I accept the open marriage, dear husband

Chapter 5

Denver’s POV

The bright morning sun hit me across the face as I stumbled out of what looked like a penthouse. My mouth tasted like ash, and I had no idea how I had gotten there.

All I remembered were his hands on me and those gray metallic eyes that had swallowed me whole, dragging me into some kind of twisted twilight zone.

I had fucked another man. A man who wasn’t my husband. A man I knew nothing about… yet somehow felt achingly familiar.

I waited for the guilt to hit. For the disgust to rot through my veins and drop me to the cold floor. But it never came.

Instead, there was only a cold, hollow dread.

My mind drifted back to Dylan—my husband. I kept telling myself what I had seen was a mistake. That he had finally come to his senses and regretted every single betrayal over the last three years.

His infidelity still cut deep. But I was no better than him now. Our sins canceled each other out. At least… that was what I kept repeating to myself.

The taxi pulled up in front of our building. I didn’t waste time climbing in. The oversized T-shirt I was wearing—the one belonging to the stranger I had left naked in that bed—did nothing to dull the subtle throb between my thighs.

How fucking wasted had I been to lose both my dress and my wallet?

My phone buzzed weakly at 10% battery. That was the only notification I got. There were no missed calls from Dylan. No frantic texts begging me to come home. Nothing that said he had been worried sick about me.

When the taxi stopped outside our familiar little condo, a wave of dread crashed over me. For a second, I almost told the driver to keep going—to take me anywhere else. A cheap motel. Anywhere but here.

He probably felt guilty too. He was most likely rehearsing his apologies right then.

The thought eased the ache in my chest just enough for me to step out.

As I walked up the pavement, my gaze snagged on the house next door. It had been vacant for years, but that day there were painters and maintenance crews buzzing around it. Strange.

I reached our patio, pushed open the front door, and froze.

Dylan and my best friend, Talia, were in the middle of the living room, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying slowly to a song we used to play on repeat. They didn’t hear me enter. They didn’t even flinch when my phone slipped from my fingers and clattered to the floor.

They had built their own little world, and I wasn’t invited.

My knees buckled as I slowly backed away. I felt like an intruder in my own home.

I had never seen Dylan’s eyes so bright. His smile was so wide it looked like it might split his face.

“Dylan…” His name slipped out of me like a broken breath.

They jerked apart like criminals caught in the act. His eyes finally landed on me, but there was no guilt in them. Only mild surprise.

“Denver… you came back.”

He walked toward me. For a split second, I almost stepped back—terrified he would smell the stranger on my skin. Then I remembered I had nothing left to be ashamed of.

His expression darkened the closer he got.

“Where the hell were you?” His nostrils flared. “And why do you smell like a cheap slut?”

The old instinct to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness surged through me, cold and familiar. I crushed it.

I lifted my chin and stared straight into his cold eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, husband?”

My gaze slid to Talia. She was sneering at me like I was the villain destroying their perfect little life.

“While you were busy fucking your whore, I was doing everything I could to forget that you’re the worst mistake I ever made.”

“Denver!” Talia’s pitiful cry screamed out, her voice cracked as if my words had cut her deep. “H-how can you say such a thing about me! It’s not my fault Dylan thinks you’re so unsatisfactory.”

I didn’t have time to respond before Dylan pulled my hand back.

The slap came fast and vicious, snapping my head to the side. Pain exploded across my cheek. I tasted blood.

“You will show respect to Talia!” Dylan roared, spittle flying. “I thought you were decent. Pure. But the second you got the chance, you turned into a fucking whore!”

In three years, he had never hit me. Never called me names. Now he was doing both—for *her*.

I didn’t miss the smug, triumphant smile spreading across Talia’s face.

I had been such a fool.

Even after his cheating, I had convinced myself we could still fix this. That I could be the understanding wife everyone expected me to be.

But this marriage of mine was done for. It was beyond saving and I needed to pick up myself and show the world I wasn’t that woman anymore.

I wasn’t the weak pathetic wife that would wait for her cheating loser of a husband to see her after years of failing me.

I wiped the blood from the corner of my split lip and straightened my spine.

Dylan watched me, waiting for the tears, the screaming, the fight. I gave him none of it.

“Okay,” I said with a calm smile. “I guess this is the best choice, hubby.”

Talia’s mouth fell open behind him. Dylan stared at me like I had lost my mind.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. He waited… hoping my act was nothing but a pretense.

Then when he saw I wasn’t going to offer him another answer, he nodded.

“My father’s coming next week to review the company’s performance. Prepare yourself. I need to be in his good graces if I’m going to be named the next CEO. Do not disgrace me.”

Dylan had always been that desperate daddy’s boy—chasing approval from a man who barely acknowledged his existence. In fact, I was beginning to think the man was just a fantasy Dylan had created to make himself strive more for a weird validation.

I used to bend over backwards to help him impress his father. I ran the company like it was my own.

But that would all end that day.

I didn’t tell him that though. I just nodded.

He gave me one last heated look before he turned toward the stairs, Talia trailing behind him like an obedient shadow.

I spoke again.

“You said you wanted an open marriage,” I called out, voice steady. “But you never asked if I agreed.”

I couldn’t just allow him to dictate while feeling as if I was being forced into it. If he wanted an open marriage, I might as well make it feel like it was on my own terms.

His head whipped around. “What?”

“I accept.” A slow, cold smile curved my lips. “But on one condition…”