Drugged His Partner to Claim Me - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

My husband could barely last a few minutes in bed, and deep down, I knew something was wrong—but I was too scared to bring it up. Desperate for a change, I took matters into my own hands and secretly ordered a batch of performance enhancers.
The good news? The pills worked too well. After taking one, I almost didn't survive the night.
The bad news? They ended up in my husband's business partner instead.
"Darling, just one more time..."
I clung to him, breathless and aching, but he shoved me away with a grunt.
"Go to sleep. I'm exhausted."
Maybe the constant failures had worn him down. Maybe he just didn't care anymore.
Either way, he rolled over, his snores rumbling through the room within seconds.
I sighed, slipping out of bed and padding to the bathroom.
The woman in the mirror was still beautiful—high cheekbones, full lips, flawless skin—but without a man's touch, she looked hollow.
My fingers traced my collarbone, then drifted lower.
Soon, soft gasps filled the silence, my body trembling under my own touch.
This wasn't the first time I'd sought relief in the bathroom. I knew exactly how to make myself feel good.
Three years ago, fresh out of college, I married my husband—a man five years older who'd inherited his family's business and played the part of a successful entrepreneur.
His money meant I never had to work.
To the outside world, we were the perfect couple—young, attractive, living the dream.
No one knew the truth: that my husband could barely perform, that he touched me like I was just another item on his to-do list.
Frustrated, I grabbed my phone, scrolling mindlessly until a message lit up the screen.
Sophia: "Pills are on the way. Don't get caught."
My pulse spiked. I tiptoed to the delivery cabinet and found a small box of unmarked white tablets inside.
According to Sophia, one pill could keep a man hard for at least an hour. And she'd sent enough to last a year.
The next evening, I cooked dinner with shaky hands, dissolving one pill in a glass of warm water.
The drug was supposed to be tasteless, but I wasn't taking chances. I tossed in a handful of goji berries for sweetness—not that it mattered.
Because my husband never showed up.
Two hours later, the food was cold, and there was no call, no text.
Just as I started clearing the table, the doorbell rang.
"Sis, you home? Your husband's wasted. I brought him back."
The stench of alcohol hit me the second I opened the door. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood there, half-dragging my barely conscious husband.
"Why did he drink so much?"
I rushed to help, guiding my husband inside while muttering under my breath.
The stranger—Ethan Lowell, my husband's assistant—helped me lay him on the bed before apologizing. "My fault, sis. The client kept pushing drinks. I tried to cover for him, but..."
I'd heard about Ethan—my husband's distant cousin, his right-hand man. But we'd never met until now.
With my husband passed out, my plan was ruined before it even started.
I stepped out of the bedroom—only to freeze.
Ethan was sitting at the dining table.
And the glass of spiked water?
Empty.
"You—you drank it?" My stomach dropped as I rushed toward him.