My Wife's Livestream Scandal - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The fire of hatred burning in my chest was the only thing keeping me moving.
I had to keep my cool. Revenge wasn't about impulse—it was about patience, precision.
I spent hours combing through Marco Valentino's social media, digging for anything useful.
But the guy was careful. His feed was all surface—glossy shots of luxury cars, designer watches, and drunken nights at high-end clubs.
Then I saw it—a license plate number, barely visible in one of his posts.
I burned it into my memory before swinging by a diner to grab Vivian Lowell's favorite fish noodle soup.
Back in the hospital room, Vivian clutched her phone like a lifeline, even as she ate, her guard never slipping.
She asked me point-blank if I'd gone through her phone.
I played dumb and flipped the question back at her—what really happened in that hospital room?
Alone with me, Vivian flushed. "It was all Emily's idea. You know how she is—single, wild. She bought that thing and practically forced me to try it."
"Really? Never pegged her as the type," I said, my smile razor-thin.
Even now, she was lying straight to my face.
Vivian rushed to add, "Don't bring it up with her, okay? She'd be mortified. It'd just make things awkward."
Translation: Don't talk to Emily and catch me in the lie.
You disgusting hypocrite.
I swallowed the words and nodded.
With Vivian stuck in the hospital for a few more days, I used work as an excuse to meet Emily Langley in secret.
"Who is he?" I demanded. "You know. And even if you won't tell me, I'll find out. I've got his license plate. But if this blows up, your name's mud too. Vivian's claiming you bought that toy—were you part of their little game?"
Emily stayed silent until I pushed harder.
Finally, she looked up. "Ethan, this isn't on me. Vivian made me order it under my account. That guy? His name's Marco Valentino. He's Dr. Richard Valentine's nephew at Beverly Hills Medical Center. Total predator—uses his uncle's clout to sleep his way through the hospital staff."
"And nobody stops him?"
"Dr. Valentine's the top surgeon there. Even the owner licks his boots. Who's going to risk crossing him?" Emily sighed. "Vivian's his assistant nurse. She's been desperate to learn eyelid surgery techniques, so..."
The puzzle snapped into place.
Private cosmetic hospitals were lawless. Half the "surgeons" didn't even have real licenses.
Vivian was trading her body for a career boost.
"Give me your number. I'll reach out if I need more."
I added Emily and headed back to the hospital.
Outside Vivian's door, I froze at the sound of her voice.
"Not now! I'm still sore, you animal."
"Come on, I'm going crazy here! Baby, I need you. Is your husband coming tonight? Let me swing by. Hospital sex is supposed to be next-level."
"No! He might show up. Just wait two more days."
My fists clenched until my knuckles ached.
Even in a hospital bed, they couldn't keep their hands off each other.
Filthy.
Vivian giggled into the phone before finally hanging up.
Standing there with the thermos of chicken soup, I suddenly wished I'd dumped it for a stray dog.
I turned and locked myself in the restroom until the rage dulled to something manageable.
Then, forcing my face into neutrality, I stepped back into the room.