. I wasn't about to waste any more energy on him. This binding wasn't like thick rope or leather. It was linen, cheap and quickly chosen. With enough effort, I could tear through it.

I started working at the fabric, staying silent, trying to focus on tearing it.

My wrists ached from the constant rubbing, the skin raw against the rough wood of the chair. But finally, I felt the fabric give way. With one last effort, the linen ribbon tore, and my hands shot free. I almost jumped up in glee, letting out a small sound of triumph before realizing where I was.

"Shh!" I whispered to myself, quickly silencing the burst of happiness. I bent down, untying the binds around my legs, my hands trembling but determined. Once free, I stood up, rubbing my cramped wrists.

Alexander noticed, his eyes narrowing. "How did you do that?"

I couldn't resist. "It seems my 'unintelligent self' was able to tear through the ropes, Mr. Ashford," I said, flashing a sarcastic smile. "The linen was weak. A little friction, a bit of pressure, and voilà!" I started ranting about how I had figured out the weakness in the fabric, but Alexander, clearly impatient, cut me off.

"Just untie me already!"

I blinked. "Oh, right," I muttered, moving quickly to his side. I knelt down, untying his legs first, then his wrists.

The second his hands were free, the door burst open.

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