My mind was going a million miles a minute. What did this mean? These small boxes were usually wrapped in plastic, right? So where was the plastic? Did that mean he already used some?

I opened up the paper tab and looked inside. Nope, there were three, just like the label said. Besides, if he'd really used any, then I doubt he would have asked me to come and grab them. After all, wouldn't that practically be announcing that he'd used them with someone else?

Not that I would have minded. Him fucking around would basically give me a free pass to do the same. Not that he'd agree of course, but at the very least, it would put him in an awkward enough position that he couldn't disagree either.

But sadly, no. The box was full. Which meant that he hadn't used any of them. Which only made it all the more suspicious as to why it was open.

It wouldn't make sense for him to open them up in the car and it would be stupid of him to buy a box that was already tampered with from the store. So, when did he take the plastic off? And, more importantly, why?

I wasn't sure, but I didn't trust it. I grabbed one of the condoms out and tucked it into my bra. Whatever was going on, I didn't have time to look into it now. Even if I "had trouble finding them" it wouldn't be much longer before Phil would have expected me back. Which meant my time to plan a counterattack was limited.

My body-draining, hot-and-heavy sex session with Mason aside, I really didn't want to sleep with Phil tonight. Considering how pushy he'd been about that idea the last few days though, I doubted a simple "not in the mood" was going to cut it.

I thought about tossing the box out of the window or hiding it in a drawer and saying I couldn't find anything, but that would just make him suspicious. Knowing Phil, he probably triple-checked that they were in there before he went to the bedroom to find me.

Lying about feeling sick was out since I hadn't acted like it up to this point, and lying about my period would only work for a day or two before he caught on. Plus, the ensuing fight would put me at a greater disadvantage in the long run.

No, my best bet was to admit that I'd found them and see what his next move would be. Besides, this might be my only chance to interrogate him about the missing packaging. If nothing else, his lack of a good explanation would give me a legitimate reason to reject him later.

I took a deep breath to steel my nerves before walking back to the war zone. This was it. The final battle. And I was going to win.

"I searched your pockets, but I couldn't find anything else. Is this what you were looking for?" I asked, turning the box over in my hands as if curious.

"Yup, that's it," he said, a disgustingly excited gleam in his eyes.

"Ah, okay. Here you go," I said casually, setting it in front of him.

In an instant, the frustration returned to his eyes. After all, I wasn't following the little script he'd written for me. I was either supposed to suggest using them myself to thank him for this "romantic evening," or ask about them so he could bring it up for me.

However, Phil was never one to be deterred by such a minor inconvenience. In a second, he was already putting "Plan B" into action. He slid the box across the table towards me, the fake smile returning to his face.

"Actually, I was thinking that you could hold onto them," he said with a wink.

"Me? What would I do with them?" I laughed as if completely ignorant about what he was suggesting.

By this point, he had to know that what I was doing was a soft rejection. He wasn't stupid. And as much as I put on the ditzy, innocent housewife routine for him, he knew I wasn't either. At least, not when it came to stuff like this.

No, this was a war we waged quite often. Him pushing for sex and me finding ways to reject him. Occasionally, I let him win. Mostly for my own convenience and peace of mind. But more often than not, I was the one who won out in the end. A fact he was well aware of.

Usually, that fact was enough to deter him from wasting his energy on what he knew would be a losing battle, but he seemed especially determined to win tonight. And that unusual determination only helped to heighten the already growing suspicion I felt in my gut.

"Well, not for you specifically," he chuckled along. "For us. I know you've been holding back because we haven't had any, so I went out and got some. I was thinking that maybe we could break them in tonight."

And here we were. The grand conclusion of his master plan. No more hinting about what he wanted, he was telling me now.

After all, how could I possibly say no? He did everything right. He bought me flowers, complimented my appearance, set up a romantic dinner, and even went as far as to get the birth control he knew I'd been so anxious about. I mean, what possible reason could I have to reject him after all of that?

But there was one. One little oversight that he made. One tiny mistake that I could use to bring all his carefully built plans crashing to the ground.

"Well, that sounds like—" I paused and picked up the box. I turned it over in my hands with a confused look on my face. "Huh. Why is it open?"

His face immediately went blank. "What?"

"It's open, see?" I said, showing it to him. "These usually come wrapped in plastic, don't they? Did you open it?"

His panic was both immediate and obvious. This wasn't in the script he'd written at all. I was supposed to either accept his perfectly reasonable suggestion or politely reject him in a way that he could counter. He wasn't prepared to answer any questions. And it showed.

"Huh? Oh, I didn't see that," he said, brushing it off quickly. "It was probably just like that when I bought it."

"From the store? That's even weirder," I mumbled, setting them on the table. "I don't think we should use them then. They could have been tampered with."

That only seemed to double his panic. And with it, my suspicions.

"Ah! Actually, now that you mention it, I did open them," he explained, nodding as if he just remembered. "Yeah, I unwrapped them before I came home."

Okay, now it was obvious that he was lying.

Something smelled fishy about all this. Phil had been pretty anti-condom for a while now, so why was he pushing so hard to use them today? And why did he suddenly backtrack like that the second I suggested not using them? Normally, he would have just suggested not using them at all. Or, at most, he would have suggested going out to buy new ones.

Yet tonight, for some reason, we had to use condoms. Not just any condoms though. No, it had to be these specific condoms. To say the whole thing was suspicious would be an understatement.

"Really? Why?" I asked.

A simple question, but again, it seemed to throw him off. I guess he was really hoping I would buy his flimsy explanation.

"What do you mean 'why?' I bought them to use, didn't I? Why wouldn't I open them?"

By this point, "Cassanova" was fading fast. His carefully crafted facade was beginning to crack, and I could see the real Phil underneath, trying desperately to stay hidden beneath the fractured remains.

"Well, it just seems kind of weird," I commented. "Why open them before you were even home? Don't you normally open a package when you're about to use it?"

"I just didn't want to deal with the fucking packaging later, okay?!" He snapped. "You're always trying to find some excuse or another not to fuck me, so I thought it would give you less time to try to weasel your way out of it tonight! There. Is that a good enough explanation?"

And there he was. My husband. Finally revealing his true self from beneath the smoke and mirrors.

"Weasel my way out of it? Weasel my way out of it?!" I repeated, indignantly. "Oh, sorry. I forgot that sex with you was a goddamn obligation! How dare I try to weasel out of my obviously pre-scheduled arrangement to be your glory hole."

He made a disgusted noise. "God, do you always have to be so vulgar about everything?"

"You want to talk about 'vulgar,' Phil?" I shot back. "Because you know what's really vulgar? Expecting your wife to lay back and spread her legs for you just because you faked being a decent husband for a couple of hours.

"But hey, if you're fine with that, then sure. Go ahead. Fuck me. I think I have the three minutes to spare."

That sent him fuming. Calling him out on his manipulative intentions? No big deal. Saying what a shitty husband he was? Who cared? But questioning his manhood? Oof. That was a blow to his fragile ego that he just couldn't take sitting down. Literally.

He stood up, his chair scraping back violently as he glared down at me "You know what, Maggie?! You'd do well to remember your place in this goddamn house."

"Oh, I know exactly what my place is," I said calmly, hands folded in front of me on the table. "My place is being your good little housewife. The one who cooks, and cleans, and keeps everything looking neat and tidy. The one who interacts with the neighbors and makes you sound like the kind of husband other wives only wish they could have. The one who smiles prettily by your side at company events and makes you the envy of every man there. The one that everyone sees.

"My place is in the public, Phil. Because that's the only place you've ever cared about having me. So, unless you plan on making our sex life some kind of public spectacle, fucking you is not in my job description.

"Don't act like I'm your lover. I'm nothing but your hostage."

If he was stewing before, he was boiling now.

Phil was the kind of guy who had a lot of buttons. Naturally, being married to him for so long, I knew not only how to press them, but what each one of them would do as well. And right now, I just triggered the equivalent of a nuclear detonation.

Hostage. He hated when I used that word. It was his greatest shame. The undeniable proof that he was, in fact, the thing he feared the most. A failure.

He could disguise it all he wanted. He could plaster a fake smile on my face, and dress me in designer labels, and flash me around to dazzle everyone in sight. But the truth remained, I wasn't there by choice.

No, it wasn't the great honor of being Mrs. Philip Henderson that kept me by his side, but the chains he used to bind me.

He tried to ignore them. Tried to push them from his mind as often as possible. At times, I'm sure he probably even deluded himself into believing that they were never there at all. That it was merely his wealth, power, and charisma that made me unable to leave him.

But try as he might, the fact remained that they were there. And that one little word, "hostage," was enough to send them clamoring inside his mind. The cruel reminder of his own inadequacy. His ultimate failure. Because he knew, without them, he himself would never be enough to keep me there.

Without a word, he snatched up the box of condoms and stormed out of the room. The door slammed a few seconds later and his car pulled out of the driveway.

I let out a relieved sigh as his car faded into the distance. However, that relief was short-lived. Despite his blood-boiling rage just now, he wouldn't be out for too long. He couldn't be out for too long. The neighbors would talk if he disappeared this late in the night.

No, I'd only have one, maybe two hours at most before he came back sulking and salty, but ultimately calmed down. And there was something I needed to confirm before he came back home.

I reached into my bra and pulled out the condom I'd hidden there. I stared down at it, a knot forming in my stomach. How strange that one little piece of rubber could have such a sense of foreboding surrounding it.

I opened up the wrapper and walked over to the sink, that knot in my stomach growing tighter as I turned on the water.

By this point, Phil and I didn't have a lot left in our relationship. The love had died, the integrity was lost, and there wasn't even enough respect left for me to see him as a human being anymore. But the one thing that had always managed to stand the test of time between us was trust.

He trusted me to not destroy his reputation publically, and I trusted him to keep my brother alive. He trusted me to keep the home well-kept, I trusted him to bring home the money. He trusted me to make him look good at public social events, I trusted him to never use Eli in the same way.

They were little things. A flimsy trust, at best. Probably the most minimal amount you could ever imagine in a relationship. But it existed nonetheless.

Although I wasn't lying to Mason earlier when I said that cheating on Phil wasn't the issue, I'd be lying to myself to say I didn't feel any guilt about crossing one of the lines I'm sure Phil trusted me not to cross.

However, I didn't feel that guilt anymore. Not an ounce, not a bit. Because it seemed I wasn't the only one who had crossed a line today.

The world isn't a perfect place. With any product you purchase, there is always the small risk of there being some kind of defect with it. So, it would make sense that, on occasion, there would be a mistake somewhere and the occasional condom might accidentally have a hole in it. An unfortunate mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.

But of course, Phil wasn't the kind of guy to make a mistake. Oh, no. If he was going to do something, then he was going to do whatever it took to make sure he did it right the first time. Which is why, as I watched water leak from not one, not two, but five holes in the condom, I was absolutely sure that it was no mistake.