My Husband Brought His Mistress Home

ANABEL’S POV

A low groan pulled me out of sleep.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. My eyes stayed closed while I turned on the bed, reaching for Miles out of habit.

The sheets beside me were cold.

I frowned and opened my eyes. The other side of the bed was empty.

The digital clock beside me read 2:17 AM, its faint red light glowing in the dark room. I pushed myself upright, rubbing my eyes with the back of my palm. The house was quiet except for that sound returning once more.

A muffled groan.

A heavy feeling settled in my chest. “Miles?” I called softly.

No response.

I threw the duvet aside and slipped my feet into my slippers. Cold tiles pressed against my skin as I stepped out of the bedroom. The hallway was dim, lit only by the small wall lights, and then the sound came back, louder this time.

My body went cold.

It came from his study.

My heartbeat increased rapidly. For a second, my mind went somewhere ugly. Maybe he was hurt. Maybe something happened. Maybe…

I walked quickly toward the door. The study light was on, faintly spilling into the hallway because the door wasn’t fully closed. I stopped outside it.

Then I heard it a second time.

A moan.

It wasn’t pain. It was pleasure.

Something about it made my stomach turn. Carefully, I pushed the door open. Miles sat behind his desk, his head tilted back slightly. The glow from the laptop lit half of his face blue. One of his hands rested on the desk while the other moved quickly around his cock. His breathing was uneven.

I stood there frozen, barely breathing. “Miles…”

He jumped violently. “Fuck!”

His hand shot forward, slamming the laptop shut. His chair rolled back slightly from the force.

He looked at me with wide eyes. “Jesus, Anabel!” he snapped. “Why would you come in without knocking?”

I blinked at him. “The door was open.” Even I could hear how weak I sounded.

He dragged a hand down his face and avoided my eyes. The silence in the room turned unbearable.

My gaze drifted toward the closed laptop. Then back to him. “You were…” I paused. “You were masturbating?”

His jaw tightened immediately. “Can you not make such a big deal about it?”

“A big deal?” I repeated quietly. A short laugh escaped me. “Seriously, Miles? I’m literally in the next room.”

“I know that.”

“Then why?”

He sighed. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Another humorless laugh slipped out. “You didn’t want to wake me… so you came in here instead to jerk yourself off?”

“Anabel…”

“No, seriously.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I tried touching you tonight.”

He looked irritated now. “And I said I wasn’t in the mood.”

“But apparently you were.”

His expression hardened. “It’s not the same thing.”

I searched his face, trying to understand. Not the same thing? How? My husband was sitting in front of me half-hard and breathing heavily after rejecting me barely an hour ago. And somehow I was the one feeling ashamed.

I turned my face away because the ache in my chest suddenly became too much.

Things were not always like this. When we first got married, Miles couldn’t keep his hands off me — kissing me randomly in the kitchen, hugging me from behind while I cooked, pulling me into his lap whenever he worked from home.

Back then, I felt wanted.

Now I just felt like furniture, something pretty sitting quietly in a corner of his life.

“We haven’t had proper sex in weeks,” I said softly.

He exhaled impatiently. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Then when?” The question came out shakier than I intended. “Because every time I try talking to you, you shut me out. Anytime I try touching you, you pull away.”

Hearing myself say it out loud hurt more than I expected. Tears burned behind my eyes instantly.

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

His gaze shifted toward the desk instead of me. Somehow, that hurt more than if he had shouted.

My eyes drifted back to the laptop. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

“For fuck’s sake, it’s private.” He shoved a hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

I looked at him, stunned. “Private? I’m your wife.”

“And I’m still allowed privacy, Anabel.” His tone was cold and sharp, like I had crossed a line I hadn’t known existed.

I nodded even though tears were already threatening to spill. “Okay.”

I don’t even know why I did what I did next. Maybe because I missed him. Maybe because I was desperate. Maybe because I just wanted my husband to want me again.

I took a hesitant step toward him. His eyes followed me carefully.

“Anabel…”

I ignored him and dropped to my knees between his legs. His face immediately changed.

“What are you doing?”

I reached for him gently. “Let me help you.”

He caught my wrist instantly. “Don’t.”

I looked up at him. The rejection settled deep in my chest. “Why?”

“I said I’m not interested.”

The words hit harder than they should have. He wasn't interested? Yet somehow he still wanted whatever was on that screen.

I slowly pulled my hand back. The room suddenly seemed too small, too hot, humiliation pressing tightly against my skin.

“Miles… let me..."

“Go back to sleep, Anabel." He cut me off.

Just like that. Dismissed.

I looked at him for a few seconds longer, hoping maybe he would apologize, pull me close, or something.

He didn’t.

He only looked tired.

I stood and swallowed past the ache in my throat. “Goodnight,” I whispered.

He didn’t answer.

Tears slipped down my face as I walked out of the study. Back in our bedroom, I climbed into bed and wiped angrily at my cheeks before fixing my eyes on the ceiling above me.

Sleep never came.

When I woke up later that morning, the side of the bed beside me was still empty.

I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. 8:47 AM. A message from Miles sat on the screen: 'Don’t wait for me tonight.'

No heart. No kisses. Nothing.

I looked at the message for a long moment before dropping the phone onto the bed. I got up and wrapped my robe around myself before heading downstairs.

The silence in the house made me feel uneasy. I made coffee but barely drank it. My mind kept dragging me back to last night. The glow from the laptop screen. The way he panicked when he saw me. And something else that wouldn’t leave me alone.

The light on his face never shifted. No movement. Like he’d been staring at the same thing the entire time. A picture.

I sat at the kitchen island for a while trying to convince myself to let it go. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.

And I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

I had always respected Miles’ boundaries. I never touched his phone. Never entered his study without permission. Never checked his messages.

Because I trusted him.

But now… I wasn’t so sure anymore.

I stood, heart already racing, and headed upstairs toward the study.

The door creaked softly as I pushed it open. Everything looked normal. His bookshelves. His desk. His chair. His laptop sitting exactly where he left it. My attention fixed on it immediately.

My hands turned cold as I walked closer and lifted the screen open. Password protected. Of course.

A nervous laugh almost escaped me. Then I remembered. A few weeks ago, he’d unlocked it in front of me while distracted on a phone call. I hadn’t meant to memorize it.

But I did.

I entered the password carefully. The screen opened. My fingers trembled slightly as I checked the minimized apps below. The last app opened was I*******m. My heartbeat sped up as I clicked it open. It took me straight to the last chat he’d been on.

The picture loaded almost immediately.

My breath caught. I looked at it again desperately, hoping maybe I was mistaken. But I wasn’t.

It was Cierra.

My hand flew to my mouth. I couldn’t stop looking at the picture while Miles’ moans from last night echoed inside my head.

Cierra was smiling in the photo, posing seductively in her lingerie. The thin fabric revealed the outline of her nipples, and her bare legs were visible.

My knees nearly gave out. I grabbed the edge of the desk to steady myself.

“Oh my God…” I whispered shakily.

My husband was masturbating to pictures of his brother’s wife.