Taught To Sin By My Husband’s Alpha Uncle

Rhiannon’s POV~

My wolf died at 11:47 PM when I found my husband buried deep inside the girl I'd hired as his secretary.

He was thrusting in and out of her while kissing every inch of her skin like she was precious, whispering how beautiful she was with each touch.

In five years of marriage, he'd never kissed me that way - never worshipped my body, never told me I was beautiful during sex.

He was gentle with her, reverent, like she might break.

He'd always been rough with me, impatient, like I was just a body to use.

I didn't knock. I didn't even announce myself.

I had used my spare key and walked straight into our honeymoon suite to find her riding him like she owned him, my grandmother's ring glinting on her finger as she clawed at his chest.

My hand was shaking so bad I could barely hold my cell phone.

The screen light was too bright, stinging my eyes, but I couldn't look away from the text message.

“Can't wait to celebrate our 6-month anniversary in the same room where you married HER. Room 237. After tonight, she'll finally be gone and we can start our real life together.”

I was standing outside the door.

Something inside my chest just... broke.

The bond. The mate bond I shared with Marcus. It was ripped out.

I felt a spray of cold air rush into the hole where he used to be inside my head. Then pain hit.

It was hot, starting in my gut and shooting up to my throat.

I tasted blood. I knew I was coughing up blood again.

I’d been doing it for six weeks now. Six weeks of doctors telling me they couldn't find anything wrong with my body.

That explained the sickness. It made sense now.

The doctors couldn't find a virus because it wasn't a virus. I had been bleeding internally for six weeks because my other half was rejecting me.

He was rejecting us and then giving it to someone else.

I looked down at my bag with my blurry eyes that were filled now with tears. The heavy vintage watch I got for him was there.

I spent the last two thousand dollars I had on it. I wrapped it in the leftover paper from our wedding gifts because I wanted it to be a surprise.

I wanted to see him smile. I’m so stupid. I’m actually so stupid.

My legs felt like jelly. I hadn't eaten a real meal in a month, just crackers and water. I lost twenty pounds.

My hip bones were sharp enough to cut through my dress. I looked in the mirror this morning and I looked like a ghost, but I put on makeup anyway.

I put on the new black lace lingerie.

I bought it online with money I didn't have, hoping that if I looked sexy, if I looked like a wife and not a corpse, he would want me.

We haven't had sex in four months. I thought it was the stress. I thought it was me being sick.

But he wasn't stressed. He was in there, moaning another woman’s name, while I died over here.

I thought about this morning. How he kissed my forehead. His lips were cold.

He said, “I’m sorry, babe. Emergency pack meeting at the Grand View. Alpha business. I might be late for dinner. Don't wait up if you're tired.”

I believed him. I actually felt guilty for being sick and ruining our anniversary.

I spent three hours baking his favorite cake with my grandmother’s recipe.

I was shaking the whole time I was mixing the batter because my hands wouldn't stop trembling, but I did it.

I wanted to surprise him. I wanted to be the good wife.

And now I’m standing here, holding a box of lemon cake and a two-thousand-dollar watch, listening to him screw his secretary.

Emilia.

Her name is Emilia. She was crying in the breakroom four weeks ago because she couldn't pay her rent.

I’m the one who gave her the cash. I’m the one who took her shopping and bought her that navy blazer she wears. I bought her lunch.

I invited her to Thanksgiving. She sat at my table and ate my food and laughed at my jokes.

And she’s wearing my earrings. I gave them to her for her birthday last week.

But it’s the ring that makes me want to vomit.

I can see it through the door. The one I gave to Marcus six months ago to resize because it was too big for me and also told him to keep it safe.

I didn’t want to lose it, it was my grandmother’s.

He kept it safe of course. The asshole had to put it on Emilia’s finger while he was buried inside her.

I feel sick. I feel like I’m dying right now. My heart is beating so fast it hurts. I can’t breathe.

I should kick the door down. I should scream. I should shift and tear them both apart. That’s what a wolf does.

But I can’t move. I’m paralyzed. I couldn’t shift for weeks now. My wolf… was gone.

And now, I’m just standing here, holding this stupid cake box, feeling the last six weeks of my life make sense.

I wasn't sick.

I was being drained. He was taking my energy, my life force, and feeding it to her. That’s why I’m twenty pounds lighter.

That’s why I’m coughing up blood. He’s been slowly killing me to keep her young.

I hear Marcus groan inside. A sound I used to love. Now it sounds like an animal. A pig.

Then I hear Emilia giggle. She says, “Does she know?”

Marcus grunted and kissed her neck and sighed. “She made dinner reservations for tonight. I had to pretend I forgot our anniversary."

Emilia giggled more. "You're such a good actor, baby. She has no idea you've been mine for months."

Marcus snickered a little and then his voice turned serious. "I have to be careful. One wrong move and she'll fight me on everything - the house, the business, the pack leadership."

Emilia rolled her eyes and gently smacked his chest. “Then hurry up and finish her off. The bond poisoning is taking too long."

My heart that I thought was broken already, shattered entirely, and I stilled.

Do you know how I prayed for death a minute ago? I wanted to die because the pain was too much.

But now I don't want to die. I want to kill them. I want to tear them apart with my teeth. But I can’t even stand up.

He repaid me. He repaid every sacrifice. How I sold my grandmother’s house, my only inheritance to fund his failing business.

How I’ve cut off my best friend of 15 years, because Marcus had said she was jealous of our happiness.

How I had learned how to cook and serve and clean like a maid, because he had said “Traditional wives make better mates.”

I let him be the Alpha, control some of my investments while I got sick and thin and weak.

And he gave my grandmother’s ring to the girl I hired to answer his phones. The girl I fed. The girl I clothed.

I closed my eyes for a second because the dizziness was too much.

When I opened my eyes, I remembered how this nightmare began.

Just hours ago, I'd been crying over another negative test at home when my phone buzzed with the text message, giving me the exact location of Marcus and his mistress and what they were doing.

Four whole years of trying to conceive, seven miscarriages and still nothing. I’d been crying, wondering what the hell was wrong with my body… this is what I get?

Marcus’ voice snapped me out of my reverie as he groaned and placed another kiss on Emilia’s neck. “She took another pregnancy test today. Cried for hours when it was negative."

Emilia sneered coldly. "Good. Keep her hope alive just long enough. The more desperate she gets, the less she'll suspect."

Marcus kissed her forehead and retorted. "I told her we'd try IVF again next month. She actually smiled, first time in weeks."

Emilia giggled once more and leaned in to bite his earlobe that made Marcus throw his head back in pleasure. "You're cruel, Marcus. I love it. She'll die thinking she failed you."

Bile rose quickly to my throat.

I was begging the universe. I was begging my wolf inside me. But the silence in my head was deafening.

I curled into a ball on the dirty office floor.

My ribs felt like they were caving in. I couldn't get a breath. The air was too thick.

"Oh God, please," I choked out. Tears were burning my cheeks. "Let this not happen. Please not her. Please not my wolf."

But it was done. I felt emptiness where she used to be. And then… nothing but silence.

I laid there on the hallway floor, my cheek pressed against the cold linoleum, sobbing so hard I threw up a little bit in my mouth.

I swallowed it down. I just wanted to die. I wanted to stop existing right now.

—————————

I don’t know how long I'd been lying on that floor when my fingers automatically dialed Piper, my best friend’s number.

Three years since Marcus made me cut her off, but muscle memory betrayed my pride. She was the only one I could run to right now.

"Rhiannon? Jesus, where are you?"

When she offered to take me to a hospital, I laughed bitterly. "I want to drink until I forget his name."

Two hours later, we were demolishing a bottle of tequila in some dive bar, Piper holding my hair while I sobbed the whole story.

"I want revenge," I slurred. "I want him to hurt like I'm hurting. Then I want divorce. But I can't go home to him. Not tonight."

So my best friend helped me book a room at the Onyx Hotel - somewhere Marcus would never think to look.

I was drunk, broken, fumbling with the keycard when I finally got a door open. The room was dark, and silent.

Perfect. I stumbled inside, kicking off my heels, not bothering with lights.

I just needed to collapse, to forget, to disappear. I was pulling my dress over my head when I heard the sound of a shower running.

My blood turned to ice. This wasn't my room. I spun around, half-naked, just as the bathroom door opened.

Steam poured out, and with it, a man. Tall, powerful, completely naked except for a towel slung low on his hips.

Water droplets traced down his chest, his abs, disappearing beneath white terry cloth.

He stopped when he saw me, his eyes traveling slowly down my body.

He didn't move, didn't speak, just studied me like I was a puzzle he was deciding whether to solve or discard.

Water dripped from his dark hair onto his shoulders, and I couldn't look away from the way it traced down his chest.

"You're drunk," he said finally, his voice flat. "And you're in my room."

I should have apologized, should have run, but the alcohol made me bold. "So?"

The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Something flickered in his eyes, amusement? Danger?

"So," he repeated slowly, "drunk little girls who wander into strange men's rooms usually end up in situations they can't handle."

He took a step closer, and I could smell his soap, his skin, the heat radiating from his body.