The Husband From Ten Years Ahead

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The morning of our third day as a married couple, my husband flipped the script.

No good morning kiss pressed to my cheek. No hot breakfast waiting on the counter. In the middle of the night, I even caught him sneaking out to sleep on the couch, clutching his blanket like a coward fleeing a disaster.

Was he just using me as a beard to hide his true sexuality?

I bit back my temper and swiped his unlocked laptop. His search history was staring right back at me on the screen:

[What to do if you suddenly time-travel back ten years to your honeymoon, right on the day before your divorce is finalized?]

Ten years from now? The day before the divorce is finalized?

So, the guy sitting on my living room couch rubbing his exhausted face wasn't my newlywed husband who hung on my every word.

He was the older version of him from ten years in the futurethe one who decided to divorce me?!

Chapter 1

The cracks started showing on the morning of day three.

Thorne usually woke up early, moving around the apartment like a ghost to get ready and whip up breakfast. Before leaving for the office, he'd slide back into the bedroom to kiss my lips, my forehead, my cheeks. He wouldn't stop until I got so annoyed I scowled and slammed a pillow right into his face. Only then would he finally leave for work.

But this morning, a loud thud woke me up. He had fallen flat onto the floor. I blindly kicked out a foot in his direction. Silence fell over the room.

A few minutes later, the front door clicked open. Still half-asleep, I puckered my lips, waiting for my kiss. I hung there in the air for a solid minute before the front door slammed shut.

Red flags immediately went up. I rolled out of bed.

In the bathroom, our toothbrushes weren't sharing the same cup anymore, and there was no toothpaste squeezed onto my pink bristles. The kitchen table was bare. The cat bowl was empty. Daisy stared up at me with huge, pathetic eyes, practically filing a formal complaint about her dad's cold shoulder.

The red wedding decorations were still plastered on the walls, but the apartment felt colder than when I lived alone. I snatched up my phone and speed-dialed my best friend.

[We're done. The bastard couldn't keep up the act. He's definitely just using me as a beard to hide the fact that he's deep in the closet!]

Eden sounded totally over it.

[Sloane, before you start throwing the word 'beard' around, go look in a mirror.]

[Are those hickeys on your neck from mosquitoes? Are your swollen lips from a dog chewing on them?]

[You're glowing like you just walked out of a private screening of Magic Mike. If you call me again just to humble-brag about your sex life, I'm coming over there to kick your ass!]

The line went dead. I stood there, blinking, slowly letting reality sink in.

She had a point. Everything was perfectly fine last night.On our wedding night, he promised to keep me pinned to the mattress for a full week, and he had been putting in some serious overtime every single night since. Thinking back, I pinned the blame on that blind kick I threw this morning.

My foot had connected with something soft, but he hadn't made a single sound.

I unlocked my screen and tapped on his pinned contact.

[Hubby, I'm sorry~]

[How about I make it up to little Thorne tonight?]

I tacked on a smirking emoji for maximum implication.

The typing bubble popped up, vanished, and popped up again. I calmly walked over to the closet and pulled out a sheer piece of lingerie. I snapped a photo and hit send.

[You have full permission to rip this one to shreds later~]

That night, Thorne broke his own record and worked late. I waited in bed until my eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Half-asleep, I reached out, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "You have to make it quick tonight. I'm exhausted."

His messy hair brushed against my hand, but his entire body went rigid. I flashed a wicked grin.

"What's wrong? Did I actually kick something out of place this morning? Can't get it up?"

After a long pause, he finally replied. "No."

A low, heavy rumble vibrating from his chest. Slow and steady. Suddenly, he feltincredibly dangerous.

I peeled one eye open. Normally, this was the part where he would impatiently throw himself on top of me. But now, his dark pupils dilated, expanding until they almost swallowed his irises. He just stared down at me, still as a statue, tracking every breath I took.

Sleep was dragging me under, so I just kicked the duvet off my legs. "That outfit is right next to your pillow." I shifted my weight. "Put it on me."

Thorne's breathing fractured into ragged exhales. His heartbeat pounded so hard I could see the pulse jumping in his throat.

Seriously? It had only been twelve hours. Deciding to just get it over with, I reached up and smashed my lips against his.

His breath hitched before he ripped the control right out of my hands.

So much for making it quick.

The Thorne in my bed tonight was a total stranger. He ditched his usual rushed impatience. Instead, his every touch became a slow, nerve-shredding trap, systematically cutting off every single one of my escape routes.

I was a mouse trapped under a predator's paws, flipped over and toyed with until my mind went blank.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. He was way too experienced.

When he finally scooped me up and dropped me into the bathtub, I planted a wet foot against his chest, pushing him back. "Are you screwing someone else behind my back?" I narrowed my eyes at him. "You sure picked up a lot of new tricks for her!"

Chapter 2

His hand clamped around my ankle, his grip steady. Thorne's expression didn't even flicker. "Careful. Your leg is hurt."

I stared at him. "Since when? How do I not know about this?"

The thumb stroking my skin froze. He abruptly changed the subject. "Don't overthink it. There's no one else."

Like I was going to let that slide. I laid into him, unleashing a barrage of complaints, dragging up everything from his cold shoulder this morning to ancient history. I kept snapping at him until, before I even realized it, he had dried me off, carried me back to bed, and tucked me against his chest.

His chin rested heavily on my forehead. A long, jagged exhale scraped past his lips.

"You're right. It's all my fault." His voice was low. "I'm sorry."

The old Thorne would have fought me tooth and nail. Today, his apology was terrifyingly sincere. Satisfied, I finally let the exhaustion drag me under.

The next day, Thorne went through his usual routine. But something fundamental had shifted. The guy used to live for our banter. He was like an annoying golden retriever, constantly poking the bear just to get a rise out of me.

The second I actually got mad, he'd be right there, tail wagging, doing whatever it took to coax a smile out of me.

Now? I pushed all his buttons, purposely making things difficult. He just took it. He yielded to my every demand with terrifying obedience.

"Hubby?" I tested the waters.

He looked at me, hesitation flickering in his dark eyes, clearly interpreting my tone as anger. A heavy layer of anxiety settled over his features. "What's wrong?"

I launched myself into his arms, wrapping my hands around his waist. "You're acting weird. Why aren't you fighting back anymore?"

The hand resting on my shoulder clamped down tight for a fraction of a second. He began to slowly stroke the top of my head. "If I did that what if I hurt you?"

"Then I'd dump your ass!" I pushed myself back and glared at him, fully expecting him to argue back with his usual sass.

Instead, raw, devastating vulnerability shattered the composure in his eyes.

That night, I woke up in a haze. The sheets next to me were ice cold. I stumbled through the dark into the living room. Thorne was curled up tightly on the couch.

Assuming my harsh joke earlier had genuinely wounded his ego, I slipped out at the crack of dawn to grab his favorite breakfast as a peace offering.

When I got back to our building, there was a commotion outside. Thorne was standing right in the middle of the freezing snow in his pajamas. Barefoot.

His eyes were violently bloodshot. The second his gaze locked onto mine, it was like a drowning man grabbing a lifeline.

"Where did you go?" His voice cracked. "Why did you leave me?"

Before I could even open my mouth, he yanked me against his chest. He held me like someone had tried to rip his own heart out of his ribcage. The nosy neighbor sweeping snow next door stared at us like we were total psychopaths, even pulling out her phone to call the cops. Humiliation burning my cheeks, I grabbed his hand and practically dragged him back inside.

For the next few days, Thorne transformed into my shadow. He followed me to the kitchen just to pour a glass of water, scolding me for not letting him do it himself.

Forget about showering. When I flat-out refused to let him join me in the stall, he planted himself right outside the bathroom door, calling my name every thirty seconds. If I didn't answer fast enough, I could hear the frantic rattling of the doorknob as he tried to pick the lock.

Finally, I snapped. "Thorne, I'm not a toddler! I'm not going to vanish into thin air!"

His voice was rough, shredded to the point of breaking. His thick lashes cast dark shadows over his cheekbones. "I'm so terrified this is just a dream. That I'll wake up and you won't want me anymore."

It hit me like a physical blow. This was all because of that stupid joke I made the other day. My frustration evaporated. I cupped his face in my hands, locking my eyes with his.

"Thorne. As long as you never betray me, I, Sloane, will never, ever leave you."

A single tear broke loose, sliding down his cheek. It burned against my fingertips like acid.

I recoiled slightly in shock. It was the very first time I had ever seen Thorne cry.

I immediately pinched the flesh of his cheek, narrowing my eyes. "What the hell is going on? Did you really knock up someone else?"

Chapter 3

He turned his face to press a kiss against my fingertips, his eyes blazing with a terrifying devotion. "Zero."

"Sloane, from the very beginning to the end, it's only ever been you."

Despite the heavy confession, a warning bell rang in the back of my head. Men lie. It's practically in their DNA.

It didn't take long for the cracks to show. I checked Thorne's location sharing. For three days straight, his rigid work-to-home routine detoured to the coffee shop down the street.

I tested the waters, casually mentioning I was craving a latte. He immediately shut it down, citing my health, and went into the kitchen to brew some awful herbal tea instead.

Later that night, when he thought I was asleep, I heard the muffled clicking of a keyboard from the study. I gritted my teeth. I was going to rip whatever secret he was hiding right out into the open.

On the fourth day, I staked out the coffee shop early.

Sure enough, Thorne walked in and slid into a booth near the back, an older woman trailing right behind him. She was all smiles, radiating that untouchable upper-class polish. Thorne, on the other hand, looked like he was staring at a piece of trash.

He pulled a thick document from his jacket and shoved it across the table. The polite smile instantly shattered off the woman's face. She ripped the papers in half, threw them on the table, and stormed out.

I stayed frozen in my corner booth, my nails digging into my palms. I didn't even notice when Thorne finally got up and left.

Five years together, and we never had secrets. Not one. But we hadn't even been married a month, and he was already living a double life.

That night, I ignored the flood of texts lighting up my screen. Instead, I met up with Eden and unloaded everything.

"I knew it. The second the ring goes on, the mask comes off." I laid out every single bizarre thing Thorne had done all week.

Eden went from rolling her eyes to leaning across the table, her jaw dropping. "Sloane, are you are you the side chick?"

She lowered her voice. "That older woman is definitely his Sugar Mommy. She's funding him! He's been sticking to you like glue because he's terrified you'll stumble onto her existence!"

My stomach dropped. As insane as it sounded, the puzzle pieces snapped into a horrifyingly logical picture. I ignored Eden's attempts to calm me down and stormed out, catching a cab straight home.

The second I jammed my key into the lock, the door yanked open. Thorne stood there, his eyebrows knit together in heavy concern.

"You've been drinking?" He reached for my coat. "Your stomach can't handle it. If you want a drink, just do it here where I can keep an eye on you."

That patronizing tone was the lit match hitting gasoline. I shoved both hands into his chest, slamming him hard against the hallway wall. "What? Desperate to keep me locked up in the apartment so your little Sugar Mommy can run wild without any consequences?"

I pinned him there. "Thorne, let me make this very clear. Since we signed that marriage license, you better kick whichever rich old bitch is funding you right into the sewer!"

He froze like he had been struck. His pupils darted back and forth, frantically trying to process the accusation.

Hot, stinging tears finally spilled over my eyelashes. I swiped at my face, humiliated by the break in my voice.

"Do you remember the promises you made when you put this ring on my finger?" I forced the words past the tight knot in my throat.

"Dropping the act already? Meeting her right downstairs at the coffee shop? What's next? Bringing her here and expecting me to play nice? In your dreams!"

I clamped my teeth down hard on my lower lip. The sharp tang of copper flooded my mouth.

Thorne panicked. He instantly reached out, his thumb pressing hard against my bleeding lip to stop the broken skin. A heavy, exhausted shadow fell over his face. "You saw us at the cafe, didn't you?"

Rage spiked through my veins. I opened my mouth and clamped my teeth right down on his finger. Hard. I didn't let go even when the metallic taste of his blood mixed with mine.

He didn't pull away. He just looked at me, his voice rough and unbelievably gentle.

"Sloane, it's not what you think." He swallowed hard. "That woman she's my biological mother."

"I thought he grew up in the foster system." Eden sucked in a sharp breath over the phone the next day. "And you just bought that story?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" I rubbed my temples.

Yesterday, I had lost my mind, screaming at him for being a liar. Right up until he pulled out the certified DNA test results that woman had slapped on the table. The shock had quickly bled into a gnawing suspicion.

"If your mother finally found you, why didn't you bring her up to the apartment? Why sneak around?" I had asked him later that night. "And what the hell was in those papers you gave her that made her storm out like that?"

Thorne had just pressed his lips into a thin, pale line. He refused to say another word.

Chapter 4

I hounded him until he finally cracked. He dropped into a half-crouch beside my legs.

"Sloane, I can't let anyone hurt you." His voice was dead serious. "I haven't seen her in over twenty years. Compared to you, she is nothing."

I stared at him, totally lost. "We haven't even officially met her. Who is getting hurt here? Even for your sake, I wouldn't just start a turf war with her."

He pulled a bitter smirk, his eyes full of crushing exhaustion. Then he buried his face deep into my stomach, his arms locking tightly around my waist. "But I don't want you to have to do that."

I shoved the gnawing uneasiness down to the pit of my stomach and let the matter drop. Later, I downed a stiff drink.

The next day, a guy from Thorne's office called. He sounded like he was walking on eggshells. "Sloane, are you holding up okay?"

I frowned. "?"

"The company is sending people to the European HQ for paid training. Thorne was an absolute lock for it. But today, he literally threw a file folder at an executive in the middle of the office."

"He said he'd rather get fired than leave the city limits. The boss told him it was a once-in-a-lifetime shot and to think it over. But Thorne just said if he leaves, something bad is going to happen to you."

White noise flooded my ears.

A wild, psychotic theory slammed into my brain.

I practically flew back to our apartment.

In the study, Thorne's laptopwhich he never used to locknow demanded a password.

I typed in my birthday. Error.

My stomach dropped. I punched in his birthday. Error.

One attempt left before lock-out. My fingers shook over the keys. I typed in our wedding date.

The screen unlocked. The wallpaper was a photo from our wedding day.

I knew Thorne used a private app to journal. I clicked it open. The newest entry was from last night.

[I almost lost her again.]

[Those things that haven't happened yet I will never let Sloane live through that nightmare a second time.]

[Even if this is a hallucination, I'm betting everything I have to make this do-over work.]

I kept scrolling back. There was a massive gap in the dates, all the way until

[The last day of the divorce cooling-off period. I opened my eyes, and I traveled back ten years. Right after our wedding.]

[She told me she loves me. She kissed me. Is this a dream?]

The date on that entry was the third day of our marriage.

Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Thorne burst through the study door. Pure terror blew his pupils wide open.

I pulled a cold, mechanical smile. "Why did we get a divorce?" I stared right through him. "You cheated on me, didn't you?"

Thorne stopped breathing. The panic in his eyes was raw and frantic. The blue light from the monitor washed over my skin, making the words on the screen feel like ice