Chapter 1
DAPHNE’S POV
What makes a good wife? Perhaps it is tracking your husband’s phone to his location at midnight, only to find yourself at the city’s busiest bar.
“Invitation?” the bouncer asked.
“This?” I held out a black card I had found in my husband’s coat pocket. I had secretly hidden it away a week ago. I assumed he had made a new one.
He took the card, inserted it into a scanner for a moment, and then handed it back to me. He waved his hand. “Go on in, but no phones allowed. Leave all mobile devices in that locker!”
I followed his gesture, chose an open locker, placed my phone inside, and closed it. The locker was equipped with a fingerprint lock. The guard watched me until I returned to him, at which point I proceeded straight into the dim hallway.
It was a typical bar: crowded, with music pounding against my ears and bodies writhing together in wild fervor.
I sat on a stool at the bar. The bartender turned to me, assessing me by the outfit I was wearing. He asked gruffly, “What do you want?”
“Beer, anything is fine,” I replied.
He turned to get my beer, then immediately turned toward another girl wearing a beautiful, tight-fitting dress. I didn’t blame his annoyance; I was dressed in an old black t-shirt and sweatpants.
It had been a long time since I had bought anything for myself. Not because I didn’t have the money, but because I simply didn’t care.
At eighteen, after leaving the Junglerage pack with my parents, I met Lyssander. We married last April, right after I turned twenty-one.
Married life wasn’t as wonderful as I had imagined. I worked in a woodshop, while he worked in finance at a large firm. Because of that gap in our careers, he managed all my assets because he claimed to understand what he was doing with finances.
The money was still mine; he was just the one deciding where to invest it.
I wasn’t interested in money. As a werewolf, I didn’t like interacting much with humans or their financial games. I had a passion for wood carving and just wanted to focus on that.
He was a devoted husband. He took care of our family even before we were married. He was the one who explained work-related documents to me. He served as my only refuge when my family was isolated.
Everything... could have been fine in this marriage. But lately, six months into it, Lyssander frequently came home late smelling like another woman.
I didn’t let him know I could smell it. I just silently tracked the signs. Then I found this place. Perhaps he came here to entertain clients. I tried to tell myself not to be too negative and to trust in this marriage.
Suddenly, the lights went out. Only darkness remained. I backed away as a hand touched me.
He lunged forward, ignoring my refusal. He grabbed my waist. I punched him in the stomach.
The guy swore, “Damn it, you annoying thing!”
What was going on?
The lights flared up, bathing the room in a dim red glow. Now, moans began to echo. The number of people in the room dwindled, much like the clothes on their bodies. Damn it, had I stumbled into an orgy for deviants?
As the crowd thinned out, I began to catch the scent of my husband. It was just a faint trace, overpowered by the smell of alcohol, coffee, and cigarettes, and mixed in with a dozen other people’s odors.
Following his scent, I found him. Actually, I didn’t need the scent to find him anymore, as he was in the middle of the bar. It wasn’t hard to recognize him, even with his blonde hair disheveled and his shirt in disarray. It was still an easy identifier.
However, once I found him, I just wanted to walk away, because I was absolutely shocked by him.
I stood up to look for my husband. I had thought he might have rented a private room or something similar. But no. Things were much worse.
His low moans led me to the stage with the stripper poles. A girl with black hair in a short, fiery red dress was clinging to a pole, her eyes tightly shut.
Beneath her was my husband. Upon approaching, I could recognize him with my sharp werewolf eyes, and his scent was unmistakable despite being mixed with various other odors. He started at her toes, his kisses trailing up to her thighs.
The people without partners stood around. They watched the couple as if they were observing a work of art.
Eventually, my husband’s face was buried between her legs. She gripped the pole behind her tightly. She moaned.
“Lyssan! Lyssan!” the group cheered.
The girl gasped for air. My husband was becoming more intense. His head kept moving. His hands squeezed the girl’s breasts.
“Lyssan! Lyssan!” the crowd chanted.
“Almost there! Oh, Lyssander...” Her voice rose high and sweet. I knew what was about to happen.
I couldn’t watch this scene anymore. I turned and walked straight toward a nearby WC. I threw up everything I had eaten into the toilet bowl. How disgusting it was that he was doing that.
The fact that everyone here knew his name and was screaming it—he was clearly a regular. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he had done. It was so repulsive to think that the tongue which had been in my mouth had also been in someone else’s vagina. Could the strange scent I had smelled earlier be related to this?
Oh God. I vomited again until my stomach was empty. Opening the toilet door, I stumbled out.
In the deserted corridor, while not paying attention, I bumped into someone’s chest. He held me steady and wouldn’t let go.
“Sorry, I...” I couldn’t say another word...
When I looked up to see who held me, my heart tightened, and the air was sucked from my lungs. The man standing in front of me was the guy I had rejected at eighteen—Theron Aethelion.
