CONTAMINATED

For five years, I chased my husband Liam' s love, a tech mogul I deeply adored.

Then, after three incredible nights where I finally felt like his wife, I stumbled upon a chat on his computer.

It was with my sister, Chloe, and it revealed a horrifying truth: those intimate moments were a cruel setup.

Liam recorded them, sent them to Chloe, and messaged, "This way she' ll finally leave me alone. Don' t worry, Chloe, I' d rather die than touch her. You' re the only one I love."

My world shattered.

An audio file played Chloe' s sweet voice, "Oh, Liam, I' m so touched! You found so many people to mess with her just to protect my reputation?"

So many people?

Liam' s reply sickened me: "She' s so loose, it' s a blessing anyone would touch her. Besides, I have all the compromising photos and videos, so she can' t blame anyone even if she knows."

The man who held me for three days wasn' t Liam.

He sent strangers.

I fled, my body screaming contamination, only to have Chloe, wearing Liam' s shirt, block my entry back home.

"Liam was just adding my face to the system, and I think I accidentally deleted yours. My bad," she smirked.

Liam emerged, his voice flat, "Chloe needs this room. It' s closer to me."

He ordered me to a distant guest room, then handed me a pill.

"Take this. I' m not ready for kids yet."

It hit me: he worried I' d get pregnant with a stranger's child-a child he' d arranged.

Later, listening to their laughter from the master bedroom, rage simmered.

Then Chloe, wearing Liam' s sacred bracelet, whispered close, "Every month, he spends a week with me at a secluded resort. That' s our special time… He even says he feels sick when he sees you at home."

Before I could react, she scratched my arm, drawing blood.

"Ava, you bitch, stop pretending! I hate your pitiful act! I want to take everything from you!"

She shoved me, a vase shattered, leaving a gaping wound on my arm.

Liam rushed down, sweeping Chloe into his arms.

"Chloe, does it hurt? I' ll take you to the hospital."

He saw her nails' marks but blamed me.

"Ava, you' re still so manipulative! You' ve always framed Chloe!" he roared.

"Go to the basement tonight. Don' t come out until you' ve copied a hundred books!"

He stepped over my prostrate body, crushing my arm.

Bleeding, broken, I crawled to the ER.