Husband Cheated With Man, I Marry His Boss

The plane touched down with a gentle bump, and my heart leaped with anticipation. Three days in Chicago felt like an eternity away from Ethan. As I collected my luggage and hurried through the terminal, I couldn't stop thinking about the small velvet box tucked safely in my purse.

"It's just something to spice things up," the saleswoman had said with a knowing smile as I stood in that tiny boutique during my layover. The black lace lingerie was unlike anything I'd ever worn before—delicate, expensive, and undeniably provocative.

"Your husband will absolutely love it," she'd promised.

I'd blushed furiously as I made the purchase, imagining Ethan's reaction. Would his eyes darken with desire? Would he pull me close the moment he saw me?

I slipped my key into the lock, my pulse quickening. "Ethan?" I called softly, setting my suitcase down in the foyer. "I'm home early. I missed you."

No answer.

"He must be in his study," I murmured to myself, climbing the stairs to our bedroom. The house felt oddly quiet, but I was too focused on my surprise to notice.

In our bedroom, I kicked off my shoes and unzipped my dress, letting it pool at my feet. The black lingerie felt cool against my skin as I slipped it on, adjusting the delicate lace straps over my shoulders.

"Let's see," I whispered, turning toward our full-length mirror.

The woman staring back at me looked different—more confident, more alluring. The black lace accentuated every curve, and I found myself smiling at my reflection. For a moment, I imagined Ethan's hands tracing the edges of the lace, his lips finding mine.

I reached for my phone to text him that I was home, when I heard it—the sound of the front door opening.

"Ethan?" I called again, louder this time.

Instead of his warm greeting, I heard voices—two male voices—one unmistakably Ethan's, the other unfamiliar.

"—don't worry about it," Ethan was saying, his voice carrying up the stairs. "My wife is not at home."

My wife is not at home.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I froze, my fingers still clutching my phone.

"Not home?" The other voice was deeper, with a hint of amusement. "Where is she, then?"

"Some business trip to Chicago. Won't be back until tomorrow." Ethan's voice was casual, dismissive. "We've got the whole house to ourselves."

Panic surged through me. I glanced around the bedroom wildly, my mind racing. Hide. I needed to hide.

The closet was too obvious. The bathroom—no, they might need to use it.

The bed. It was the only option.

With trembling legs, I dropped to my knees and crawled beneath our king-sized bed, the dust tickling my nose as I settled into the cramped space. The black lingerie suddenly felt ridiculous, like a costume for a role I no longer understood.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I held my breath.

"God, I've missed you," Ethan's voice was husky as the bedroom door opened.