Open marriage

Riley's POV 

 I pushed the door open slowly, my hand trembling around the handle. For a second, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Maybe I was hallucinating from exhaustion and heartbreak. 

 But no. 

 The moment the door widened enough for me to see inside, reality slammed into me with brutal clarity. 

 Ethan—my husband—was inside. Inside Wendy. On his desk. 

 Her body was arched over, her blouse pushed to her shoulders, skirt bunched around her hips. His hands were gripping her waist, pulling her back into him, driving into her like he had no shame, no hesitation, no fear of being caught. Like he had done this a hundred times before. 

 Her moans were loud, echoing off the office walls, breathy and unrestrained. She wasn’t even pretending to be quiet. She wasn’t afraid of anyone hearing. She wasn’t afraid of anyone walking in. 

 And why would she be? 

 No one walks into the Alpha’s office without knocking. 

 No one except me.

 They noticed me at once. Wendy’s head snapped toward me so fast her hair whipped across her cheek. Her face drained of color, lips still parted around a moan that died in her throat. 

 Ethan didn’t freeze but he didn’t pull away. He didn’t even bother to reach for his pants. 

 He just turned his head lazily toward me, still buried inside her, and stared like I’d interrupted him on something important. 

 His expression instead of guilt was filled with pure irritation, like I was an inconvenience. 

 My heart stopped. My mind blanked and my vision tunneled. 

 For a moment, all I could hear was my own heartbeat slamming against my ribs. 

 Thud. 

 Thud. 

 Thud. 

 I opened my mouth, but the words fought against the grief strangling my throat. 

 “Our son…” I whispered, barely audible. “He died today, Ethan.” 

 Tears instantly filled my eyes, spilling over my cheeks in silent, panicked streams as Wendy's hands scrambled to pull her blouse together, covering herself with trembling fingers. 

 Ethan finally, slowly, slipped out of her and pulled up his pants like he had all the time in the world. Like I was standing there asking him what he wanted for lunch. He moved with the same sluggish confidence he always had when he knew he was untouchable—the way most Alphas did.

 I swallowed hard, but it felt like glass in my throat. “And you’re here,” I continued, my voice barely holding together, “fucking Wendy? Your own stepsister?” 

 Wendy shook her head, stumbling away from the desk. “Riley—Riley, I’m so— I didn’t— I swear I thought—” 

 Her words tangled, collapsing over each other, but I couldn’t look at her yet. I couldn’t look at the woman who stood by the hospital bed just last night and only left very early this morning. The woman who held me when they took my baby into surgery. The woman who hugged me each time my baby was having one sickness or another. 

 She was family. 

 My best friend. 

 My confidant. 

 The person I trusted with everything I had left. 

 The betrayal cut deeper than any knife ever could. But then Ethan scoffed, and my attention snapped back to him. 

 “You think I care about your dead kid, Riley?” he said, irritation slicing through every syllable. 

 My heart… broke again. Right there. Like it hadn’t already been crushed enough. 

 He continued, stepping closer as if I were the problem. 

 “That’s all you’ve been for months—a walking tragedy. I’m tired of it. Tired of your crying. Tired of the hospitals. Tired of pretending I give a damn. You’re too boring, Riley!” 

 Wendy gasped, covering her mouth, horrified.

 But he wasn’t done. 

 “You wanted sympathy? You wanted me to fall apart with you because of a child you managed to have but couldn’t even take care of? Sorry.” He shrugged. “I’ve got better things to do.” 

 The coldness in his voice seeped into my bones like ice water. It froze whatever warmth I had left. I stood there, staring at him, barely breathing, every cell in my body trembling from shock and rage and devastation. 

 “You…” I choked on my words. “You’re disgusting,” I whispered. 

 He smirked—the same arrogant Alpha smirk he used when belittling employees or dismissing problems he didn’t want to deal with. “You know you always hated how I was lazy, how I didn’t act like your fantasy perfect husband. Well, guess what? I’m done pretending.” 

 My nails dug so deep into my palms I felt something wet. I didn’t know if it was blood or sweat or both. 

 “Because that’s what you are, Ethan,” I said, voice breaking with each word. “I held everything together. Everything. Our child. Our business. Our home. While you—” 

 “While I what?” he cut in sharply. “Did nothing? Yeah. That’s right. And you yet stayed. So what does that say about you?” 

 I took a shaky breath. 

 He wasn’t finished.

 “And honestly…” He leaned against the desk, folding his arms, eyes cruel. “You were always the pathetic one, Riley. Everyone knew it. Everyone felt sorry for me because of it. Maybe that’s why he died. Maybe the kid just wasn’t meant to survive with you.” 

 The world tilted in my head at once. The air was sucked from my lungs. My knees nearly buckled. A sound escaped me—something raw, wounded, unhuman. Something I had never heard myself make before. 

 “Ethan…” Wendy whispered, horrified. “Stop. Stop it—” 

 But he didn’t care. 

 He didn’t care about my shattered chest or the milk stains still on my dress from the last time I held my baby. He didn’t care that he had just used the death of our child—a child he barely acknowledged—to hurt me deeper than any man ever should. 

 Something snapped inside me at once, my hands moved before I could think and I gave him a heavy slap! 

 The slap echoed across the room like thunder. A sharp, vicious crack. 

 His head whipped to the side from pure, unfiltered shock. 

 “Are you crazy?” he snapped, touching his cheek. 

 “No, Ethan,” I said, stepping closer, my voice steady for the first time since I walked in. “I’m done being crazy this time.”

 He scoffed. Like I’d crumble again, the way I always did to keep peace, to keep the marriage functioning, to keep appearances. 

 Wendy’s voice trembled. “Riley, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I thought you and he—he said you two weren’t—” 

 I held up my hand sharply and she stopped talking instantly. 

 “You were supposed to be my friend,” I said quietly. “You were supposed to stand by me—but you’ve shown me you are nothing more than a whore,” I said. 

 I turned back to Ethan. “You think you’ve won, right?” I choked. 

 But he rolled his eyes. “Are you done? We have investors waiting. You can scream later.” 

 The audacity. I clenched my fists trying to stop my shaking hands. My grief didn’t disappear, but it rearranged itself—solidifying into something resolute. 

 I stared straight into his eyes and spoke calmly, clearly, deliberately. 

 “You’ve always wanted an open marriage, right, Ethan?” 

 He blinked, confused by the sudden shift. 

 “Well,” I continued, “you can have it now.” 

 The silence that followed was suffocating. Wendy gasped softly. Ethan straightened, his eyebrows lifting but I didn’t break eye contact. 

 “Let’s do an open marriage.” 

 The words tasted like victory. Bitter, cold victory—but victory nonetheless.

 Ethan opened his mouth, ready to argue, ready to mock me, ready to say something cruel but I didn’t give him the chance. 

 “For the first time since I married you,” I said, walking past him toward the door, “you’re going to see exactly what you pushed me into.” 

 I reached the handle, pulled the door open, and looked back one last time. 

 “You don’t get to hurt me anymore, Ethan,” I said softly. “Not from this moment on.”