Husband Chooses Mistress Over Wife

The evening air carried the scent of jasmine as I walked Max through our neighborhood, his leash slack in my hand. Our routine had become sacred—thirty minutes each night where I could breathe, where the pressures of the company and the careful choreography of being Lucian's perfect wife could fall away. Max trotted beside me with his usual dignified gait, his thick coat gleaming under the streetlights.

We'd just turned the corner onto Maple Street when Max suddenly lurched forward, nearly yanking the leash from my grip. His entire body language transformed—ears perked, tail wagging with an intensity I'd never seen before. He strained toward a woman emerging from a boutique storefront, whimpering with what could only be described as pure joy.

"Max, what's gotten into you?" I tightened my hold, but he was determined, pulling me toward the stranger with single-minded focus.

The woman looked up from locking her shop door, and I felt my breath catch. She was beautiful in an effortless way—honey-blonde hair that caught the light, wearing a cream silk blouse that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. When she saw Max, her face lit up with genuine delight.

"Oh my goodness," she said, immediately kneeling down as Max practically threw himself at her. "Look at you, handsome boy."

Max was beside himself, tail wagging so hard his entire back end wiggled. He pressed against her, nuzzling her hands with the kind of desperate affection usually reserved for family members returning from long trips. I'd never seen him react to anyone this way—not even to Lucian or me.

"I'm so sorry," I said, embarrassment heating my cheeks. "He's usually much better behaved."

The woman laughed, a sound like wind chimes, as she scratched behind Max's ears with practiced familiarity. "Don't apologize. He's absolutely precious." She looked up at me, her green eyes sparkling. "I'm Milena Garcia. I own the pet boutique here."

"Alexandra Montgomery," I replied, studying her face for any sign of recognition. There was something about the way she said my name—a slight pause, as if she were tasting it.

"Ah, you must be Lucian's wife," Milena said, and there it was—that knowing smile that made my stomach clench. "He's mentioned you, of course. Such a devoted husband, always coming in to find the perfect things for Max here."

My hand tightened on the leash. "Lucian shops here?"

"Oh yes, quite regularly." Milena's fingers continued working through Max's fur with an intimacy that felt wrong somehow. "He has such particular tastes when it comes to Max's care. Always wants the finest organic treats, the most comfortable bedding. He says only the best will do."

I forced a smile, though something cold was spreading through my chest. Lucian had never mentioned this boutique, never mentioned Milena Garcia with her perfect hair and knowing eyes. "How wonderful that he's found such a... dedicated shop owner."

Milena's smile widened, and for just a moment, I caught something in her expression—a flash of triumph, quickly masked. "I do my best to take care of all my special customers."

Max finally began to calm, though he remained pressed against Milena's legs as if reluctant to leave. She stood gracefully, smoothing her blouse, and I noticed how her hand lingered on Max's head—possessive, familiar.

"Well," I said, tugging gently on the leash, "we should let you get home."

"Of course." Milena stepped back, but her eyes never left Max. "I hope to see you both again soon. Max is always welcome here."

As we walked away, I could feel her watching us. Max kept looking back, whimpering softly, as if leaving behind something precious. The knot in my stomach tightened with each step.

That night, lying in bed beside Lucian's sleeping form, I couldn't shake the image of Max's reaction to Milena Garcia. The way he'd known her, trusted her immediately. The way she'd touched him like she had every right.

And the way she'd smiled when she said Lucian's name—like they shared a secret I wasn't meant to know.

I stared at the ceiling until dawn, a terrible certainty growing in the darkness. Something was very, very wrong.