I want an open marriage

Chapter 1

Denver’s POV

Her hips rolled over his face in a slow, sensual swirl as his tongue plunged deep inside her. I stood frozen in the doorway, the bag slipping from my numb fingers.

Their raw, unrestrained moans flooded the room. For one delusional heartbeat, I prayed it was a nightmare.

It had to be.

Dylan didn’t eat pussy. He’d told me a hundred times it tasted like sour milk, and I had believed him. I’d buried that particular desire so deep inside myself I’d nearly forgotten it existed.

“Oh fuck, Dylan! You’re so fucking good at this,” Talia—my best friend—screamed. I knew she was close. Her fingers twisted into the sheets beside his head as her back arched, tears of ecstasy streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Never in my wildest nightmares had I imagined finding my husband and my best friend like this. Dylan… the man I believed would rather die than betray me.

Hot tears blurred the devastating scene before me. My grip loosened on the bag until it thudded to the floor.

It wasn’t just the way she rode him like she owned every inch of his mouth. It wasn’t even the sight of them completely naked in a our marital bed, her arousal soaking our sheets.

It was the guttural groans of pure pleasure tearing from his throat—the kind he had never once made with me.

Maybe he never had.

I didn’t know why I remained rooted in the doorway, silently torturing myself with every slick sound and slap of skin. Perhaps some masochistic part of me needed to witness it all.

But the pain soon became unbearable. An ugly, broken sob tore from my lips.

“Dy—Dylan?” The words scraped out of me.

Their heads snapped toward me in horrifying slow motion. Eyes widened. Mouths fell open in shock.

Talia scrambled off him, yanking the sheet around her naked body. “Oh God, Denver! I swear it’s not what it looks like—”

I squeezed my eyes shut as bile surged up my throat. The room reeked of sex, sweat, and betrayal. I wanted to vomit everything I’d eaten—but I hadn’t eaten at all.

I had been too worried about my “sick” husband.

I’d rushed home after his assistant called to say he’d missed a crucial meeting because of a fever. I’d covered for him yet again, enduring the insults from furious clients while he was here, doing this. 

Dylan muttered something in the background, but all I could hear was the echo of his wild moans—those deep, hungry sounds he had never given me. With me, sex had always been silent except for forced grunts, as if he were enduring an unpleasant chore.

“Denver, please,” he said, yanking on his briefs as he stood. “You have to believe her. This isn’t… it’s a mistake.”

A dark, hollow laugh escaped me.

He stepped closer, arms outstretched as if he still had the right to comfort me. I jerked away, disgust crawling over my skin. Hurt flickered in his green eyes, but I offered no solace.

Not anymore. I was too blinded by rahe to even look at him. 

“How long?” I forced the words out, my voice raw. “How long have you two been fucking?”

They froze. Talia’s lips trembled like she was the shattered one. She'd always had the flair for the dramatics. Dylan looked away, guilt etched across his face.

“Denver…” he whispered, pleading.

“Tell me!” I snapped, furiously wiping the traitorous tears from my cheeks. They didn’t deserve to see me break.

He swallowed hard. “A year. Since she came back to town.”

The confession sliced through me like a blade. A year. We’d only been married for two and a half.

I choked on a sob, my entire body trembling. When I looked at Talia again, expecting shame, I found something far worse: a subtle, satisfied smirk.

“How could you?” My voice cracked. “You were my sister…”

The mask shattered. Talia laughed, stepping protectively in front of Dylan.

“Oh, don’t look so devastated, Denver. I’m honestly shocked it took you this long. I knew you were naïve, but this is pathetic.” Her eyes glittered with malice. “Did you forget Dylan was always mine? I let you have him, sweetheart. I gave him to you. But this life—this man—was never supposed to be yours. Time to remove those rose-colored glasses. No one wants a boring wife.”

The truth crashed over me.

Talia had been his first love. High school sweethearts straight out of a fairy tale. When she left for her acting career, he claimed it was over. I was the quiet, nerdy girl who had crushed on him from the shadows—the one who never dreamed the golden boy could want her. When he said he did, I thought I had finally been seen.

I had even called Talia to make sure she was okay with us. She had laughed it off, calling him a silly high school fling. I had believed her.

I pressed my hands to my face and laughed—sharp, broken, until I couldn’t breathe. When I dropped them, they stared at me like I had lost my mind.

“I want a divorce,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You can have her, Dylan. I’m done.”

I turned to leave, but his voice stopped me cold.

“That’s not possible, honey.” I could hear the smile in his tone. “You can’t leave me for the next sixty-seven years. Remember the contract?”

The contract marriage. The one he needed to secure a major deal. The one I had signed without hesitation because I loved him.

I spun around slowly, rage burning through the heartbreak. “Did you make me sign that contract knowing you could trap me if you fucked up?!”

Dylan opened his mouth, but I couldn’t stand the sight of them any longer.

I stormed out of the bedroom, my heart so heavy it felt like lead dragging behind me. I was trapped.

How was I supposed to spend the next seventy years with a man who had never truly wanted me?

I snatched my car keys and yanked open the front door.

His rough hand clamped around my wrist.

“Get your fucking hands off me—” I snarled, whipping around.

“I want an open marriage,” he blurted out.