After Faking My Death My Alpha Husband Went Mad

Okay, so picture this: You're tired of the same old routine. Same dinner, same arguments about who left the toilet seat up, same everything. It's like Groundhog Day, but instead of Bill Murray, you're stuck with a werewolf husband who, bless his heart, just doesn’t get your need for, let’s say, a dramatic change of pace.

So, naturally, you fake your own death. I mean, it’s not like I just woke up and decided to do it on a whim. It was more of a slow burn. Like when you accidentally overcook a marshmallow on the campfire – first it's just golden brown, then BAM! You’re staring at a flaming ball of sugar.

The plan was genius, really. Disappear, resurface later with a new identity – maybe a sassy tango dancer in Argentina, or a quiet librarian in Vermont. The possibilities were endless! Except... my Alpha husband, let's call him "Rex" (because, you know, T-Rex vibes when he gets angry), didn't exactly take it well.

Let me rephrase that. He went absolutely bananas. Picture a squirrel who's just discovered its winter stash has been raided by raccoons. Now, amplify that by about a thousand, add fangs and claws, and you're getting close to Rex's level of crazy.

The funny thing is, I thought Alphas were supposed to be all stoic and controlled. Turns out, that's just a facade. Scratch the surface, and you find a deeply emotional, slightly unhinged, possessive... well, you get the picture. He was on the warpath. The kind of warpath that involved howling at the moon (more than usual), tearing up our perfectly manicured garden (goodbye, petunias!), and interrogating every single one of my friends.

It was less "Gone Girl" and more "Gone Girl meets a very angry, very hairy, and surprisingly clingy Labrador."

The Aftermath: Slightly Mad, Mostly Adorable

The best part? (Okay, maybe not best for him, but definitely best for my entertainment). He started doing all the things I’d been nagging him about for years. Suddenly, he was doing the dishes without being asked, folding laundry with military precision, and even attempted (emphasis on *attempted*) to bake me a cake. It looked like a crime scene, but the effort was… touching, in a "wow, you're actually trying to bribe me to come back from the dead with this monstrosity" kind of way.

And the apologies! Oh, the apologies. He brought me flowers every day (mostly roses, apparently he thought they were my favorite – I’m more of a sunflower kind of gal), wrote me sonnets (bad ones, but sonnets nonetheless), and even tried to learn how to tango. Let’s just say his attempts at Latin dance were… less than graceful. More like a lumbering bear trying to cha-cha.

Seriously, the whole thing was like watching a sitcom unfold in real life.

Of course, I eventually had to reveal myself. Popping up at his pack meeting, dressed as a cleaning lady (don’t ask), was probably not my smartest move. The ensuing chaos was… memorable. Think surprised gasps, a fainting beta, and Rex tackling me in a hug that nearly cracked my ribs.

He was furious, obviously. But also… relieved. And, dare I say, a little bit impressed by my audacity.

Lessons Learned: Don’t Mess With an Alpha’s Heart (Or His Lawn)

So, what’s the moral of the story? Well, first, faking your own death is probably not the best way to spice up a marriage, especially if your husband has claws and a tendency to lose control. Second, sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of extreme behavior to get your partner to appreciate you. And third, never, *ever*, underestimate the lengths a lovesick Alpha will go to when he thinks he's lost his mate. Even if it involves wearing a sequined tango outfit.

And honestly? It’s kind of endearing. In a slightly terrifying, completely bonkers way. Just maybe next time, I’ll try couples therapy first.