My Asexual Husband Slept with His Best Friend for 8 Years Chapter 02

My Asexual Husband Slept with His Best Friend for 8 Years Chapter 02 Seven Stitches
I came back from the hospital with seven stitches in my forehead. She’d already slithered out. Like the snake she was. Sebastian and I started moving around each other like ghosts. I stopped doing the little things. No more warm milk waiting for him on the nightstand. No more staying up until 2 AM with a book I wasn’t reading, just so he wouldn’t come home to a dark house. Back when I moved back from Pxris, he was everywhere. Flowers at my office. Surprise coffees. Late-night texts that made me laugh. I was hooked. A renowned architect. And I fell for his little games. I poured everything into his family’s development company. Worked eighteen-hour days. Skipped meals. Ended up passing out on-site from exhaustion and dehydration, waking up in an ambulance because I’d been so desperate to lock down a hundred-million-dollar contract for him. Then Serena got her diagnosis, and the man I married evaporated overnight. Our wedding night. I rented an entire beachfront estate. Lit candles. Chilled champagne. I wanted him. I reached for his belt. He stepped back like I’d burned him. “I’m asexual, Chloe. I can’t.” I’d just nodded in respect, and the next second he was called away by a phone call from Serena. “She’s having an episode. I have to go. She needs me.” I found out later what that problem actually was. Hypersexual disorder. Our wedding night, the first night of our marriage, Sebastian pulled on his jeans and ran out the door in his bare feet because Serena needed to get fucked, and god forbid she had to wait until morning. “It’s a medical emergency, Chloe. When it hits her, I’m the only one who can bring her down.” My instinct told me— His childhood best friend looked at him with something off in her eyes. I should have known. Until I pushed open the door and saw Serena on her knees between Sebastian’s legs. Her nails dug crescents into his thighs. Her head bobbed in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Her lips stretched around him, obscenely. She looked like she was praying to him. Something snapped inside me. I grabbed the letter opener. Lunged for her. But Sebastian, who had always been gentle and considerate to me, shoved her behind him. Like she was the one who mattered. “Chloe, stop!” His voice was sharp. Commanding. “Put it down. Now. This isn’t what it looks like. You’re overreacting. If you dare touch her today, we’re done!” “This is medical. I’m helping her. When she has an episode, I’m the only one she trusts. If I don’t help her, she could kill herself. How can you stand there and watch me lose my only friend?” He asked in cold voice. Eight years I stayed after that. Eight years of telling myself it would get better. All I got was him standing between me and her, using our marriage like a hostage negotiation. As if I was the problem. I was done. It was time to leave.