My Wife's Livestream Scandal - Chapter 5: Chapter 5
You are reading My Wife's Livestream Scandal, Chapter 5: Chapter 5. Read more chapters of My Wife's Livestream Scandal.
Vivian flat-out refused to share her location. "We'll talk when I get home," she said, her voice drained. "I'm exhausted."
The line went dead before I could respond.
I punched the wall hard enough to leave a dent, then peeled out of the parking lot, my teeth grinding the entire drive home. Every red light felt like torture.
I needed answers yesterday.
That nurse in the livestream—was it really her? The resemblance was uncanny, right down to that distinctive mole. But if I was wrong, I'd just made the biggest damn fool of myself.
When I barged through the front door, Vivian was already showered and planted on the couch, zombie-staring at some reality show.
"Where the hell were you tonight?" I demanded. "Why wouldn't you send me your location?"
She spun toward me, eyes flashing. "Jesus, Ethan, are you psycho? I had errands! Do I need to file a damn itinerary with you now?"
Her words hit harder than mine ever could.
I stood there gaping like an idiot while anger simmered in my chest. Storming into the bathroom, I tore through her laundry—but all I found was today's tank top. No nurse uniform. No smoking gun.
Had I hallucinated the whole thing?
That night, I reached for her in bed, trying to bridge the gap between us.
"Don't," she hissed, shoving me away. "I need sleep. Just... leave me alone."
Her voice could've frozen hell. Like I was some stranger, not the man she'd married. The rejection cut deep, but it only steeled my determination.
If Vivian was clean, I'd eat crow—hell, I'd grovel. But until I knew for sure, this suspicion would eat me alive.
Following her was amateur hour. Then it clicked—I built apps for a living. Coding a low-profile tracker? Child's play.
Three sleepless nights later, it was ready. Now came the hard part—getting it onto her phone.
Then my world tilted sideways.
Mid-coding session, my phone blew up. Vivian's coworker, breathless: "She collapsed. Ambulance took her to County General."
I drove like a bat out of hell.
Outside the ER, I spotted Emily—that intern from Beverly Hills Med we'd met at last year's Christmas party. Tall, usually bubbly, now stiff as a board.
"How is she? What happened?" I barked.
Emily wouldn't meet my eyes. "She's—um—stable. Here's her things." She thrust Vivian's purse and buzzing phone at me like they were radioactive before practically sprinting away.
Since when did Emily act like I had the plague?
Vivian's phone kept lighting up with notifications—voice messages I couldn't access without her damn passcode.
After what felt like a lifetime, they moved Vivian to a room.
The attending physician summoned me, fingers flying across his keyboard. "Grown adults should know better than playing with those toys," he chided. "Another sixty minutes and we'd be discussing a transfusion. Sign these."
I blinked. "Doc, what the hell happened to my wife?"
The line went dead before I could respond.
I punched the wall hard enough to leave a dent, then peeled out of the parking lot, my teeth grinding the entire drive home. Every red light felt like torture.
I needed answers yesterday.
That nurse in the livestream—was it really her? The resemblance was uncanny, right down to that distinctive mole. But if I was wrong, I'd just made the biggest damn fool of myself.
When I barged through the front door, Vivian was already showered and planted on the couch, zombie-staring at some reality show.
"Where the hell were you tonight?" I demanded. "Why wouldn't you send me your location?"
She spun toward me, eyes flashing. "Jesus, Ethan, are you psycho? I had errands! Do I need to file a damn itinerary with you now?"
Her words hit harder than mine ever could.
I stood there gaping like an idiot while anger simmered in my chest. Storming into the bathroom, I tore through her laundry—but all I found was today's tank top. No nurse uniform. No smoking gun.
Had I hallucinated the whole thing?
That night, I reached for her in bed, trying to bridge the gap between us.
"Don't," she hissed, shoving me away. "I need sleep. Just... leave me alone."
Her voice could've frozen hell. Like I was some stranger, not the man she'd married. The rejection cut deep, but it only steeled my determination.
If Vivian was clean, I'd eat crow—hell, I'd grovel. But until I knew for sure, this suspicion would eat me alive.
Following her was amateur hour. Then it clicked—I built apps for a living. Coding a low-profile tracker? Child's play.
Three sleepless nights later, it was ready. Now came the hard part—getting it onto her phone.
Then my world tilted sideways.
Mid-coding session, my phone blew up. Vivian's coworker, breathless: "She collapsed. Ambulance took her to County General."
I drove like a bat out of hell.
Outside the ER, I spotted Emily—that intern from Beverly Hills Med we'd met at last year's Christmas party. Tall, usually bubbly, now stiff as a board.
"How is she? What happened?" I barked.
Emily wouldn't meet my eyes. "She's—um—stable. Here's her things." She thrust Vivian's purse and buzzing phone at me like they were radioactive before practically sprinting away.
Since when did Emily act like I had the plague?
Vivian's phone kept lighting up with notifications—voice messages I couldn't access without her damn passcode.
After what felt like a lifetime, they moved Vivian to a room.
The attending physician summoned me, fingers flying across his keyboard. "Grown adults should know better than playing with those toys," he chided. "Another sixty minutes and we'd be discussing a transfusion. Sign these."
I blinked. "Doc, what the hell happened to my wife?"
End of My Wife's Livestream Scandal Chapter 5. Continue reading Chapter 6 or return to My Wife's Livestream Scandal book page.