Chapter 1

When my bestie Sophia sent a hot pic, her boyfriend would only dare to say, "You look so beautiful, babe."

But me? I could send that kind of message with a straight face, totally calm, no nerves at all: [I'm totally going to fuck you senseless one day.]

So when Sophia shot over another of her body pics, I was basically drooling, wiping the screen as I typed: [Damn, you're so hot. I want to fuck you senseless.]

Then I glanced down. Oops. I had sent it to the wrong person. It was my ice-cold husband, not Sophia.

That night, I was scrolling through a forum when I came across a post.

[My wife suddenly texted me, calling me hot and saying she wanted to fuck me senseless. Then she said she sent it to the wrong person. What does that mean?]

*****

After a while, Sophia replied: [?]

[Where are you? Why aren't you replying?]

I stared at that question mark, my brain short-circuiting for a full five seconds.

Wait, I did reply!

With trembling hands, I opened the chat.

Black profile picture.

Name: Alexander Shaw.

Last message: [I'm on a business trip for two days. Don't wait for me.]

And my reply was sitting there, bright as day: [Damn, you're so hot. I want to fuck you senseless.]

It was like a bolt from the blue, left me totally roasted, inside and out.

I let out a banshee-level scream, frantically trying to recall the message.

But then I realized, to my horror, that the message had been sent more than two minutes ago.

I frantically typed: [Sorry! Sent to the wrong person!!!]

Ten minutes later, Alexander Shaw finally replied with a single word: [OK.]

I stared at that "OK."

I felt utterly hopeless.

Alexander and I met through a blind date.

We hit it off right away and decided to partner up for life.

Three years into our marriage, Alexander was still the textbook definition of a cold, aloof, abstinent elite.

He always buttoned his shirt up to the very top, his tie was always perfect, and he spoke in short, no-nonsense sentences.

Even in the bedroom, he was all business. No foreplay, no sweet talk, just straight to the point.

Afterward, he'd politely ask, "How are you feeling?"

Meanwhile, I was a shameless online flirt, always pushing my luck and living dangerously close to disaster.

Well, now I'd gone and hit Rock Bottom, literally.

I rolled around on the bed, clutching my phone, burying my face in the pillow and letting out a desperate whimper.

Great, now Alexander probably thinks I'm a complete perv.

*****

That night, I was up until three in the morning, unable to sleep.

With nothing else to do, I started scrolling through my phone.

Then I spotted a fresh post.

Title: [My wife suddenly texted me, calling me hot and saying she wanted to fuck me senseless. Then she said she sent it to the wrong person. What does that mean?]

My hand shook so hard, I nearly dropped my phone on my face.

I tapped in, and the poster's story was a carbon copy of my own disaster.

Even that line, "Damn, you're so hot. I want to fuck you senseless," was there, word for word.

The comment section was going absolutely wild.

[Dude, your wife is done with you.]

[Obviously, she's got someone else. She was flirting with her side piece and sent it to the wrong person.]

[Check her phone. You might find something even crazier.]

[Just divorce her. This woman can't be trusted.]

My blood pressure shot through the roof. I was about to make an account and explain myself when I saw the original poster reply.

He was blocking people left and right, clapping back with savage burns.

[We're doing great. My wife would never leave me.]

[I don't know if she's got someone else, but your brain is definitely full of porn.]

[Checking her phone is an invasion of privacy. How could I do that?]

[What do you mean, "can't be trusted"? With a mouth like that, you should go wash it out.]

I covered my face, my ears burning.

Damn, that's actually Alexander!

My cold, aloof, man-of-few-words husband was out here secretly posting for advice on a forum, even staying up late to argue with strangers online, all because of me.

The comments kept flooding in, with more and more people telling him to break up.

[OP, wake up! If she really loved you, would she say something like that to someone else?]

OP replied instantly: [She's probably just messing around.]

[Messing around is still emotional cheating!]

OP: [I'm just here for advice on how to win my wife back. Please stop trash-talking her, or I'll have no problem sending each of you a lawyer's letter.]

Netizens chimed in: [Seriously, OP, are you whipped?]

I bit my lip, my fingers hovering over the screen for ages, when suddenly, a wicked urge hit me.

I made a new account and called myself "Relationship Guru."

I commented: [Men start going downhill after twenty-five. You should hit the gym, flex your masculinity in front of her, and maybe she'll come back around.]

Regret hit me instantly as soon as I sent it.

Alexander was twenty-nine, and he couldn't stand anyone mentioning his age.

Last time his cousin joked, "Bro, you're almost thirty," Alexander stared him down and forced him to drink all night.

Now I was telling him to work out, pretty much implying he's over the hill.

My phone suddenly buzzed.

OP replied: [?]

Just a question mark, but I could practically feel the death stare coming through the screen.

I gritted my teeth and kept bullshitting: [Women are visual creatures. You gotta let her see your body, feel your strength, and that's how she'll get attracted to you again.]

OP went quiet for a long time.

So long that I thought he'd seen through my bullshit and was about to delete his account and ghost me.

Then he replied: [Okay.]

Okay?

Okay what?

Did he actually agree?

I was a bit stunned.

Was Alexander really going to start working out?

But I quickly shot that thought down.

He's such a workaholic, he barely has time to sleep.

How would he ever have time to work out?