Chapter 1
My husband was infatuated with my body, but he didn't love me.
Every time Ryan was drunk, he seemed like a different person. He kissed me, engaged in gentle foreplay, making me mistakenly believe he loved me.
However, after experiencing the intense pleasure together, he would suddenly turn towards me with cruel sarcasm.
"Are you so desperate for it?"
"I touch you only because you're cleaner than those outside and it doesn't cost me anything."
......
My husband, Ryan, was handsome, wealthy, and physically fit, with a strong desire in that regard.
Almost every other day, we had sex.
My sex life may have looked good on the surface, but I couldn't truly enjoy it.
Because he didn't love me.
To be precise, he hated me, deeply.
He used to have sex with me, just as a means of fulfilling his physical needs, and it had nothing to do with love.
As he saw it, I was more sexually pure than other women, and he didn't have to spend a dime.
Every time I heard such words, it felt like a knife stabbing into my heart, yet I maintained a calm exterior.
He never kissed me, never even caressed me, and he just didn't engage in foreplay.
It was always a straightforward physical encounter.
I felt like a low-priced whore, yet I was helplessly drawn to his charm; every time, I was left in a blissful daze.
I was ashamed of my lack of self-control.
This became his reason to ridicule me every time.
"Sandra, are you that sexually starved? Knowing I don't like you, yet you still reach orgasm. Don't you have any shame?"
I instantly fell from the clouds into an icy abyss, covering my reddened eyes with my hands.
He coldly withdrew, disdainfully cleaned himself, and went to another room to rest.
I lay stiffly on the bed, my body cooling from the heat, often unable to sleep for a long time.
Countless times, I questioned myself: Sandra, is this the marriage you longed for? Is this the man you've loved for so many years?
"Bang!"
The door crashed shut with a bang as Ryan drunkenly returned home.
He yanked off his tie, casually unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt, revealing his chiseled features.
Even after seeing him countless times, I was still captivated by his looks.
Ryan was incredibly handsome, a cold and proud kind of sexy man.
His physique was impressive, with abs and a V-line.
He glanced at me, frowning slightly, "Sandra, your stomach isn't good. No cold drinks. Throw it away!"
I quietly hid the ice cream box behind me. He strode over, arms open as if to embrace me, and took the ice cream from behind me.
And tossing it into the trash.
I thought that was it, but he turned around, lightly tapped my forehead with his finger, a gesture with a hint of affection.
"Always naughty. Be good from now on, no more eating that."
I stood there, nodding gently.
He rarely looked at me with such softness, then headed upstairs to shower.
It was always like this.
As long as he was drunk, he became a different person, no longer cold, no longer rejecting me. His gaze carried affection and tenderness, making me mistakenly believe he had feelings for me.
But from past experiences, I knew it was all an illusion, a result of his drunkenness.
Once he sobered up, he was still the same Ryan, who detested and hated me.
After a while, Ryan came downstairs in a bathrobe, and I watched him approach me, feeling both longing and fear.
Yearning for his occasional warmth, yet fearing his sarcasm and mockery when sober.
He stood tall in front of me, looking at me with deep affection, softly asking, "Have you showered?"
I nodded, nervously licking my lips.
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