The Secret On His Phone

Mona’s POV:

“What do you mean Marcello hasn’t slept with you in months?” My best friend, Keisha, froze, the whiskey bottle hovering over our glasses. Her brows knitted together in pure confusion.

Yep.

You heard right. As pathetic as it sounds, my husband—the formidable Alpha of the Blackwood Pack—hadn’t touched me in months. We’d only been intimate once, right after the wedding, and I couldn’t remember a single time since.

Our marriage was an alliance, plain and simple. Marcello and I were childhood friends, heirs to powerful packs. But when rogues slaughtered our people and stripped our resources, my pack was left with nothing but a name.

That’s when my parents proposed the deal.

They believed our union would forge a powerful alliance, restoring our pack's strength the moment I bore Marcello’s pups. I was hesitant at first, but the sight of my people struggling… I gave in.

*What’s the worst that could happen?* I’d thought.

Turns out, the worst was a cold, sexless marriage with an Alpha who seemed to forget I was his wife.

I let out a heavy sigh and dropped onto the couch, the weight of it all pressing down.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, Keish,” I confessed as she finally handed me the glass of whiskey.

“Girl…” Keisha dropped onto the couch beside me, her expression a mix of sympathy and scandalized curiosity. “Does his mom know?”

I gave her a look, one eyebrow arched in a silent, *are you serious right now?* “How, exactly, am I supposed to tell his mother that her son won’t sleep with me?”

“Well, if she wants a grandchild, she needs to be in the loop!” she retorted, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

“Ugh.” I groaned, sinking deeper into the cushions. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Listen,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Even me, and I’m not even married yet—my fiancé makes sure he gets a taste of this at least three times a week.”

“Three times?!” My eyes went wide.

“Yup. Three times. At least.” She nodded, a smug, dreamy smile playing on her lips.

“Well, Marcello is a busy man,” I defended, the excuse sounding weak even to my own ears. “He’s an Alpha. The duties never end. He comes home exhausted.”

“Babes.” Her face was a masterclass in calling my bluff. “There is no man on this earth too busy for a trip to pound town. Unless…”

“Unless what?” I asked, my brow furrowing.

“Unless he’s already getting it from another woman.”

I burst out laughing. If there was one thing I was sure of, it was Marcello’s fidelity. I’d checked his messages. He barely even acknowledged other women.

“What’s so funny?” Keisha asked, laughing along but looking confused.

“Scratch that one off the list. There is no other woman, trust me.”

“Hmm.” She hummed, tapping her glass thoughtfully. “You’re sure?”

“Too sure.” 

“Or maybe… you just need to spice things up a little bit.” She shrugged, taking a slow sip of her whiskey.

“Spice things up?” I repeated, my interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

“I’m talking sex toys, roleplay, greeting him at the door in nothing but lingerie…” she replied, gesturing wildly as if the list was endless. “You know, all the good stuff.”

“Sex toys?” I grimaced, feeling a flush of embarrassment. “I don’t know if I’m up for that, Keish.”

“Mona,” she said, her tone shifting to one of stern practicality. “This isn’t about what you’re ‘up for.’ Do you want a child or not?”

“I do,” I sighed, the admission laced with self-pity.

“Then, you need to spice things up.”

*******

The moment I left Keisha’s house, my mind was made up. With my mother’s pointed questions about grandchildren echoing in my head, I knew I had to take drastic action.

I drove straight to a discreet adult store, my heart hammering with a mix of nerves and resolve. I picked out a few items that promised results and chose a daring red lingerie set. My husband was due home in a few hours, so I rushed back, prepared his favorite meal, and then retreated to the bathroom.

I took a long, steamy shower, scrubbing myself with my most expensive oils and soaps, shaving with meticulous care. This was a mission.

After I’d dried off, I slipped into the red lace. I decided to forgo wearing anything underneath—for easy access, I told myself, the thought both thrilling and terrifying.

I was going to save my marriage.

It wasn't long before the doorbell chimed, its sound slicing through the quiet house.

*DING DONG.*

He was here.

I gave the lace cups of my lingerie a final, nervous adjustment just before opening the door, ensuring the curve of my breasts was impossible to miss.

"Happy Anniversary!" I chirped, my voice unnaturally high as I threw my arms around him.

He offered a soft smile and pressed a brief kiss to my cheek. My skin warmed. Seemed like he was in a good mood.

"Happy anniversary, baby," he murmured, already moving past me into the house.

I locked the door, my heart thrumming. "I've missed you so much," I gushed, following him as he headed toward the dining table.

He turned to look at me, a faint, curious laugh on his lips. "You seem really excited today. Is it just the anniversary, or is there something else?"

I closed the distance between us, reaching up to brush my fingers along his jaw. "I've just missed you," I whispered, my touch trailing from his beard to graze his lips.

"Mona—"

"Shhh," I hushed him, pressing a finger to his mouth while I gently took his suitcase and set it aside. Then, I hooked my fingers under the strap of my lingerie. The flimsy red lace pooled at my feet, leaving me completely naked. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"

He recoiled as if burned.

"Mona," he said, shaking his head as he stepped back from my touch. "I'm really tired today."

"But it's our anniversary—"

"I'll make it up to you," he cut me off, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. "I just need to freshen up. Let's try another day, okay?"

*Again?*

My heart plummeted to the floor alongside my lingerie. I stood there, utterly naked and utterly shattered, as he cupped my cheek, pressed a dismissive kiss to my forehead, and walked away.

The red lace was a puddle of shame at my feet. My fingers trembled as I bent down to pick it up , the simple act feeling like the most difficult thing I’d ever done. A hot tear splashed onto the floor, then another.

I had failed. 

Maybe Keisha was right. Maybe I did have to tell his parents.

Just as the thought took hold, a sharp *DING* cut through the silence.

My head snapped toward the sound. It had come from his suitcase, the one I'd placed on the table.

It had to be someone from work. What more could they possibly want from him? Hadn't they stressed him out enough already, costing me what was supposed to be our night?

I snatched the phone, ready to tell them he was unavailable. But as my fingers closed around it, a new message flashed across the screen from Beta Kael—his most trusted assistant.

*Beta Kael: You felt so good. I can’t wait to see you again.*

So good?

A cold, sickening dread began to pool in my stomach. My thumb moved on its own, tapping the notification, opening their private chat.

And there it was.

My husband and Beta Kael. A cascade of intimate photos. A river of explicit, yearning texts. They had met just before he came home. They had been together.

The world didn't just tilt; it shattered. 

My husband was gay.