My Asexual Husband Slept with His Best Friend for 8 Years Chapter 01

My Asexual Husband Slept with His Best Friend for 8 Years Chapter 01 Eight Years, One Lie
Eight years of marriage. My supposedly asexual husband always dangled himself in front of me but never let me get closer. I begged him 999 times before he finally nodded. And just as I was straddling his lap, about to lower myself— Knock knock knock. The world outside the bedroom had other plans for tonight. His erection vanished in a single heartbeat. He shoved me, hard, the silk sheets catching my fall. “It must be Serena, you know, my childhood best friend,” he gasped, already running for the door. “Her hypersexual episodes—fuck, she must be having another one. If she can’t find me, she’ll lose her mind…” He grabbed whatever was closest—a pair of boxers—and ran out. Didn’t look back at me. I lay there on our bed, naked and aching. Listening to his footsteps thunder down the hallway. The front door slammed open. Her voice—breathy, desperate, theatrical—floated back to the bedroom. And just like that, he was gone. I couldn’t do this anymore. I stared at the ceiling, my body still pulsing with unfulfilled need. How fucking ironic. For eight years, Sebastian claimed he was asexual. Frigid. “I just don’t feel that way about anyone, Chloe. It’s not you. It’s me.” I went along with it. But then I saw him pin her against the wall. The worst time, I locked him in the house, desperate to keep him away from her just once. Serena went crazy and threatened to slit her wrists. Sebastian was so angry. I could still feel the cold kiss of the knife as he carved the word into my skin. SLUT. SLUT. SLUT. I looked down. The scars are still there. And my body—slick, swollen, still wet. My fingers still tingled with the heat of his skin. Pathetic. This marriage had always been a one-woman show. I’d been the only one giving a damn, the only one breaking myself apart trying to make it work. Not anymore. It was time to let go. *** Three in the morning. Sebastian Cole finally came home. He stumbled in with Serena De La Cruz draped all over him, her hands sliding possessively across his chest. His eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. No guilt. No apology. “Chloe. I need you to clean me up. I’m too wiped out to deal with it myself.” He started peeling off his shirt. The fabric lifted to reveal skin covered in her. Hickeys bloomed along his collarbone. Deep scratches raked down his ribs. “Fuck, it was an emergency. We didn’t have time for protection.” I froze. Every inch of him was marked—and between his legs, God, I could see it even through his pants, the redness, the swelling. My fists clenched so tight my nails cut crescents into my palms. He didn’t give me another look. He’d brought her into our house—our house—and fucked her so thoroughly he couldn’t even walk straight. Scratches down his back, marks on his throat, his cock swollen and red, his body drenched in sweat. Hours of it. Hours of her. Not me. It never had been. I moved on autopilot, filling the basin with warm water. Serena brushed past me on her way to the bathroom. She paused in the doorway, glancing back with a smile that said I win. Sebastian settled onto the couch, legs spread, head tipped back, and looked at me. “Serena’s condition—you know how it is. When the hypersexual episodes hit, I’m the only one who can bring her down. The doctors have been very clear about that.” His voice was calm, rational. He rolled his neck, wincing. “She’s been having a rough time lately. Symptoms are getting worse. Tonight she nearly spiraled completely.” A pause. Then, like an afterthought—”You’re heading up the East District project, right? I need you to hand it over to Serena. She needs something to occupy her mind.” I stared at his face, searching for a trace of guilt. But there was only complete righteousness. Before, Sebastian at least tried to hide it from me. But tonight? He’d fucked her and brought her back to our home like a trophy. Made me stand there and watch while he gave orders, still reeking of what they’d done. He was pushing his luck. Did he think I was just going to keep being his doormat? Something bitter crept into my voice. “Wow. Serena’s really got this whole thing figured out, huh? She gets to fuck my husband and steal my project. That’s what I call efficiency.” Sebastian shot to his feet. He looked genuinely confused—like I’d just started speaking another language. “What the hell is wrong with you? Serena is sick, Chloe. She’s suffering. And you’re—what, jealous? Is that what this is? She’s been in my life since we were kids. You knew that when you married me. You promised you wouldn’t be one of those wives who tried to control who I spent time with.” His hand sliced through the air. “We had a deal! Things have been working fine for eight years—so why the hell are you picking a fight now?” His lip curled. “Oh, I get it. You’re pissed because I wouldn’t fuck you earlier, aren’t you?” He slapped me. My head snapped to the side. “You said you’d respect me!” He was shaking now. “You said you were okay with keeping things platonic. And tonight, you want it. And I’m the bad guy. What kind of wife begs her husband to fuck her? A bitch in heat?” I went blank. Just… blank. I’d given up everything for him. An internationally acclaimed architecture career—invitations to work on projects in Pxris, Milxn, Txkyo. I’d turned them all down and came back here to stand beside him while he built his firm from nothing. Eight years. I’d drafted his designs when he was too burned out to think straight. I’d charmed his clients over dinner and poured my own savings into his company when the bank wouldn’t give him a loan. I’d smiled through every “treatment session” with Serena, every lie, every excuse. I’d let him carve the word SLUT into my skin with a kitchen knife and told myself it was temporary insanity. All I’d wanted—all I’d ever wanted—was for him to touch me like a husband. Just once. And in the end, in his eyes, I was just a bitch in heat. The numbness cracked. Something hot and furious surged up through my chest. I grabbed his collar and yanked him close, my fingers digging into the fabric. “Eight years, Sebastian. I gave you everything. I drew your plans. I got your clients. I paid your bills. And when you said you had to ‘treat’ her? I smiled. Like an idiot. Because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. And how did you treat me? Was that ‘in return’ enough for you?” “Sebastian, for eight years I respected your wishes even when you didn’t want me. But you? What have you been doing with her?” A pause. “This is your ‘normal social life’? Her ‘treatment sessions’ with you?” Sebastian’s eyes went red with rage. He shoved me down with one brutal push. Then grabbed the vase from the table and slammed it into my temple. “That’s defamation, Chloe,” he bit out. “I could press fucking charges for what you just said.” Blood on my face. I didn’t reach for it. I just stood there. And somewhere in me, something just… stopped. Sebastian’s words were like a bucket of cold water, snapping me awake completely. I’d never been his wife. I was an obstacle. A nuisance. A woman who’d made the mistake of wanting him to love her back. He straightened his collar, his face smooth as stone. Blood kept streaming down my face, I felt nothing. Just a strange, distant clarity. I turned and walked toward the door. I stepped outside. The cold didn’t bother me. I pulled out my phone. Typed something short. Simple. “You win. I’ll never touch you again.” I hit send. “Never again.” I said to myself.