My Wife's Livestream Scandal - Chapter 12: Chapter 12

"This time... it'll be okay, right?" Marco's voice wavered, his confidence as shaky as his hands.
Vivian rolled her eyes, flashing her phone with a smirk. "Chill. Last time, I just bought a new one after smashing it. Ethan Roland's nothing—just some cocky programmer with a god complex. Like he can actually control me?"
Marco swallowed hard, forcing himself to nod. But just as he took a step—that sound blared again. That twisted, nightmare melody.
"Ah! No! I—I was wrong, okay?! I swear, I'll never—!" His knees hit the floor, his forehead slamming against the ground in frantic, desperate bows. The wet stain spreading down his pants said everything.
Vivian's face twisted in rage. She hurled her phone—crack—against the wall. But the music didn't stop. Watching Marco grovel, she grabbed his collar and yanked him up, teeth bared. "This is Ethan's doing. We're ending this. Now."
Marco came crawling to me alone, slinking in like a beaten dog.
"Ethan, man... I get it. I screwed up. I shouldn't have—just make it stop, please. Every damn night, that music—it's in my head! The doctors say it's nerve damage. And—" His voice cracked. "I can't even get it up anymore. Please."
I leaned back, a cold smirk playing on my lips. "Funny. Weren't you the one preaching about how cheating's just a 'moral issue'? How the law couldn't touch you?"
"Bro, I was an idiot. Name your price. How much to end this?"
I shook my head. "I don't want money. I want you to hurt." I leaned in. "Here's the deal—send your wife to me for a few nights. Once I'm satisfied, we're square."
His face purpled with rage. "You—! No way! That's—I'll call the cops!"
I laughed. "Go ahead. Let's see who they arrest—me, or the guy with a paid livestream scandal on file."
The proof was ironclad. His threats were empty.
"Ethan, I swear to God, I'll kill you!" Spittle flew as he stormed out, his earlier begging wasted.
I just grinned. Phase one: complete.
Now, for the next step.
These two cheaters would never know peace again.
After weeks of psychological torment, Marco was broken. The next time he met Vivian at a hotel, neither even brought their phones.
No music.
But Marco was already ruined. No matter what he tried—nothing worked.
Vivian scoffed, shoving him off. "Seriously? Nothing? God, if I'd known you were this useless, I wouldn't have left Ethan. Say what you want about him, but at least he could perform!"
"Me?! You're the one just lying there like a dead fish!"
"Oh, so now it's my fault? Pathetic!"
Their fight ended in bitter silence.
Back home, Marco tried with his wife—same result.
Desperate, he slunk into clinics, begging for pills.
Because he did have a wife—Sophia Laurent. A knockout nurse at Beverly Hills Medical.
Tall. Porcelain skin. Legs that could stop traffic in that little black dress.
My breath caught.
Wait—wasn't she the woman from Marco's leaked videos?
The camping trip?
So this was his wife.
At a diner at midnight, I stared at Sophia's photo, then at Vivian beside me. "You're sure?"
"Positive. We work together. Her name's Sophia." She smirked. "Remember our deal—once you've had your fun with Marco's wife and gotten your revenge... we're getting back together."