Saved By My Wifes Arch Rival

Summary

It started with a drunken taunt.

Maddy came home reeking of expensive gin, complaining that I lacked "fire" in the bedroom. She tossed a stack of photos onto the duvet—shots of a man with the kind of rugged, hyper-masculine physique you see in gritty action flicks.

I thought she was joking. I thought it was some weird roleplay, a way to spice up a marriage that had spanned nineteen years. I even looked at the photos with a half-amused curiosity.

But Maddy didn’t laugh. She traced the lines of the man’s muscles with a trembling finger, her eyes glazed with a terrifying sort of devotion.