I was suddenly added to an “adult content group.”

The moment I tapped in, a flood of GIFs and selfies hit me like a wave.

All of them showed real faces, girlfriends, wives, and even some labeled “real sisters.”

Some were snapped in restrooms, others in offices or out in the open. The content was shockingly explicit, while the comments below ran wild.

“That body’s unreal!”

“Drop the source!”

“Begging for the full video!”

I was just about to leave when a new post appeared under the label. [Fresh scoop! Just got this top-tier married woman from a proper family!]

The woman wore a black blindfold, lips faintly curved into a smile. Her pale, full chest was barely covered, dazzlingly white under the camera’s flash.

But what caught my attention most was the silver, heart-shaped necklace resting perfectly between her collarbones.

I felt like I’d been struck by lightning.

That necklace. I had just given it to Averie yesterday for our third anniversary.

——

I stared at the photo, my throat parched, and my voice stuck in my chest.

My stomach twisted.

A chill rushed through me.

My hands trembled as I zoomed in slowly, trying to see every detail.

The collarbone, the skin tone, the shape of her lips, and that tiny mole I knew far too well.

It was her. It was Averie Collins, my wife.

A cold sweat soaked my back, and a sharp ringing pierced through my ears.

Beneath the photo, vulgar comments poured in like sewage.

“Bro’s got taste. Something about these decent ones hits differently.”

“Those eyes? Pure seduction. She’s built to ruin men.”

“Where’s the video? Stop teasing and drop it!”

The screen blurred as if I’d been thrown into a bottomless pit. Every filthy word scorched my skin like acid.

“This… can’t be happening…”

I muttered, and my phone slipped from my hand, clattering to the floor.

The buzzing in my ears grew louder, like a hive of bees crawling through my skull.

Averie. My wife. The woman who blushed from a kiss, who couldn’t meet my eyes after a hug. She’d always been shy, even with me.

How could she possibly have such a humiliating side?

My fingers went numb. My limbs locked up. My scalp prickled as if someone had ripped it open.

And the group was still going strong.

“That body? I could beat it to this for a year straight.”

“Where’s the source?”

“Does anyone know if she’s local? Can we hook up?”

I stared at the photo.

That necklace resting below her collarbone, it gleamed like a cruel joke, like it was placed there just for me to see.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear through the screen and throttle every one of them. But I couldn’t move.

Cold sweat trickled down my spine, soaking my back.

Then, that same user ID popped up again with another message. [More goodies waiting for you to unlock.]

Followed by a disgusting emoji.

Someone replied instantly. [Can we meet up? In-person?]

And the response came just as fast. [Only if you’re local.]

My chest tightened. The city he mentioned was ours.

Then, a new name appeared in the chat, “Wealthy Cyrus.”

[Neighboring city. I can head over now! I’ll even pay extra!]

Pay extra? Just to meet my wife?

My lungs burned. My teeth clenched. A low growl escaped my throat. “Bastard.”

My finger dug into the screen so hard I nearly shattered it. I wanted to report it, destroy it, quit the group, wipe it all from existence.

But something stopped me.

I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I needed proof.

My hands shook as I began screen recording, snapping screenshots one by one, every photo, every filthy comment, every username.

I opened the messaging app, ready to confront my wife, when a new message popped up.

[Honey, I’m working late tonight, don’t wait up.]

It was from Averie.

It made me froze.

In that instant, my heart flipped upside down, convulsing like it had been seized by a fist.

She told me she had to work late.

But in that photo, she was blindfolded, lips painted blood-red, the necklace still nestled against her skin.

I couldn’t recall if she wore it out today.

But last night, she held it between her fingers, smiled softly, and kissed me like I was her whole world.

Now, my throat was dry, and words caught in my chest. Black spots danced across my vision.

Was she really working overtime? Or had she already….

I didn’t dare finish the thought. A suffocating weight pressed down on me, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

I didn’t sleep the whole night. The lights stayed off. Curtains drawn.

The glow from my phone screen lit my face, flickering like a ghost.

I stared at that photo again. And again. Fifty times, maybe more.

Each time my eyes landed on that necklace, it cut a little deeper, like it was slicing me open from the inside.

I tried finding something, anything. I zoomed in on the avatar of the person who posted it, rotating it slowly, my finger trembling across the glass.

The image was grainy. But faintly, it resembled a man’s side profile.

And at the corner of his lips, a smirk. Like he was laughing at me.

A flood of guesses surged through my mind: a male colleague from her company? A friend? An old classmate? But I couldn’t be sure.

I mumbled under my breath, “Who is it?”

My finger kept swiping until the screen went black. The phone had died.

Darkness.

At 8 a.m., a knock sounded at the door.

I jolted, and my phone nearly slipped from my lap. She was back.

Averie walked in with her bag still slung over her shoulder, wrapped in the same trench coat.

Her face was pale, her lips chapped, her hair slightly disheveled, and her makeup hadn’t been fully removed.

“Had meetings all night. It was hell,” she muttered, tossing her bag onto the sofa and peeling off her coat, scarf following.

I said nothing.

She came over and kissed my cheek.

“You’re up so early?” she asked.

I shook my head.

“Another sleepless night?”

She frowned slightly, a trace of reproach in her tone. “Why have you always been like this lately? Too much work stress?”

My throat felt stuck. I couldn’t get a word out. I simply nodded.

She didn’t ask anything else and went straight into the bedroom.

I stood alone in the living room, hearing the door close gently and the bed creak.

She lay down. And just like that, I fell asleep as if nothing had happened.

I stood there like a stone.

She lay on the bed we had bought together, eyes closed, facing the window, her breathing calm and even.

I picked up my phone and looked at her photo again. She had blindfolded eyes, parted red lips, and glowing collarbones.

It was all real. And so was the betrayal.

She slept peacefully in the bedroom, her surface flawless.

I stood in the living room like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff.

Below me was an endless abyss.

Clenching my teeth, I kept asking myself, had she been tricked? Set up? Or did she know exactly what she was doing? Did she do it willingly?

The two voices in my head clashed, fighting so viciously that it felt like they would split my skull open.

Who was she, really?

The woman I had married? The wife I had loved and known for five years? Or a stranger I never truly knew?

I began investigating her.

Averie was the same as always: going to work, coming home, eating, bathing, watching shows, and sleeping.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

She was even more gentle than before.

At night, she would lean on my shoulder while watching shows. In the morning, she would kiss me goodbye.

But I couldn’t smile anymore. I felt like an invisible man, locked outside the door of our marriage.

She was inside, doing God knows what, and I had no idea. I didn’t dare imagine.

I kept reviewing her schedule for the past month.

Twice, she had said she was going back to her parents’ place. She hadn’t done that often, maybe five or six times a year.

And every time, she would have me drive her there.

But those two times, she went alone and never said a word more. I pulled up my phone calendar and circled the dates in red.

I hired a private investigator. I told no one.

All I said was, “Look into a woman. I want everything, especially what happened on those two days.”

The detective accepted quickly and promised results in three days.

For those three days, I lived like a ghost. By day, I buried myself in meetings, emails, and proposals.

By night, I came home. She slept soundly beside me. And I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, unmoving.

On the fourth night, my phone lit up.

A message came in. [Got results. Sending photos.]

I didn’t open it right away and waited five full minutes.

My palms were damp, my fingers trembling, and then, finally, I tapped in.

The first photo appeared. It was a sunny day. She was wearing that white dress.

I knew it instantly, and I bought it for her.

We were shopping together that day. She saw it, smiled, and said she loved it. I paid without hesitation.

In the photo, she was seated at a corner café. Across from her sat a man.

They weren’t sitting too close. No hand-holding.

But her gaze had softened, melting, tender.

Exactly like the look she wore back when I first chased her.

My knuckles turned white as I clutched the phone.

I kept swiping.

They laughed and chatted like the most in-sync couple.

The last photo, under the night sky, the two of them walked into a hotel one after the other.

Neon lights at the entrance blurred across the image.

He walked ahead. She followed, head lowered, a soft smile blooming on her face.

And then I remembered. I knew that man.

The year we got married, Averie said a college classmate was in town and invited us to dinner.

She’d called him “an old friend from back then.”

After the meal, she walked him downstairs. When she returned, her eyes were red.

She said that a classmate had praised me for being a good man.

Now, he had reappeared. By my wife’s side. At a hotel entrance.

After the last photo, the detective sent one final message. [They stayed for five hours. When she came out, she had changed clothes.]

I didn’t reply.

I sat alone on the sofa, swallowed by darkness. The lights were off, and my phone screen had long gone black.

Silence filled the room.

From the kitchen, the fridge ticked steadily. Upstairs, someone dragged a chair across the floor. Outside, rain tapped lightly against the windows.

I sat there like a hollowed-out shell, empty and unmoving.

She had lied to me.

Not for a day. Not for a month. But for years.

I replayed the look in her eyes every time she left the house, the softness in her voice over the phone, and the faint scent on her clothes when she returned.

She had hidden everything so well.

I once thought I had married someone clean. Someone I could share my life with.

But now, I wasn’t even sure who she was anymore.

I lowered my head and buried my face in my hands. My breathing turned ragged.

It felt like something had been ripped from my chest, leaving only a hollow void. Too numb to ache, too shattered to cry.

I had made up my mind to confront her.

But my thoughts were tangled, emotions boiling over, and I was right at the edge of collapse.

My lips parted to speak, but before I could, my phone lit up.

It was a message from “Wealthy Cyrus,” that same filth was from the benefits group.

I stared at the screen, my throat tightening.

[That top-tier married woman’s really something. Last time, I kissed her and hugged her, but it still wasn’t enough!]

“What…” I muttered, my voice caught halfway.

Then another photo arrived.

The necklace.

That same silver glint hit my eyes like a knife, so painfully familiar it made my stomach turn.

I had once fastened that necklace around Averie’s neck with my own hands.

And now it was in another man’s possession.

My eyes locked onto the group chat, hands trembling uncontrollably.