The red lace itched against my skin.
I shifted on the bed, adjusting the lingerie I’d spent three hours picking out at the boutique downtown. The saleswoman had called it “marriage-saving material,” and I’d laughed, swiping my card without hesitation. Kieran and I didn’t need saving, we just needed a spark to repair the distance that had crept between us these past few months.
The candles flickered on the nightstand. I’d cooked his favorite meal, rare venison with rosemary, the way his mother used to make it before she passed. There was wine and tucked in the drawer beside me was a collection of toys I’d never had the courage to buy before.
My wolf, Aina, paced restlessly. She has been anxious all week.
He’ll be home soon, I told her. He promised.
But eight o’clock came and went. Nine and ten.
I checked my phone again. There were no messages or calls from him, just the same text I’d sent hours ago, still showing as “read” with no reply.
Happy anniversary, Kieran. I have a surprise for you. Come home early?
The venison had gone cold, the candles had burned down to stubs and my wolf had stopped pacing, curling into a tight ball of dread in my chest.
With nothing to do, I went searching. I opened my Instagram and typed his name into the search bar.
His account was set to private. It had always been private, Kieran valued his image as Alpha, so he controlled every aspect of his public presence. But tonight, someone had tagged him in a post.
The most magical birthday! Thank you for making my son’s dreams come true. 🎂🎆
My thumb hovered over the screen. Don’t click it. Don’t—
I clicked.
The first photo showed a well lit amusement park. The second showed fireworks exploding over a carousel and the third—
My breath stopped.
Kieran stood in a kitchen, flour dusted across his black shirt, laughing as a little boy with dark curls held up a mixing bowl. A woman stood beside them, her hand resting on Kieran’s arm.
They were making a birthday cake together like a family.
The caption read: My two favorite boys. Five years old and already ruling the world. 👑
Five years old.
We’d been married for five.
My phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the hardwood floor. The sound echoed through the empty bedroom, through the empty house I’d spent years turning into a home.
No. No, this couldn’t be right. Kieran was difficult, yes. Distant, often. But he wasn’t a cheater. He wasn’t the kind of man who would—
Call him, my wolf urged, There has to be an explanation.
I picked up my phone with trembling hands and dialed his number.
“Hello?”
The voice that answered wasn’t his.
It was soft, feminine and a little breathless, like she’d been laughing.
“Hello?” she said again. “Kieran, I think someone’s calling you—oh, he just stepped out with Ethan. They’re doing the sparklers. Can I take a message?”
In the background, I heard a child’s voice, “Daddy, look! Look what I can do!”
Daddy.
I froze.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
I couldn’t speak. The call ended, I didn’t know if I hung up or if she did.
It didn’t matter.
I walked downstairs like a ghost, the dining room looked absurd now, the crystal glasses, the cloth napkins folded into swans, the flowers I’d arranged just so. I picked up the platter of venison and dumped it into the trash. Everything else followed.
Then I stood in the middle of the living room and looked at what I’d built.
The curtains were sage green because Kieran once mentioned his childhood home had green curtains. The ferns by the window were his favorite, even though I had to mist them twice daily to keep them alive. The walls held framed illustrations of wolf packs running through forests, anniversary gifts I’d commissioned from artists he admired.
Our wedding photo hung above the fireplace. Kieran in his ceremonial black, me in white silk, our hands clasped as our packs cheered around us. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, Kieran rarely smiled but his eyes were soft, focused entirely on me.
I’d stared at that photo a thousand times, searching for proof that he loved me.
Now it just looked like evidence of my own stupidity.
I didn’t know how long I sat in the dark bedroom, tears flowing and drying up again and again.
Until I heard the front door open and a second later, he walked into the bedroom.
He was still in his business suit, though the jacket was gone and his sleeves were rolled up.
He looked unfairly good like that. Broad shoulders filling out his shirt, hair slightly tousled in that expensive way that made him look freshly ruined.
His skin held a warm bronze tone, like he’d been kissed by the sun itself. It was annoyingly beautiful.
His mouth was full and soft-looking, the kind of lips that made you remember exactly how they tasted.
As he walked in, he was as handsome as I remembered, maybe even more. I caught the faintest trace of sugar and smoke clinging to his skin.
“You’re still up,” he said, loosening his tie. “I thought you’d be asleep.”
“It’s our anniversary.”
He stopped short like he just remembered, “I know. I’m sorry—work ran late. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow. We can go to that restaurant you like.”
A casual apology after standing me up.
He started walking to the bathroom when he stopped again, he turned and his eyes zeroed in on my body, noticing the lingerie.
His eyes darkened with appreciation and a slight growl left his lips, making me wet.
“Is this my surprise?” He stepped closer, his hand reaching for my waist. He kissed down my neck and a little moan escaped me, he brought his lips down on mine.
My brain flicked with images of him with his first love.
I flinched away.
Kieran froze. In five years of marriage, I’d never pulled away from him or rejected his touch.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Where were you tonight?”
“I told you. Work.”
“You weren’t at work.”
His expression shuttered closed. “You’re being paranoid.”
“I tried to call you but some woman picked up—” My throat closed around the word.
“You’re overreacting.” His voice turned cold, “Now come to bed and stop making this into something it isn’t.”
“I’m not—”
His phone rang and he answered without hesitation.
“Sophie? Slow down. What happened?”
I watched his face transform, his cold demeanor melting away to tenderness.
“It’s okay,” he murmured into the phone. “I’ll be right there. Just stay calm, you’re safe.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket from the chair.
“Kieran—”
“Go to sleep,” he said without looking at me. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The door slammed behind him.
He left. On our anniversary. For his first love.
The idea crushed me. My stomach twisted and I rushed into the bathroom. Bile surged up my throat leading me to kneel over the toilet, choking as I vomited up what little I’d eaten today.
My eyes watered, my forehead pressed against the porcelain as the nausea clawed through me again.
Why am I throwing up?
Could I be…?
No. Impossible.
We’d used contraceptives last time. Besides, this felt like normal nausea from not eating… right?
