My husband locked me in the freezer for his assistant

Eight months pregnant, I went to Rex's office to deliver some documents.

The temperature inside was scorching 46°C. Just as I reached to turn on the air conditioner, his secretary stopped me.

"Ma'am," she said sweetly, "I'm on my period. I get cold easily—please don't turn it on."

I glanced sideways at her. My baby was growing inside me, and the heat could cause a heatstroke. Without saying a word, I turned the AC on anyway.

That evening, Rex came back from a business dinner and burst through the door, already furious.

"Janice, Julie is on her period! Do you even realize those 38 minutes and 19 seconds of cold air sent her to the ICU with severe cramps?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Rex, are you mocking me just because I don't have a period? I'm eight months pregnant! And if I get heatstroke, that's not just discomfort—it could be fatal! Are you drunk?"

He curled his lips into a mocking smile and nodded. "You're right. That was foolish of me."

That night, he comforted me as usual, whispering sweet nothings until I drifted off to sleep.

But when I woke up, I was no longer in my bed. I was in a walk-in freezer—surrounded by walls of glass on all sides.

Outside the glass, a group of second-generation elites laughed and pointed at me. Rex stood among them, his arm was wrapped around Julie's slender waist. They looked at me and chuckled.

"Afraid of heatstroke?" he sneered. "Then let's cool you down properly tonight."

My heart sank.

Calmly, I pulled out my phone and snapped photos of everyone outside. Then, I dialed a number.

"Dad," I said coldly, "I don't want any of these people to see the sunrise tomorrow."