My Husband’s Massage Betrayal with My Best Friend - Chapter 1: Chapter 1

The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the couple's spa room, casting intimate shadows as my husband and I lay on separate massage tables, divided only by a flimsy screen.
His low, teasing laughter mingled with the hushed whispers of his female masseuse, each murmur slipping through the partition like a taunt. A sharp pang of jealousy twisted in my chest. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing myself to focus on the firm, practiced hands of my own masseuse kneading the tension from my shoulders.
Then—warm breath grazed my ear.
"Madam," the man murmured, his voice dripping with suggestion, "would you like the same kind of pleasure your husband is enjoying?"
My eyes flew open. Without hesitation, I grabbed his wrist and yanked him closer. "Fine," I hissed. "Show me what you've got."
My name is Vivian Laurent. A married woman.
Five years of marriage had drained the passion from my relationship like a slow leak. What was once an all-consuming fire had dwindled into dull routine—even in bed.
I still loved him. Desperately. But lately, he treated me like an afterthought. Every attempt at intimacy ended in rushed, half-hearted motions—or worse, complete disinterest.
It was maddening.
I was a woman in my prime, not some dried-up husk. I had needs. And my husband? He couldn't—or wouldn't—meet them.
I'd tried everything. Lace, leather, toys, fantasies—short of slipping Viagra into his coffee.
Nothing worked.
The rejection ate at me. Had I really lost my allure before thirty?
Refusing to accept that, I turned to my best friend, Sophia Valentine, who insisted we see a renowned relationship therapist, Dr. Winston.
With nothing left to lose, my husband and I went.
After listening to our woes, Dr. Winston delivered his verdict:
"Your issue is textbook. The problem? No emotional tension in your daily lives."
"So what's the solution?" I demanded.
"Stimulate competition. When one partner senses a rival—even an imagined one—it reignites desire. Strengthens your bond."
The idea was vague, but after some discussion, we got it—manufacture jealousy without crossing the line.
My husband suggested a couple's spa session. With opposite-sex masseuses.
Just the thought of some woman's hands all over him had me seeing red. I wanted to drag him out by his hair and remind him exactly who he belonged to.
And by that same logic, watching me under another man's touch? It would light a fire under him.
Perfect.
We booked the appointment that same day.