Then she let her circle of friends look me over with those pitying, mocking eyes.
I wiped my tears, turned, and walked away. Then I canceled the specialist appointment I'd booked for Vivienne.
The receptionist on the other end of the line was baffled.
"Mr. Caldwell, you pulled every string you had to get Professor Kemistry on board. Why would you cancel now?"
I let out a bitter laugh.
"Because my wife got better. She even had a big, healthy baby boy."
That evening, when Vivienne came home, I nearly lost control. I wanted to rush at her, tear her apart.
I wanted to demand answers. Why? Why would you lie to me like this?
Was it all because I'd exposed what was going on between her and Caleb?
Four years. Four years of agony. From heartbreak to worry, to finally resigning myself to a lifetime of celibacy by her side. And in the end, all of it was nothing but a joke.
I watched Vivienne stroll into the living room without a care in the world. She pulled me into her arms and kissed my forehead.
"Honey, you can try that new technique you learned tonight. Maybe it'll work this time."
My gaze locked onto her face, searching for even the faintest trace of guilt.
In the end, I clenched my jaw and nodded.
"Sure."
That night, Vivienne showered, then lay naked on the bed while I changed into the outfit she'd requested—some gaudy, glittering thing that belonged in a nightclub.
She raised an eyebrow and gestured for me to get on my hands and knees.
I let out a cold laugh, studying her expression carefully. I followed the line of her gaze, and that was when I finally spotted it.
On the massive wedding portrait hanging across from the bed, right where her eyes were in the photo, there was a faint, almost imperceptible glint of light.
It hit me all at once—why she'd been so willing to "try" all those countless times.
Before I could react, Vivienne grabbed my arm and shoved me down.
The thought of who might be watching on the other side of that tiny camera lens sent a wave of nausea crashing through me. My stomach heaved, and I vomited—right onto her.
Vivienne recoiled in disgust, shoving me away and leaping off the bed.
"Adrian, if you're repulsed by me, just say so. You don't have to be this revolting about it."
"Starting tonight, you sleep in the guest room. Don't bother forcing yourself anymore."
If this had been any other time, I would have swallowed my pride, coaxed her back, and submitted to another round of humiliation just to keep her happy.
But this time, I simply stood, wiped the filth from the corner of my mouth, said "Fine," and walked out.
Vivienne froze. A second later, a teacup exploded against the floor behind me.
"Adrian! I knew it. You were never sincere about us. It's only been four years, and you're already disgusted with me, aren't you?"
I stopped. Turned slowly. Looked at her with a hollow, self-mocking smile.
"Vivienne. Doesn't any of this disgust you?"
Something in my expression must have registered, because her fury stalled mid-sentence. The outrage froze on her face, and her eyes darted away, unable to hold mine.
"Adrian, what are you talking about? We're husband and wife. There's nothing disgusting about what we do."
I slammed the door shut. I couldn't stand to look at her for another second.
The sweet, vibrant girl I'd once known was gone. All that remained was something vile and shameless.
The next day, while she was at work, I hired a private investigator.
When he laid the files and the videos in front of me, my legs gave out. I collapsed into the chair. In that moment, I wanted to destroy her.
Vivienne. How could you do this to another human being? Doesn't it keep you up at night?
Fine. Then every last thing you've done to me, I will repay double.
I shut myself inside the house for three days straight. I couldn't bring myself to watch those videos.
I couldn't even begin to think about how many people already had.
When Vivienne came home, she found me slumped by the window, drunk out of my mind.
