Glowing Betrayal: Hunting My Wife

My gaze locked onto the fabric of my wife's tight yoga pants. Two massive, glowing handprints smeared across the material.

She was a toptier influencer with ten million followers, dragging herself through the front door tonight, drenched from the pouring rain.

As she peeled the wet leggings off her thighs in the bathroom, my mutated vision amplified every sick detail. Those handprints were way too large.

They definitely didn't belong to me. The distinct indentation of a heavy ring cut straight through the glowing marks. Whose bed did she crawl out of?

Chapter 1 I dug the heels of my palms into my eyes, rubbing hard. When I blinked, the twin handprints were still there. I measured them with a glance. Definitely not mine.

My hands weren't that massive. "Babe, what are you staring at?" Fallon asked, tilting her head. "Oh, nothing.

I just realized how gorgeous you look today," I tossed out the lie smoothly. "Really?

It must be the new lipstick I tried." She smirked, clearly pleased with herself. "Must be." I grabbed a towel and handed it to her. "Dry your hair first, then take a hot shower.

Don't catch a cold." "You're the best." Fallon took the towel and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek as she brushed past.

Right in front of me, she peeled off the wet yoga pants and tossed them onto the counter. "Throw these in the wash for me, will you?" She vanished into the bathroom, and a second later, the shower turned on.

The sound of running water hit me. Wait. Did she not drive today? How else would she end up soaked to the bone? I pushed the thought away. First things first.

I needed to figure out who left those marks. I grabbed the leggings and headed straight for the laundry room.

I shut the door behind me and spread the damp fabric flat across the ironing board. I hovered my own hands over the glowing spots. Confirmed.

The prints were at least an inch longer than my fingers. I leaned in closer, my face inches from the material. The glowing lines around the knuckles overlapped.

That meant the hands weren't just pressed flat against her skin. They had gripped her. Hard. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of the ironing board.

Fallon was definitely hiding something. But whose hands were these? I squinted, hyperfocusing on the glowing residue to find more clues. My pupils dilated.

Right on the ring finger of the right handprint, there was a break in the glowing lines. A gap. A heavy ring. "Babe? Are you still out there?" The bathroom door clicked open.

Fallon popped her head out, wrapped tightly in a white towel. The sweet scent of her body wash drifted down the hall.

I snatched the yoga pants and shoved them deep to the bottom of the laundry hamper. "Right here." I opened the door and walked toward her. "Just checking the washer.

I think it's acting up again." She didn't miss a beat.

Fallon padded over on bare feet and slipped into my arms like a stray cat, her voice dropping into a soft, breathy whisper. "Forget the washer." She tilted her face up. "The storm is so loud tonight.

It scares me. Hold me?" I looked down at the arms wrapped around my waist. Right on her wrist, another faint ring of glowing residue marked her skin.

My jaw clenched tight, but I kept my face blank. I slid my hand up and stroked her damp back. "Sure." Fallon, what the hell are you hiding? What did the guy with the ring do to you?

The next morning, bright sunlight sliced through the sheer curtains, flooding the bedroom. Fallon sat at her vanity, humming some offkey pop song while she did her makeup.

I lay in bed with my eyes halfclosed, watching her carefully draw on her eyeliner.

Chapter 2 "Babe, you're up?" Fallon caught my movement in the mirror and turned around, flashing a sweet smile. "Breakfast is on the table.

I'm meeting my partners today, and there will definitely be drinks, so I'm not driving." "Got it." I sat up and nodded. My eyes narrowed slightly. Not driving again?

Fallon grabbed her phone from the nightstand, ready to head out. As she walked past me, my vision flared. The back of her phone case was smeared with glowing blue fingerprints.

Fallon's slender prints were buried underneath a massive set of overlapping marks. The image clicked into my brain.

Fallon typing a text, while the guy wrapped his arms around her from behind, his large hands swallowing hers. What the hell kind of position was that? "What's wrong, babe?

Why are you staring at my phone?" Fallon's breath hitched, her grip tightening on the phone. "Nothing.

Just admiring your new nails." I pulled my gaze away and swung my legs out of bed. Fallon's shoulders dropped a fraction. She gave a playful huff. "I'd hope so.

They cost me over two hundred bucks. I'm heading out, honey!" The sharp click of her stilettos faded down the hallway, leaving the massive house dead quiet.

I stood by the secondfloor window, watching her climb into a black Cadillac Escalade with pitchblack tinted windows. The heavy SUV pulled away, disappearing down the street.

I didn't even bother washing up. I grabbed a jacket and headed straight down to the underground garage. Fallon's white Porsche sat parked in the corner.

If she was cheating on me, that car would be a goldmine of evidence. I dragged in a deep breath and hit the unlock button on her spare fob. Beepbeep. The locks disengaged.

I marched to the passenger side and yanked the heavy door open. Even though I thought I was ready, the sight inside hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back two steps.

The dim interior of the Porsche was practically glowing. Overlapping, glowing human silhouettes were smeared across every inch of the leather seats.

I locked my jaw, fighting the sudden urge to throw up, and leaned back in. I scanned the chaotic mess. The passenger side grab handle. The edge of the center console.

Flat against the inside of the windshield. Gripping the steering wheel. Glowing blue handprints covered everything.

And right across the ring finger of every single print, there was that exact same gap. It was him. The exact same guy who grabbed Fallon's yoga pants last night.

Just how wild did they get in here? Did she even care that she had a husband waiting at home?! Ping. My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out. [Babe~ save me!] [I left a super important contract on the desk in the study!] [Can you bring it to the studio for me?] [My partner needs to see it right now, emergency!!!] Perfect.

An opening. The studio was Fallon's turf. It had to be the exact place the guy with the ring hung around the most. [Got it.

On my way.] I turned back, jogged upstairs to grab the folder, and fired up my Hummer. Fallon's studio took up a premium suite in a downtown highrise. I rarely visited.

She always claimed she didn't want an outsider disrupting their creative flow. Looking back, she was just keeping me out of her playground. I pushed through the heavy glass doors.

The receptionist spotted me and waved me through. "Kael, Fallon is in the VIP lounge." I gave a tight nod and walked down the hall.

The lounge door was made of fluted, semitransparent glass. Through the blurred ridges, I could make out two figures sitting close together.

Fallon's laughter drifted through the crack in the door. It was husky and incredibly flirtatious. Definitely not the sound of someone discussing a contract.

I took a slow breath, knocked twice, and shoved the door open. "Fallon. Got your file." The laughter died.

Chapter 3 Fallon stood behind the sleek wet bar, rhythmically shaking a silver martini shaker. Across from her, lounging on a plush leather sofa, sat a man in his forties.

He pinched an expensive Cuban cigar between his fingers.

He wore a sharp charcoalpinstripe suit, hair slicked back without a single strand out of place, a heavy Patek Philippe watch flashing on his wrist.

He had one leg crossed over the other, eyeing me with an amused, almost predatory smirk. I knew him. Harrison, one of the biggest venture capitalists in the city.

Why the hell would a shark like him be interested in Fallon's boutique studio? "Babe, that was fast!" Fallon slammed the shaker down.

She walked over, seamlessly slipping her arm through mine, and turned to Harrison. "Harrison, this is my husband, Kael. Kael, meet Harrison.

He's the new partner at the studio." I kept my face deadpan, holding Harrison's gaze without saying a word. "Kael. A pleasure." Harrison didn't even bother to stand up.

He just gave a lazy wave of his cigar. "Fallon talks about you all the time. Says you're a real solid family man." My eyes locked onto his extended right hand.

It was manicured, the skin soft and smooth. Not a single callus. But… no ring? Why no ring? Was he not the guy? Or did he slip it into his pocket because he knew I was coming?

No, that didn't make sense. He had no way of knowing my vision could pick up the glowing residue. "Babe? What are you doing?

Hand him the file." Fallon nudged my ribs, breaking me out of my trance. "Right." I snapped back to reality and shoved the folder toward Harrison. "My bad.

Didn't get much sleep last night. Still running a little slow." Harrison took the file, his gaze shamelessly dragging up and down Fallon's curves. "Totally understandable.

With a wife as stunning as Fallon, who needs sleep?" I forced a dry, hollow laugh. I turned to Fallon. "I'll let you guys get back to it.

I've got errands to run." I didn't stick around. If Harrison wasn't the guy, there was zero point in standing there playing the dutiful husband. I shoved through the studio doors.

The harsh midday sun stabbed at my eyes. I climbed back into the Hummer but didn't touch the ignition. Instead, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Not Harrison.

Then who the hell was it? I whipped out my phone and tapped open Fallon's Instagram. She lived for the aesthetic; her entire life was documented online.

If the guy existed, there had to be breadcrumbs. My thumb flew across the screen, swiping past heavily filtered selfies and overpriced brunch shots. My thumb stopped.

A post from a week ago. The picture was a mirror selfie of Fallon in the gym. [Killer session today!

Literally dead~] [Huge shoutout to my trainer Knox for the absolute torture!] In the background of the shot, a massive hand rested on Fallon's waist, supposedly correcting her form.

It was a thick, muscular hand, veins bulging aggressively against the skin. And right there, on the ring finger— Sat a heavy, square black ring. Was it him? Knox.

I recognized the name. Fallon's exclusive personal trainer. A sixfoottwo wall of muscle. I crushed the cigarette into the ashtray. A sharp, dangerous heat flared in my chest.

I checked the dash clock. Noon. Fallon's routine was strictly afternoon gym sessions. I had enough time to head home, change, and catch a quick nap. Then, I was going hunting.

Chapter 4 I snapped awake. 4:00 PM. Shit. I slept through the alarm. I threw myself into the Hummer, slammed my foot on the gas, and let the engine roar all the way to the gym.

Twenty minutes later, tires screeching against the asphalt, I slammed the brakes outside Apex Fitness. "Sir, I need to see your membership card…" The blonde at the front desk stepped in my way. "I'm looking for someone." I leaned over the counter, my voice dropping to a dead, flat whisper. "I'll be straight with you.

My wife is cheating on me. I'm currently having a massive psychotic break, and I really want to kill someone." I kept my eyes locked on hers, unblinking.

The receptionist froze, the color draining from her face. "Sir… what's your wife's name?" she stammered. "Fallon." Her pupils constricted the second the name left my mouth.

A physical tell. She knew something. "What is it?

You know her?" I pressed, stepping closer. "No, no, I don't!" She shook her head frantically, stumbling back. "She's in VIP Room 204." "But sir, please, you need to calm down!

Don't do anything you can't take back!" My eyes narrowed. She knew something. But that didn't matter right now. I spun around and took the stairs two at a time. Room 204.

I stopped dead in front of the door. The heavy metal handle was practically vibrating with blue light in my mutated vision.

Among the chaotic mess of glowing, overlapping prints, the top palm mark had that exact same break on the ring finger. Jackpot. I finally found the son of a bitch.

I pulled my leg back to kick the door off its hinges, but a heavy, jagged gasp bled through the wood.

Then, a man's low, commanding growl. "Spread your legs a little wider." "Yeah… almost done." Then came Fallon's voice, choked with a wet sob. "Ah, lighter, please… it hurts." Blinding heat exploded behind my eyes.

CRASH! I slammed my boot into the door, kicking it wide open. The scene inside the VIP room seared itself into my retinas. Fallon was spread facedown on a yoga mat.

Her sports bra was shoved aggressively up toward her chest, exposing a massive expanse of her bare, flushed back.

And Knox—the hulking, steroidpumped trainer—was straddling her hips, pinning down her lower back! "Kael?!" Fallon's head snapped around, the blood draining instantly from her face.

She scrambled frantically, trying to yank her top down to cover herself. Knox jolted, his heavy hands freezing on her skin.

It wasn't the exact position I had pictured in my head, but seeing him mounted on my wife was all the damn evidence I needed. "You sick fucks! I'll kill you both!" I lunged.

I grabbed a fistful of Knox's tank top, hauled him up, and slammed my fist straight into his face. Flesh crunched.

Knox stumbled backward, blood spraying from his nose onto the floor mats. "Kael! Stop!

What the hell are you doing?!" Fallon screamed, scrambling off the mat to grab my arm. "Get the fuck off me!

You don't get to call me that!" I shoved Fallon aside so hard she hit the wall. I threw myself at Knox again, tackling him to the ground.

I pinned him down, my knee driving into his chest, and seized his wrist in a death grip. "Like wearing rings, huh?

Like playing with other men's wives?" I spit the words into his bloody face. "I'm going to break every bone in this hand!" I froze, my grip loosening on his wrist.

The heavy black ring on Knox's hand was on his left ring finger. But the glowing gaps on Fallon's yoga pants and inside the Porsche… were on the right hand