My Husband’s Massage Betrayal with My Best Friend - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

I played it cool for days, acting like everything was normal—no hint of suspicion. But when night fell, I went straight for that bastard's phone.
If they wanted to play games, fine. I'd play better.
Finally, D-day arrived. Sophia texted, all sweet and innocent, saying she'd scored some king crab and wanted to bring it over for dinner. Oh, how generous. I knew exactly what they were planning, so I played along, smiling like the perfect, oblivious wife.
Then came Daniel, the ever-doting husband, pouring me drink after drink—spiked, obviously.
Before I knew it, the room was spinning.
"I think I've had too much," I slurred, clutching my head. "I need to lie down."
Daniel, ever the concerned spouse, insisted I crash on the couch. "We'll go out later," he said, all fake concern.
I didn't argue. After all, I'd already set up cameras—bedroom and living room.
One last glance at the "lubricant" I'd tampered with, and I let myself drift off.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.
The nurse gave me this look—half pity, half secondhand embarrassment.
Patients and their families nearby were whispering, staring. I blinked, playing the confused victim.
"What… happened?" I asked weakly.
Her answer destroyed me.
Apparently, my loving husband and his special friend had been caught in a very intimate moment—until they discovered the lube was actually super glue.
Stuck together—literally—they had no choice but to call an ambulance.
And when the medics arrived, they found me passed out cold. So, naturally, they hauled me in too.
Cue the Oscar-worthy performance. I gasped, sobbed, then bolted from the hospital like a devastated wife fleeing her nightmare.
The neighbors descended like vultures, all fake sympathy and hungry for gossip. I played the heartbroken fool, and in return? Oh, I got all the details.
Turns out, someone had conveniently leaked the news, and half the damn neighborhood showed up to witness the spectacle. The street was so packed the ambulance couldn't move. Paramedics had to carry the Stuck Duo out on stretchers.
And then—oops—the sheet covering them slipped off.
The sight? Legendary.
Kids were asking questions. Parents were cursing. It was chaos.
(And, of course, the leak and the "accidental" sheet reveal? All part of my master plan.)
Thanks to me, Daniel and Sophia became overnight celebrities.
Not just locally—their video went viral.
They even got a nickname: The Stuck Duo.
(Which, let's be real, is just a polite way of saying idiots.)
When Daniel finally dragged himself home from the hospital, he looked like hell. He stared at me like I'd grown a second head.
"Vivian, you bitch," he hissed. "You swapped the lube with glue, didn't you?"
The real stuff? Long gone. Replaced with industrial-strength adhesive.
I smirked. "Maybe check what you're grabbing next time."
He was furious. But he had no proof.
In the end, he agreed to walk away with nothing.
My husband had too much pride.
And I? I had a crystal-clear video.
If he refused, I'd just take my story—and the footage—straight to the internet.
The Stuck Duo was still trending, after all.
I used to love him. I used to change for him.
Now? My heart's frozen solid.
Men's promises? Just pretty lies wrapped in empty words.