The Animal's Wife
by @mojojojoDagmar Stefenzon has spent years invisible in her own marriage to Kaelen Voss, the adult film star known as the Animal—until he asks her to hold a light on his set and doesn’t break eye contact. A forensic analyst who blushes too easily, she’s the quiet daughter sold to save her father’s company, not the favored sister who flaunts herself at her husband. When his mother’s injury forces him to see her, Dagmar learns exactly what it means to finally catch an animal’s full attention.
MEET THE CHARACTERS
Dagmar Stefenzon
A 26-year-old forensic analyst with a soft, curvaceous build and heavy breasts that strain her practical work blouses. She has startling green eyes that seem too vivid for her otherwise quiet face, and chestnut hair she keeps in a no-nonsense bun. She blushes easily, a deep rose that spreads from her chest to her cheeks, and has spent years perfecting the art of being invisible—watching, noticing, never being noticed back.
Kaelen 'Kael' Voss
A 34-year-old adult film star known in the industry as 'the Animal'—a moniker he earned for his relentless, consuming intensity on camera. He has a broad, muscular frame built for stamina, with a sharp jaw darkened by perpetual stubble and cold grey eyes that see through people. He moves with the coiled patience of a predator, and when he finally turns that full attention on someone, it feels like being caught in headlights.
Ingrid Stefenzon
Dagmar's younger sister, 23, with the same chestnut hair but worn loose and deliberately tousled, a slender frame she drapes in revealing clothing, and a practiced pout she deploys like a weapon. She has her father's confidence and none of Dagmar's hesitation, moving through rooms like she owns them. She has made it her personal mission to catch Kaelen's attention, throwing herself at him with shameless enthusiasm at every family gathering.
Henrik Stefenzon
Dagmar and Ingrid's father, a 57-year-old businessman with a once-proud company now held together by the Voss alliance. He has silver-streaked hair, a tired face that still tries to smile, and the stooped shoulders of a man who sold his daughter to save his legacy. He tells himself it was necessary, but he avoids Dagmar's eyes at dinner.
Margit Voss
Kaelen's mother, a 62-year-old woman with the same grey eyes as her son and a regal bearing that illness has only slightly diminished. She was the one who brokered the marriage alliance, seeing in Dagmar a quiet strength her son was too blind to notice. Her recent injury—a broken hip from a fall—has forced her into a wheelchair and into Dagmar's care, which is how the walls between the married strangers finally begin to crack.
EXPLORE CHAPTERS
The Broken Hip
Dagmar carries a tray of broth up the back stairs to Margit's room, but the door is open and the bed is empty—Margit is already in the hospital. She turns to leave and finds Kaelen leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed, watching her with that heavy grey stillness. 'Mother asked for you,' he says, and something in his voice has changed, lost its usual dismissal. He steps closer, close enough that she smells cedar and sweat, and his thumb brushes a strand of hair from her cheek. 'She said you're the only one in this house who doesn't want something from me.' His hand drops, but his eyes stay. 'Is that true?'
The Next Setup
He leads me back into the studio and sits me on a rolling stool beside the monitor, my knees pressed against the edge of the cart. 'You're my eyes,' he says, handing me a pair of headphones. 'If the light shifts, you tell them.' Amanda is already on the bed, watching me with open curiosity, and Kaelen is shrugging off his robe, his body already half-hard under the studio lights. He catches my gaze before he climbs onto the mattress. 'Don't look away this time either.' I do look away, infact…I leave, I hide. Another 3 weeks pass, this time he stays but only watches. Never talks to me. He runs so hot and cold. I busy myself caring for his mother. Suddenly, he wants me to be his assistant for his story discussion meeting. Infact he introduces me as his wife and assistant, he is going to kill me! My painful embarrassement, my deep feelings for me are going to bury me under, Christ! Animal has begun hunting
The Logistics Call
I find him in his home office, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a tablet in his hand showing the shoot schedule I built. He doesn't look up when I enter, just says 'sit' and gestures to the chair beside his desk, but when I do, he reaches over and pulls my chair closer until our knees touch. 'You scheduled the crew breaks too tight,' he says, but his hand lands on my thigh, heavy and warm, and his thumb traces a slow circle through the fabric of my trousers. 'Fix it’. He suddenly fists my hair, I let out a moan so deep. It causes the help to ask if I am okay. ‘I just wanted to test it with you’, ‘for the scene’ he whispers. ‘Also, leave your hair open’. He disappears again so i just put the hair is an even tighter bun.
The Silk Blouse
I'm at the kitchen counter, pouring two fingers of whiskey into a tumbler, my work bag still slung over my shoulder and the black silk blouse clinging to my skin after a day of stares I tried to ignore. His voice comes from the doorway, low and sharp: 'Did you enjoy that?' I freeze, the bottle hovering mid-air, and turn to find Kaelen leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his grey eyes fixed on the plunge of the silk where my breasts rise and fall with my startled breath. 'Enjoy what?' I ask, but I already know. 'Your coworkers,' he says, stepping into the room, his voice dropping to something dangerous. 'Ogling my wife all day in that blouse.' He stops inches from me, close enough that I can feel the heat off his body, and his hand comes up to trace the edge of the silk at my collarbone. 'You wore it for them.' It's not a question. It's an accusation. My throat tightens, but I lift my chin. 'It was the only ironed blouse I had.' His laugh is soft and mean. 'Liar.'
The Empty Stairs
I wait on the edge of the bed until the moonlight shifts across the floor and the house goes silent. He never comes. I dress in the dark, button a high-collared blouse over the ache between my legs, and tell myself this is what I deserve for believing. My father's call comes at dawn—sharp, demanding, a command I cannot refuse. At home, his hand connects with my cheek before I can speak, his voice a snarl about empty wombs and broken bargains. I hide the bruise with powder and a turtleneck, but when I reach for the zipper of my dress in our bedroom three days later, Kaelen's fingers close over mine, his thumb finding the purple stain beneath my collar and pressing until I gasp. 'I should be the only one who leaves marks on you,' he says, his grey eyes flat and cold. 'No one else.' He releases me, and by the time I turn around, he is gone.