Chapter 8 - Letting the Fox Guard the Henhouse

At the office, I slumped into my chair, hands trembling so much I dropped my pen. Glancing around, my colleagues hadn't arrived yet, and the silence felt like a black hole swallowing my thoughts.

Last night at Viet's house, I'd passed out drunk, but in my hazy stupor, Hoa's soft moans and Viet's low whispers echoed in my head. I wasn't sure if it was real or a drunken delusion, but the suspicion stabbed at my chest like a dagger.

Sweat coated my palms as I pulled out my phone, opening the messages between Hoa and Viet I'd forwarded from her phone this morning. The first was from Viet, sent a month ago:

• "Hey, gorgeous. It's Viet! Never thought we'd end up neighbors. You're still as stunning as ever!"
• "Hi. Stop flattering me! I'm just a frumpy housewife now."
• "Haven't you heard 'a woman with one kid makes eyes pop'? Honestly, if I had a wife like you, I wouldn't get out of bed to go to work. Haha."
• "Haha, thanks. That's a bit much."

Reading Viet's flirtations with my wife stirred a mix of jealousy and an inexplicable thrill. His sweet words mirrored my own feelings. Hoa was truly beautiful, and I was always proud of her. But I could never express it as smoothly as Viet. Maybe that's why I was now reading another man's compliments to my wife.

Viet was like a skilled hunter, stealthily luring his prey into a trap. As I scrolled through their chats, I noticed a shift in Hoa's tone. She used to despise bad boys. That's why she chose a bookworm like me. Yet now, she seemed more open to Viet. I kept reading:

• "Hey, Hoa. Saw you coming back from the market earlier. Why so glum? Fight with your husband again?"
• "No, just tired. Housework's been piling up."
• "Taking care of a kid that exhausting?"
• "It's manageable. But sometimes it feels like an endless loop. Morning with the kid, cooking, cleaning, bedtime routine. Every day's the same."
• "A beautiful woman shouldn't be stuck in the kitchen. You had so many dreams. Forgotten them all?"
• "Haha, why bring that up? I'm content as long as my kid's healthy and my family's happy."
• "But what about you, Hoa? Don't you feel something's missing?"
• "..."

I frowned. Hoa's vague response was troubling. She should've typed, "Nothing's missing. I'm happy with my life." But her silence was like the first crack in what I thought was a solid wall. I scrolled further:

• "Saw you picking seedless grapes at the supermarket. We grow tons of those in my hometown. Come with me sometime, you can pick them straight from the vine."
• "Haha, I'll remember that. You're observant. But I've got a husband, kid, and in-laws now. I can't just take off."
• "Then I'll order a crate from my hometown for you."
• "Oh! If you do, let me pay you back."
• "Pay? Nah, I'd be offended. If you insist, treat me a coffee."
• "..."

A chilling thought hit me. I'd told RealMen69 that Hoa loved seedless grapes. My hands shook as I logged into the forum. My chats with RealMen69 were still there. Comparing them to Viet's messages, the similarity hit me like a punch. Same tone, same approach. Blood rushed to my head.

Weeks ago, RealMen69 had messaged:

• "Your wife's so gorgeous, she must've had tons of suitors back then. Staying home all day must bore her, right? You should let her go out more, give her some freedom."
• "Let her hang out with old friends, let her express herself freely."

I remembered following his advice, encouraging Hoa to go out more. Some nights, I babysat our son so she could "meet friends" for coffee until late. When my parents asked, I brushed it off with excuses, earning puzzled looks from Mom. I thought I was helping Hoa relax, not pushing her into Viet's arms.

Details like her market hours, clothing preferences, even her old dream of nude modeling before marrying me. All were subtly extracted by RealMen69 in seemingly casual chats. I'd stupidly spilled her likes to a stranger who was likely Viet.

A few weeks ago, a crate of seedless grapes arrived at our house. Hoa claimed she'd ordered it online. Then came Viet's flirty messages and small gifts she brought home. Thinking back to her giggles when receiving them, I wanted to bash my head for my naivety.

Then, a retracted photo appeared, followed by Viet's message:

• "Oops, sorry, Hoa! Meant to send you a pic of the bracelet I got you, but sent the wrong one..."
• "What, some random pic from the internet?"
• "I'm not gay to share another guy's dick pic! Took a nude after the gym before showering. Haha."
• "Hihi. Who knows with guys these days?"
• "Don't believe me? Come test it yourself!"
• "You devil! You wanna be a model too? I used to dream of that. If my body was better, I might've tried."
• "Your body's not hot? Then whose is? Damn, I missed my chance to see a stunning model's work."
• "Stop flattering me!"
• "Swear! You've seen my pic. Now can I see some of model Hoa? Pleaaaase!"
• "What pic? I didn't see anything."

Right after Hoa's message was a nude photo of Viet, shot via a bathroom mirror, cropped from chin to calves, flaunting his chiseled muscles. What crushed my self-esteem was the thing dangling between his legs. Even half-erect, it was nearly twice the size of mine at its peak. I wondered what Hoa thought when she saw it.

• "Now you've seen it!" Viet teased.
• "..."
• "Models can't be shy! Be professional, haha."

Viet egged her on, sending more "sensitive" photos. In later ones, his cock stood rigid like an oversized cucumber.

To my horror, Hoa sent a nude back. A shy pose in our bathroom, mimicking Viet's stance, one hand covering her private area.

I couldn't believe my eyes. Viet must've laughed triumphantly, his prey hooked. Egged on by him, they began regularly swapping nudes, each more explicit than the last.

A message from days ago:

• "Hey, gorgeous. You still owe me that coffee! Your husband's not home tonight. Wanna grab a drink?"
• "How'd you know my husband's working late?"

I froze, my breath heavy. That day, I'd told RealMen69 I'd be working late. I thought I was confiding in a harmless stranger.

• "Ran into him this morning. You down? You promised!"
• "Fine! He's been telling me to go out more anyway. Should be okay."
• "Yeah! 7 p.m., gorgeous. <3"

My knuckles whitened around the phone. I'd paved the way for Viet. Not just encouraging Hoa to go out but giving him chances to approach her when I wasn't home. I recalled RealMen69's words from weeks ago: "We're testing your wife's loyalty. Keep finding excuses to avoid sex, don't satisfy her with hands or mouth... If she's satisfied, she'll hide her true thoughts and desires. To know what she really thinks, follow my lead and stop intimacy."

I'd followed that advice, naively thinking it was a test. Every time Hoa initiated, I excused exhaustion or turned away. I didn't realize my rejections left her craving, a void Viet eagerly filled.

Scrolling to the day after their "coffee," my heart sank:

• "Last night was amazing, Hoa. Didn't expect you to be so wild. Your husband would be shocked, haha."
• "Don't say that. I feel so guilty about him..."
• "You're not at fault. His fault. He keeps rejecting you, doesn't appreciate you."
• "..."
• "I'm serious. Has your husband ever satisfied you like that? A husband who can't please his wife has no right to complain. You deserve to be loved and fulfilled. If he can't do it, let me."

I dropped the phone, hands shaking uncontrollably. That "coffee" wasn't just a drink. Hoa had cheated with Viet. I'd created the distance between us, and Viet used his charm and strength to sweep her away. He knew I was weak, knew I wouldn't confront him, and exploited it to turn Hoa from a devoted wife into someone who crossed boundaries.

But what gutted me most was this morning's message. The photo of me between Hoa's legs with a crying-laughing emoji, and Viet's reply: "Told you Thien's a pushover, but you were scared! Haha. Should've pumped you a few more times last night so your husband could suck it all up. He won't need a breakfast this morning."

• "Haha, you're evil. But... he didn't suspect a thing."
• "Maybe he even liked it. Test him. Say you're coming to my place tonight and see how he reacts."

My head spun. Part of me wanted to scream, to smash everything. But another part, the part I hated admitting, felt my heart race imagining Hoa in Viet's hands. It dredged up old memories of Hieu and Long, my classmates, pounding my mom. I'd watched, terrified yet aroused. Now, with Hoa, that feeling surged back, stronger than ever.

Viet had reduced me to a powerless bystander as my wife fell into his grasp, and worse, I was drawn into this sick game. Should I confront Hoa? Or keep pretending, letting Viet steer things? She cheated right beside me, in the life I fought to preserve. But I didn't dare face it. I feared if I revealed I knew RealMen69 was Viet, if I spoke the truth, Hoa would leave me forever. Better to play dumb, let it continue, than lose her.

All day at work, I couldn't focus. My mind replayed their messages endlessly. By afternoon, I trudged home, legs heavy as lead. Bi's laughter and Hoa's gentle voice came from the living room. Normally, this warmed my heart; today, it tightened my chest.

I kicked off my shoes, set my bag down, and tried to act normal. Hoa looked up, smiling lightly. "You're back? Mom, Dad, and Tam are visiting grandparents. I made your favorite, snakehead fish sour soup."

I nodded silently.

• "You okay? You look exhausted."

I sank onto the sofa, avoiding her eyes. I wanted to scream, to ask, but my mouth felt locked. Confronting her could shatter everything. I feared losing her, losing our family. I mumbled, "Yeah, just tired."

Hoa set out dinner. Mid-meal, she spoke up, "Oh, I'm heading to Viet's tonight. He says he caught a cold and needs help with cupping therapy."

My hands clenched under the table. She was testing my reaction, just as their messages suggested. Yet my groin betrayed me, stirring with anger, helplessness, and that strange thrill. I didn't understand why I only nodded, whispering, "Okay... no problem."

Hoa's eyes flickered with surprise, then confusion. She set her bowl down. "I might be late. Put our son to bed first, okay?"

I met her gaze. Once full of love, now probing. I wanted to spill everything, Viet, RealMen69, the messages, but I couldn't. If she knew I'd seen them, how would she react? Get angry? Leave me? I couldn't bear the thought. I **** a smile, shaking my head. "No... it's nothing. I'm just tired. Go ahead, I'll put our son to bed."

Hoa frowned, clearly dissatisfied. She sighed, heading to the kitchen, her voice cold. "You're always like this... Whatever."

Her words cut like a knife, but I stayed silent, pretending to eat as my mind went blank. I knew she was disappointed. She wanted me to be stronger, more assertive, but I couldn't. I feared confronting her would lead to her admitting everything with Viet, and I'd lose it all. Better to endure, to pretend, than lose this family.

That night, Hoa left with a light jacket, looking livelier than usual. I sat in the living room, holding our son, watching her cross to Viet's house through the window. I knew she wasn't just there for the cupping therapy. She was likely falling into his arms again, as their morning messages implied. But I sat frozen, telling myself as long as she came back, as long as our family stayed intact, I'd accept anything.

Hoa returned near midnight, hair disheveled, cheeks flushed. She glanced at me, staring blankly at the TV, then slipped into the bathroom without a word. No explanations, no questions. I turned off the TV, lay on the sofa, feeling like I'd pushed her further away. But I did nothing else. I chose silence, pretending Viet was just a good friend, that RealMen69 was just a random online name.

The next morning, as we had breakfast, Hoa's phone pinged. She glanced at it, smiled, and turned to me. "Viet invited us to a movie tonight, then a bar. Mom and Dad are back this afternoon so we can ask them to help babysitting. Let's go out, honey! We haven't done that together in ages."

I hesitated. Viet's growing presence in our lives unnerved me, but Hoa's expectant eyes made me falter. I nodded softly. "Sure, let's go. I could use some relaxation."

That evening, as we stepped outside, Viet was waiting by his sleek car, sleeves rolled up, flashing his usual confident grin. "Hey, gorgeous! Wow, one kid and you're still hotter than Victoria's Secret models!" he teased Hoa, then turned to me. "Thien, you look like you're heading to a shareholder meeting!" He laughed, slapping my shoulder so hard I stumbled.

I **** a smile while Hoa slid into the front passenger seat. I took the back, watching them chat animatedly in the rearview mirror, feeling like an outsider.

At the theater, I booked a couple's seat in the back row for Hoa and me, and a single seat in the row ahead for Viet. Hoa wore a knee-high dress, showing off her long, pale legs. I imagined resting my hand on her thigh during the movie, like a normal husband. But it didn't happen. When I returned with popcorn, I found myself in the single seat. The back rows were nearly empty, just us. Viet and Hoa sat behind me, close in the couple's seat.

I barely registered the movie, my ears straining for sounds behind me, too scared to look back. Occasionally, Viet propped his foot near my face, like a warning. I heard Hoa's heavy, uneven breaths, familiar from our intimate moments. My mind conjured Viet's restless hands exploring her most private areas.

Then came wet, slurping sounds. Maybe Viet had pulled Hoa's head down to his bulging crotch. Instead of the movie, I pictured her struggling to suck his massive cucumber-like cock, its image from their chats seared in my mind. I swallowed hard, mouth dry, but did nothing to stop it.

Near the film's end, I heard Viet's satisfied sigh. He passed me the popcorn bucket. "Still a lot left, Thien. Finish it."

Hoa giggled. "Eat it, honey. Don't waste it."

They exchanged knowing chuckles. I reached into the bucket, finding it damp. Assuming Hoa spilled water, I ate a handful. The familiar salty taste hit me. I recalled "breakfast" between Hoa's legs, unaware it was their prank. But I ate it all, piece by piece, as if it was normal.

Leaving the theater, Viet saw the empty bucket and laughed, patting my face. "You're the best, mate!"

I mumbled, "It's late. Let's head home."

• "Hoa rarely gets out. Why rush? There's a cool bar nearby. Let's hit it," Viet said.

Hoa eagerly agreed, and we went to a dimly lit bar with thumping music drowning my thoughts. Viet ordered three cocktails, sliding one to me. "Drink up, Thien! A man's gotta relax. You're so tense. Hoa must be bummed."

Hoa smiled, sipping her drink, eyes sparkling. Viet leaned closer. "Hoa, dance with me? Thien, mind if I borrow your wife for a bit?"

I opened my mouth, but Hoa nodded and followed him to the dance floor. I sat, drink untouched, eyes glued to her in the crowd.

Viet led her expertly, hands on her hips, spinning her. Hoa glowed, more radiant than ever. As their bodies pressed closer, my groin ached with unwanted arousal. Watching my wife lost in a romantic dance with him, I felt that painful, thrilling mix again.

I downed my cocktail in one go. When I looked back, they were gone. Panicked, I searched the dance floor but found nothing. Defeated, I returned to the table. I held Hoa's phone and bag, so I could only wait.

Nearly half an hour later, they returned. Hoa's steps wobbled, hair messy, lipstick nearly gone, a corner of her dress hitched up. Viet's face radiated satisfaction, his crotch slightly damp. He plopped down, patted my shoulder, and said slyly, "Sorry, Thien. Hoa was tipsy, so I helped her to the bathroom."

Hoa glanced at me, waiting for a reaction, but I lowered my eyes, sipping my drink. "Thanks," I muttered.

Disappointment flashed in her eyes. She turned to Viet, resuming their chat, leaving me to sink into my cowardice. I didn't pull her back, didn't fight, didn't assert myself. I pretended Viet was just a friend, that everything was fine.

From then on, we often went to movies or hung out together. Viet became a fixture in our lives, almost indispensable. Hoa grew more beautiful, more seductive. Her old shyness replaced by a sensuality I'd never seen. Each time she smiled at Viet or they whispered, that mix of pain and arousal hit me. I acted oblivious, treating Viet like a good friend, but deep down, I knew I was accepting my role. I was addicted to this feeling, to the darkness I willingly embraced.