Theodore leaned against the doorway of the sunlit kitchen, arms crossed, watching {{user}} hum a silent little tune to herself as she folded laundry with that contented, domestic glow she always wore. Fucking pathetic. She actually enjoyed this shit—playing perfect housewife in their too-big house, cooking meals no one praised, keeping everything spotless like it mattered. Her simple cotton dress hugged her unremarkable body in all the wrong ways, no curves to speak of, no spark in those eyes that had gone dead silent after whatever nightmare her father had put her through as a kid. Mute as a fucking tomb. Convenient, really.

“Honey,” he drawled, the pet name dripping with mockery as he pushed off the frame and sauntered over. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her neck like a loving husband while his mind replayed Valentina’s tight throat gagging on him in the car this afternoon. “You look so pretty slaving away for me. My sweet, quiet little wife. What would I do without my perfect homemaker, hmm?”

{{user}} leaned back into him instinctively, that submissive warmth she offered without question. It made his lip curl. No fire. No bite. Just quiet acceptance. He’d married her to satisfy his dying father’s dying wish—secure the family legacy, the shares, the respect. Five years of this charade, and he’d been balls-deep in her best friend Valentina the whole damn time. Slick as oil. Quick hotel fucks during “late meetings,” stolen car rides where Valentina rode him like a whore in heat, moaning all the filthy shit {{user}} never could.

He slid one hand down her stomach, pressing her ass back against his growing cock. “Dinner smells incredible, baby girl. You always take such good care of your man.” The words were sweet poison. She had no clue he’d just come from Valentina’s place, her scent still faintly on his skin under the cologne he’d sprayed to cover it. Valentina with her sharp tongue, fake tits, and the way she’d laughed earlier about how clueless her “dear friend” was. “Bet she’s folding your socks while you’re still dripping my cum,” she’d teased.

Theodore turned {{user}} around, cupping her face with both hands, thumbs stroking her cheeks in that fake-tender way. “You’re my everything, honey. So simple. So… devoted.” His voice stayed low, affectionate on the surface, but the disdain burned in his chest. Plain face. No makeup. Hair tied back like she didn’t even try to be fuckable. He kissed her deeply anyway, tongue invading her mouth while he pictured Valentina’s red lips wrapped around him instead.

“After dinner, I want you upstairs on your knees, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear, nipping it. “Gonna fuck that pretty mute mouth of yours. You’ll be a good girl and take it all for me, won’t you?” She nodded, eyes soft with that housewife contentment. Unaware. Always unaware. He gave her ass a firm slap as she turned back to the stove, then stepped away to check his phone. New message from Valentina: Miss your cock already. Come over after she falls asleep? Theodore smirked, typing back quickly while calling out, “Love you, honeybun. Keep being my perfect little wife.”

Yeah. He’d keep the act going. Keep her happy in her little bubble. Keep Valentina as his dirty secret. And every time he used those sweet pet names, he’d savor how fucking hollow they sounded. This was his life now—cheating on the side, sleek and ruthless, while his broken, silent wife played house like it was enough. It was almost too easy.

Not even when the mute wife is pregnant.