Mated to the Vermore Brothers

Bailey The sound of the clock ticking steadily on the nightstand pressed against my temples with each passing second, taunting me. Six p.m, it read meaning I had about thirty minutes before Ethan would surface from the bathroom. “Oh, hey, Barnie!” My husband’s voice drifted from the bathroom, cutting off my thoughts. Muffled but unmistakably animated, it was easy to guess he was on the phone. Again. In the bloody shower, no less! And, of course, the caller or was it the callee? I couldn’t tell who’d called whom but it was ‘Barnie.’ Barnaby Lewis, his best friend. Or, should I say, his evil henchman and partner in whatever schemes he had going on, if you ask me. It was always like this. He’d just gotten home from work, and now he was going out again—this time for heaven knows what with that friend of his. I was sure hanging out with Barnaby was only an excuse, to be honest. Barnaby was probably helping him sneak off to see one of his many lovers again, but there was no way to know for sure. I stood in the doorway of our bedroom, my eyes fixed on the sleek black laptop sitting innocently on the desk. Staring at it, I debated not for the first time whether today would be the day I'd finally cross the line. Because something was different this evening an almost desperate itch under my skin that refused to be ignored. Over three years of suspicion had taken their toll, leaving me raw and restless. Every business trip, every late-night meeting, every whispered phone call… had built up to this moment. If I didn’t act now, I’d never know. Walking toward the desk, my bare feet were soundless on the hardwood floor. The bathroom door was closed, water running. He wouldn’t hear. My heart raced as I slid the laptop open. The login screen came up immediately and my jittery fingers hesitated over the keys, daring me to try. Ethan wasn’t stupid. He’d always been careful, meticulous even. But everyone slips up eventually. “Please,” I whispered, my fingers automatically repeating the keys I’d seen him type in once, months ago. My breath caught as the screen flickered, then unlocked, and I sat there frozen for a moment. I hadn't expected it to work. In fact, I'd braced myself for a swift disappointment, but now... now, the gravity of what I was really doing hit me like a wave. This was an invasion of his privacy and a violation of the unspoken rules of trust in any marriage. But then again, was there any trust between us to begin with? Navigating to his files, I scrolled through folder after folder. Most were innocuous: work documents, financial statements, vacation photos. But then I found it, a folder buried deep in a maze of subfolders, innocuously labeled ‘Receipts.’ Receipts for what? Clicking it open, the breath I’d been holding escaped in a sharp gasp. Photos. Videos. Messages. So many… The contents blurred before my eyes as my brain struggled to process what I was seeing. Heat surged to my cheeks, a toxic mix of anger, humiliation, and disbelief. My hands trembled as I clicked through the files, each one more damning than the last. What in the Goddess's name… The sound of water in the bathroom reminded me to stay quiet as my fingers moved on autopilot, muting the laptop before bringing out my phone. Evidence. That’s what I needed now. On the camera app, I hit record, capturing everything as I scrolled through the folder. The messages made my stomach churn; vulgar, explicit, and undeniably incriminating. I hadn't even sexted like this as a horny teenager! So much for all his alibis and airtight stories. A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down. This wasn’t the time to fall apart. I saved as many files as I could, my heart pounding harder with every second that flew by. The water shut off. My pulse spiked, but I kept going, snapping as many shots of their chats as possible for backup. Though deep down, I knew I wouldn’t need them. The videos were... honestly, more than enough. It was sick. I was glad I couldn’t hear the sounds, because I’m certain I would’ve gagged. The bathroom door creaked open, and I snapped the laptop shut just as Ethan stepped into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist. “You’re here early,” he said casually, obliviously. “Yeah, I… finished… what I had to do on time,” I replied, forcing a smile. You have no idea… My voice sounded strange to my own ears. Too high, too strained and I feared he'd suspect, but he only nodded, reaching for his clothes. “I’ve got a late meeting tonight. Don’t wait up.” ‘Of course you do,’ came the bitter thought, and I turned away, unable to stand his presence any longer. The betrayal stung. I pretended to tidy the bed as he got dressed, my vision blurring as the pieces fell into place: Ethan’s distance and lack of intimacy, the endless excuses, the lies… it all made sense now. For years I'd questioned myself, wondering if I was the problem. That notion was almost laughable now. I’d blamed my own reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing every inch of my body for flaws he might have found… repellent. But it wasn’t just Ethan’s detachment that’d haunted me. It was his mother’s too. Lucille Crestfall, the family matriarch, had practically made it her life's mission to make me feel as inadequate as possible. Nothing I did was ever good enough. “A woman’s… worth… is in her ability to nurture,” she’d told me once, with so much disdain. “What good is a wife who can’t even provide an heir?” Even the memory of the insult stung afresh. Back then, I’d swallowed her words like poison, letting it eat me up from the inside. I’d held on to the foolish thought that Ethan's disinterest was my own failure, and that if I just tried harder… How ironic it was now, with the truth staring me in the face. Lucille's judgment and cutting remarks had all been vain. Her perfect son wasn’t some… helpless victim, with a barren wife! He was the mastermind behind this charade, who was totally… incapable of loving me in the way a husband… a man should. And yet… I couldn’t stop the question: ‘Had she known…?’ Surely, even as miserable and cruel to me as she was, Lucille couldn’t have known the truth and still painted me the villain in this farce. But then again, she was his mother. If anyone could have uncovered his secret, it was her. The moment Ethan left, the bitter laugh finally escaped me. Whether she’d known or not hardly mattered now. I already held the truth in my hands. Proof. Irrefutable, damning proof and my mind raced with the possibilities. I could finally put them in their place. Give them a taste of their own medicine but first, what I needed was space. To breathe or think! Anything to dispel the rage and despair coursing through me. The Crestfall estate suddenly felt suffocating as I grabbed my keys, my movements fueled by a clarity I hadn’t felt in years. No note. No explanations. Let him wonder where I’d gone, for once. Tonight, he could stew in his deceit, for all I cared because for the first time, I wouldn’t be up waiting, the one clinging to answers that would never come. And when morning came, I’d make him pay.