Frozen Hearts - A Winter Romance

——— FREYA ———

The city of Stockholm was quiet on this dark November evening - the kind of stillness where the air smelled of rain and fallen leaves, and the streets gleamed black beneath the streetlights.

Freya sat curled up on the sofa, a blanket wrapped around her and her Pomeranian Winston snoring softly against her leg. A half-empty glass of red wine rested on the coffee table, next to the book she’d been pretending to read. The words kept slipping out of focus. She was exhausted, but the kind of tired that went deeper than sleep.

It had been another relentless week at Kaiza, the fashion brand she’d joined back when it was five people in a drafty basement in Södermalm. Now it was the name everyone in Stockholm dropped - sleek, urban, instinctively cool - with flagship stores in London, Paris, and Berlin.

As Head of Marketing, Freya was juggling the brand’s upcoming New York launch - their first store in the U.S. - and the campaign shoot that would kick it all off. It was chaos, but the good kind. The kind that made her pulse quicken and her coffee intake questionable.

She’d been looking forward to this night all week - just her, a blanket, and the luxury of doing absolutely nothing. Alexander was out at a partner dinner with the law firm - another networking marathon - and she’d been grateful for the quiet. At first.

But now, as the clock ticked past midnight, the calm had turned heavy. That vague unease in her stomach had been growing with every minute. He’d said he’d be home by ten.

Her phone started to buzz.

She glanced at the screen - Alexander. Relief, then irritation. She almost didn’t answer, but something made her thumb slip before she thought about it.

“Hello?” No reply. Just... sounds.

A woman’s laugh. Not his.

A low, feminine moan - the kind that vibrates with something intimate.

Freya froze. “Alex?” she said.

Another voice. His this time, low, blurred by layers of fabric. “Yeah babe...ohh...yeah, you’re so tight.”

Her stomach dropped. The noise on the other end shifted - a soft thud, fabric rustling, a breathless sigh that wasn’t hers.

She sat absolutely still, heart hammering, her phone trembling in her hand. It couldn’t be. Not again. Not like this.

“Alexander?” Her voice cracked. The sounds stopped for a second, then a muffled laugh. Rhythmic thumps started mixed with hearty moans.

“Scream for me when you come, Mads.” Alex voice sounded breathless and far away.

The line went dead.

Freya sat in the sofa, frozen for a long time staring at the phone as if it might explain itself.

Winston stirred, lifting his head, tail tapping uncertainly against the cushion. “It’s fine,” she whispered to him, though her pulse was pounding in her ears. “It’s probably... I don’t know. A mistake.”

She replayed the call in her head, but every time she tried to rationalize it - bad signal, wrong number, a joke - her mind returned to that one sound. His voice. Soft. Familiar. The laugh of the female named Mads. The sound of them having...sex. And then his words, he used to ask Freya the same - he loved it when she was loud during sex.

Her throat tightened, tears pooled in her eyes. He promised he wouldn’t do this to her again, but clearly that meant nothing. She called him back. Once. Twice. No answer.

Finally, she typed:

I think you just called me by accident. Can you call back when you’re free?

After a while three dots appeared, then vanished. She waited. Minutes passed. Nothing. Freya put the phone down and stood up, pacing across the living room. The rain had started to fall outside, big drops running down the windows.

Somewhere below, a car door slammed, someone laughed. The world went on, utterly normal, while hers tilted slightly out of place.

She went back to the sofa and wrapped her arms around Winston, his dark brown eyes watching her carefully, his wet nose nudging her cheek. He always could tell her mood. He gave her hand a couple of licks, then curled up again with a sigh while she slowly ran her fingers through his fur.

It wasn’t the first time she’d questioned Alexander, or whether he actually loved her. She had felt the same thing that winter day almost two years ago - when she’d found underwear in his bag. Lace, red, barely there. And a post-it that read

Can’t wait for you to rip these off me...

That was the first time her world cracked. After nearly a year of couples therapy, tearful promises, and her desperate belief in second chances, she’d let him back in.

How stupid she’d been. And how stupid she felt now.

Time and time again she’d seen his gaze wander - even when he was with her. But she’d told herself that love was stronger. That they were stronger. Because of course she loved him. Right?

The phone buzzed again. She jumped.

A message from Alexander:

Sorry. The dinner took forever and now I’m back at the office working. Don’t wait up - see you tomorrow!

No call. No explanation. Just that.

Freya stared at the message until the screen went black, then turned the phone facedown.

“Sure. You’re at the office,” she whispered.

Winston lifted his head as she grabbed the phone again. Her pulse raced, fingers trembling.

If you are at the office then you are not alone. I heard you with “Mads”.

Three dots appeared - then vanished.

Freya, what are you talking about? What did you think you heard? You’re being ridiculous.

Her throat tightened as she typed.

You asked “Mads” to scream your name.

The typing bubble appeared, then stopped. Appeared again. He must have realized she wasn’t confused - she knew. Finally...

Freya... I’m so sorry. Baby, please. Let me explain. I’ll come home right away.

She stared at the words until her vision blurred.

NO!! I don’t want to see you right now. Don’t you DARE come home tonight.

For a long time, there was nothing. Then another message - short, worried.

Please, honey. I love you and no-one else. It was a terrible mistake. Don’t do anything rash.

Please, let’s talk tomorrow. We’ll fix this together!

She turned the phone face down, her chest tight, heart pounding. Outside, the rain fell harder, streaking the windows in silver lines.

Winston padded over and pushed his nose to her leg. She bent down, pressed her forehead to his fur. “Let’s not think too much, okay?” she whispered. “Tomorrow, he’ll explain. It’ll all make sense.” But even as she said it, she didn’t believe herself.

Hours later, she was in bed - Winston curled at her feet like a small, loyal radiator. Sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind was spinning, thoughts looping and fraying in the dark. Then her phone buzzed on the nightstand. A text from an unknown number. She blinked at the screen, half dazed.

Hi Freya. I think we need to talk. It’s about Alexander.

Freya’s stomach tightened as she answered.

I’m sorry - who is this?

My name is Madeline. I work with him at Norberg & Co.

The words pulled her fully awake. Madeline. Her brain caught on the name, tumbling it around until it clicked. The receptionist. The one with the long legs, hair like spun gold, and that polished kind of beauty that never seemed to wrinkle. The kind of woman Alexander’s gaze lingered on just a second too long.

Freya’s throat went dry. Mads. That was the name she’d heard on the accidental call.

Her first instinct was to delete the message - to close her eyes and pretend she hadn’t seen it. But something deep in her gut, that gnawing feeling that had been growing all night, made her type back.

What about him?

There was a pause. Then three dots appeared.

Can I call you? It’s easier to explain that way.

Freya stared at the screen, her pulse thudding in her ears. She hesitated - just a breath - then typed back.

Okay.