Chapter 1

Eight years into our marriage, my husband, Julian Croft, abruptly announced he wanted us to have a sexless marriage.

He said work was too demanding, the pressure too great, and he simply had no energy left for our private life.

I tried to convince myself this was perhaps just a normal phase, a common dip that seasoned marriages sometimes experienced. But then, as I was mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, I stumbled upon a familiar figure.

The caption was stark and to the point: Is my boyfriend touch-starved?

In the video, the man whose hands seemed to ache to caress every inch of the girl’s skin was none other than my own husband—the very same man championing our new, sexless life.

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1

The video continued to play, Julian displaying an infatuation and dependence I had never witnessed before. The palpable intimacy, on the verge of igniting, sent the comments section into a frenzy, with users exclaiming, "This is my phone screen, not your hotel suite!"

The moment the frame froze, a tie was wrapped around the girl’s slender wrist, a few glistening drops of liquid trailing down in fine threads.

The clip on that tie—I had fastened it for him with my own hands. Yet, he had once recoiled with disgust when my hand touched that very spot, insisting it be meticulously wiped with alcohol before he would even deign to touch it.

I had once consulted a psychologist about his unsettling behavior.

The doctor had reassured me, saying, "If a patient experiences excessive daily stress, they might develop extreme mysophobia and obsessive-compulsive symptoms."

Six months ago, Julian became one of the youngest members of the company’s board of directors.

His meteoric rise to the executive level inevitably came with immense pressure and the struggle to adjust.

I wanted to be the unwavering rock Julian could lean on as he navigated his external battles, so I did my utmost to fulfill any request he made.

When he wanted a crystal bracelet from an exclusive, members-only spiritual retreat center in Sedona, I woke at three in the morning to stand in line for three days straight, then personally delivered it to his office. He would complain to me about how tedious the Johnson Group collaboration was, so I’d cover for him at weekend parties in the Hamptons, networking until I once drank myself into acute gastritis and landed in the hospital.

When he said he wanted a sexless marriage, I agreed without a second thought.

But I never imagined that all my concessions, one after another, would lead to this: him intimately pressed against another woman, skin to skin!

My breathing grew more and more ragged, and soon I couldn't catch my breath at all.

A suffocating sensation, like an iron vise, tightened around my senses.

Instinctively, I lunged for the medicine cabinet, only to find the spot where my asthma inhaler should have been, now crammed with Julian's cycling gear.

I searched frantically, but there was no sign of the inhaler.

Just as I was about to dial 911, my vision went black. I crumpled to the floor, accidentally knocking over the shoe rack.

The instant the inhaler clattered out from the shoe rack, I snatched it up and pressed it to my mouth and nose.

[You moved my asthma inhaler. Why didn't you tell me?]

[You know it's life-saving! How could you put it in the shoe rack?!]

[Do you realize you nearly killed me today?]

Ever since Julian had started saying he was under too much stress, I’d never texted him in such a tone.

He replied almost instantly: [You're not dead, are you?]Reading Julian's message, a chilling dread washed over me, as if I'd been plunged into an icy cavern.

Back in our Columbia University days, facing the uncertainties of the future, we were both filled with apprehension.

Julian's strong hand grasped mine tightly, and he promised with unwavering conviction:

"Evelyn, don't be afraid."

"If anyone bullies you, tell me, and I swear I'll do everything in my power to protect you!"

More than a decade flashed by. I became a Managing Director at a top-tier private equity firm, and Julian had also risen to become a member of the board.

Just when we had finally achieved influence and status, when we no longer had to fear the scrutiny of others.

The one to deal me such a devastating blow was, unbelievably, the very man who had once sworn to protect me with all his might.

I switched my phone back to TikTok. The account I’d been watching just moments before had posted a new video.

A young, beautiful girl smiled into the camera:

"I just posted it casually, didn't expect it to blow up like this."

"But my boyfriend's identity is pretty special, so I've made sure to blur him out, you know?"

Looking at the girl's face, a powerful wave of familiarity washed over me.

I walked into my study and opened the sponsorship program files.

Sure enough, I found her.

Chloe Summers. Both parents deceased, struggling financially. I had covered all her living expenses and tuition throughout high school and her freshman year of college.

But then, just three years ago, I had abruptly, and without any warning, terminated all her financial support.