Took the Fall for Five Years—Then I Got Out to Find Him Sleeping with His Secretary

Five days. That was all I had left on my five-year sentence when my husband, Joey, shoved me down onto that rock-hard prison cot. The mattress was so stiff it dug into my bones. My head was forced back, and a plea—already cracked to pieces—spilled out of my throat.

“I… I just miscarried…”

He didn’t even blink. He scoffed like it was a joke. “Aren’t werewolves supposed to heal fast? What are you afraid of?”

My wolf was exhausted, panting in my chest like she’d been running for days. My voice came out thin and weak. “But the doctor said… I can’t.”

He paused for a heartbeat, and then pressed down harder, irritation seeping into his tone.

“That’s a human doctor,” his voice low, as if he were annoyed at having to correct a stupid mistake. “Besides, you know I like this kind of thing. In prison… it’s exciting.”

I didn’t argue. I didn’t beg. My attitude was tough, refusing to give him what he wanted.

In the end, he dressed and left the cell.

I stayed sprawled on the cot, palms slick with sweat. Deep in my chest, my wolf let out a low, broken whine.

The next second, my phone screen lit up—so bright it hurt.

His secretary, Betty, had posted a screenshot on Instagram: a bank transfer for 521,314.

Caption: Dating isn’t as sweet as going to work!

I just commented—Work hard—and immediately realized she’d blocked my account.

Joey called, scolding me before I could say a word. “I just advanced my employee’s bonus for her birthday. Why the hell did you send her private message to curse her? My tolerance isn’t a license for you to make a sense!”

In the background, I could clearly hear employees soothing him, and Betty’s “wronged” little sobs.

I didn’t even get to explain. The call cut off—and then he blocked me too.

Right after that, Betty posted again, high and proud: a transfer for a full million.

I knew exactly what it was.

Compensation. For being “cursed.”

On Christmas, the prison staff took pity on me—fresh off a miscarriage—and approved my early release.

I wanted to give Joey a surprise, so I didn’t tell him.

On the ride home, I kept imaging: his face when he saw me—shock, guilt, heartbreak… even a tiny flicker of tenderness. Anything. Just enough to prove these five years hadn’t been a complete joke.

But when I got home, it was seven p.m. The living room was empty.

I went upstairs. The bedroom door was open.

Joey wasn’t alone.

Someone was kneeling on our bed. A slim back in a maid outfit, a glaring ribbon around her throat.

When she turned her head, I saw her face.

Betty.

In that instant, the world froze.

My heart slammed into my chest so hard that I couldn’t breathe.

Honestly? Joey had never been good at lying.

Every time he lied, he got impatient. Every time he felt guilty, he exploded first.

It was just that I loved him too much—so much I made excuses for him, I labeled every “wrong” thing an “accident,” every “odd” detail a “misunderstanding.”

But I never thought he’d bring those so-called games—bring this mistress—into our bed.

Just as my knees threatened to give out, Joey’s phone rang.

He let out a low curse and pulled back from Betty a little, but his hand didn’t stop the cruel game between them. Without even looking, he answered.

“What the hell do you want now?” His voice was sharp, dangerous. “I already paid you to shut up. Don’t test my limit.”

My heart tightened.

Paid? Paid who? What did he need to silence?

Betty rested her head on his shoulder, panting softly.

Joey’s voice dropped lower, colder. “I already paid—paid you to make sure you dug Sansa’s heart out. She’s dead now. So why are you calling me?”

The world collapsed.

Sansa’s… heart?

I couldn’t understand. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t believe it.

“If this leaks, I’ll make you disappear,” Joey roared. “Do you hear me?”

He hung up. Betty giggled. “I still can’t believe you really did all that for me.” Her voice was sugary, but it stabbed straight through my ears. “You gave me her heart.”

Joey laughed—and increased the force on his hand. “Swallow a werewolf’s heart, and you get a werewolf’s abilities. Watch…”

He swung the whip at her skin. Betty screamed—but there was no mark left. No bruises. Nothing.

In a breathy whisper, he said, “So you won’t get hurt. So we can play lots of games.”

My legs went weak. My body swayed.

Every word they said was a blade, shaving me open one slice at a time.

A year ago, my sister Sansa had been attacked on her way back to the pack—ambushed by extremist Rogues.

The moment we got the call, we rushed out with people and guns, our hearts pounding so hard they felt like they’d burst through our ribs.

When we arrived, there was blood everywhere. Shredded wolf fur scattered across the ground.

Sansa had already lost her wolf form.

The pack doctor was too far away, so a human hospital took her in.

I still remember the doctor gripping my trembling hands, calm and practiced:

“Mrs. Johnson, don’t worry. This young lady’s physical condition is extremely strong, and we got to her in time. She’ll be fine.”

I dropped to my knees in the hospital hallway and cried until I couldn’t breathe.

She would live.

But one day later, she died on the operating table.

Joey told me it was a surgical accident—an unfortunate complication.

And besides, the surgeon didn’t know Sansa was a werewolf.

I believed him.

Because I loved him.

Because I trusted him.

But now…

Now I knew the truth.

Sansa could have survived.

Joey—my husband, the man I left my pack for, the man I went to prison for—killed her.

He bribed the surgeon.

He stole my sister’s heart.

All for a better experience in his sex games.