Wife's Bromance - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
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Going inside wasn't an option—way too risky. I'd be spotted in a heartbeat. Even if I tailed them, Serenity Spa's private rooms were built for secrecy. No chance I'd get anything useful.
So I pulled up the listening app on my phone.
At first, just muffled sounds. Then Isabella's voice cut through—she'd specifically requested Daniel.
The bastard arrived moments later with that smarmy greeting: "Well hello, gorgeous. Technician 48 reporting for duty! What'll it be today?"
"Cut the act, you moron." My wife's voice dripped venom. "What possessed you to buy Ethan a cuckold's hat? Trying to wave a red flag in his face?"
Daniel's reply oozed arrogance. "So what? He should know you're mine already. Why don't you two just call it quits?"
"We had a deal—discretion! Do you enjoy playing with fire? Last time I nearly got caught wearing your damn boxers. This time I had to spin some wild story to cover."
"Let him find out. What's the worst that happens? You'd walk away with half his money. Then we could—"
"My parents would disown me. Ugh, just shut up and give me the massage."
"Then you'll need to lose the robe first."
Though I couldn't see them, my imagination filled in every disgusting detail.
My hands shook with barely contained rage. I'd suspected the affair, but hearing it firsthand? That cut deeper than any knife.
No self-respecting man would tolerate this humiliation. Every instinct screamed at me to kick down that door, break Daniel's smug face, and demand answers from Isabella.
But I couldn't. Not here.
My parents valued their reputation above all. I wouldn't let them spend their golden years drowning in scandal because of my impulsive rage.
If I played this smart—gathered undeniable proof—we could end things cleanly. No messy court battles unless absolutely necessary.
Ten minutes in, the audio feed left nothing to imagination—heavy breathing, muffled moans. I'd heard the rumors about Serenity Spa's "special services," how male therapists took liberties with vulnerable clients.
Except Isabella wasn't some victim. She was a willing participant.
That's why they met here in broad daylight—because the spa turned a blind eye, and they thought they were untouchable.
When Isabella finally emerged an hour later, she had that post-massage glow—the kind that had nothing to do with hot stones. Daniel escorted her out, both laughing like teenagers—until they saw me.
Isabella's face went sheet-white. But my wife was nothing if not quick on her feet. Within seconds, she'd pasted on that award-winning smile.
"Ethan! What a surprise!" Her voice was all sugar.
I kept my tone icy calm. "Funny. I'd say catching my wife midday with her ex is more surprising."
"That's not—who told you that lie? Daniel and I are just friends! It's Sophia, isn't it? That jealous witch has been—"
"Interesting." I cut her off. "I never said who it was. But thanks for confirming it's Daniel."
The masseur stepped forward, puffing up like some cheap bodyguard. "Back off, man. Yeah, we dated years ago. Now we're just buddies. Got it?"
I barked out a laugh. "Buddies? What is this, some rom-com? There's no such thing as platonic friends when one's checking out the other's birthmarks."
Daniel's face flushed beet-red. "The hell's that supposed to mean? You keep running your mouth, I'll sue for slander! And treat your wife better—everyone knows women with moles on their—"
He froze mid-sentence. Too late.
The entire lobby heard it. That intimate detail about Isabella's body—one only a lover would know.
A crowd had gathered, phones discreetly recording. Isabella looked ready to melt into the floor. I probably looked like a man who'd taken a sledgehammer to the gut.
No point dragging this out. I locked eyes with my wife.
"Courthouse. Nine AM tomorrow."
I turned on my heel and left. Behind me, Isabella hesitated—caught between damage control and saving face. She chose the coward's way out, grabbing Daniel's arm and fleeing through a side exit.
That night, I called her parents. Laid out every ugly truth—the affair, the divorce, my terms. At first, they raged about betrayal, cursing their daughter's stupidity.
But come morning?
They stood at my doorstep.
With Isabella in tow.
So I pulled up the listening app on my phone.
At first, just muffled sounds. Then Isabella's voice cut through—she'd specifically requested Daniel.
The bastard arrived moments later with that smarmy greeting: "Well hello, gorgeous. Technician 48 reporting for duty! What'll it be today?"
"Cut the act, you moron." My wife's voice dripped venom. "What possessed you to buy Ethan a cuckold's hat? Trying to wave a red flag in his face?"
Daniel's reply oozed arrogance. "So what? He should know you're mine already. Why don't you two just call it quits?"
"We had a deal—discretion! Do you enjoy playing with fire? Last time I nearly got caught wearing your damn boxers. This time I had to spin some wild story to cover."
"Let him find out. What's the worst that happens? You'd walk away with half his money. Then we could—"
"My parents would disown me. Ugh, just shut up and give me the massage."
"Then you'll need to lose the robe first."
Though I couldn't see them, my imagination filled in every disgusting detail.
My hands shook with barely contained rage. I'd suspected the affair, but hearing it firsthand? That cut deeper than any knife.
No self-respecting man would tolerate this humiliation. Every instinct screamed at me to kick down that door, break Daniel's smug face, and demand answers from Isabella.
But I couldn't. Not here.
My parents valued their reputation above all. I wouldn't let them spend their golden years drowning in scandal because of my impulsive rage.
If I played this smart—gathered undeniable proof—we could end things cleanly. No messy court battles unless absolutely necessary.
Ten minutes in, the audio feed left nothing to imagination—heavy breathing, muffled moans. I'd heard the rumors about Serenity Spa's "special services," how male therapists took liberties with vulnerable clients.
Except Isabella wasn't some victim. She was a willing participant.
That's why they met here in broad daylight—because the spa turned a blind eye, and they thought they were untouchable.
When Isabella finally emerged an hour later, she had that post-massage glow—the kind that had nothing to do with hot stones. Daniel escorted her out, both laughing like teenagers—until they saw me.
Isabella's face went sheet-white. But my wife was nothing if not quick on her feet. Within seconds, she'd pasted on that award-winning smile.
"Ethan! What a surprise!" Her voice was all sugar.
I kept my tone icy calm. "Funny. I'd say catching my wife midday with her ex is more surprising."
"That's not—who told you that lie? Daniel and I are just friends! It's Sophia, isn't it? That jealous witch has been—"
"Interesting." I cut her off. "I never said who it was. But thanks for confirming it's Daniel."
The masseur stepped forward, puffing up like some cheap bodyguard. "Back off, man. Yeah, we dated years ago. Now we're just buddies. Got it?"
I barked out a laugh. "Buddies? What is this, some rom-com? There's no such thing as platonic friends when one's checking out the other's birthmarks."
Daniel's face flushed beet-red. "The hell's that supposed to mean? You keep running your mouth, I'll sue for slander! And treat your wife better—everyone knows women with moles on their—"
He froze mid-sentence. Too late.
The entire lobby heard it. That intimate detail about Isabella's body—one only a lover would know.
A crowd had gathered, phones discreetly recording. Isabella looked ready to melt into the floor. I probably looked like a man who'd taken a sledgehammer to the gut.
No point dragging this out. I locked eyes with my wife.
"Courthouse. Nine AM tomorrow."
I turned on my heel and left. Behind me, Isabella hesitated—caught between damage control and saving face. She chose the coward's way out, grabbing Daniel's arm and fleeing through a side exit.
That night, I called her parents. Laid out every ugly truth—the affair, the divorce, my terms. At first, they raged about betrayal, cursing their daughter's stupidity.
But come morning?
They stood at my doorstep.
With Isabella in tow.
End of Wife's Bromance Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Wife's Bromance book page.