My Aloof Husband Chapter 1

Married to a man who seemed to have the libido of a houseplant, I satisfied my cravings by scrolling through videos of hot guys online.

The comments were all variations of the same theme: "It's so hot out today. Speaking of hot..."

I laughed and typed a reply: "Hot or not? "

Suddenly, a private message popped up. "Hey, wanna see mine?"

I yelped and threw my phone across the bed. Just then, a knock came at my door.

A man stood there, his eyes glassy with drink and glistening with unshed tears. He stumbled into my arms, his voice a broken whisper.

"What are you looking at?" he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. "Baby, I'm so much better than them. You don't have to look elsewhere..."

* * *

It was late, and I was in bed, mesmerized by a video of a guy with washboard abs dancing. That’s when the message popped up: "Hey, wanna see mine?"

I shrieked, my skin crawling. But curiosity, that treacherous beast, got the better of me. I clicked on his profile.

Oh my. A chiseled, boy-next-door type, dancing shirtless. I spent the next hour happily lost in a sea of rippling muscles and smoldering gazes.

Then, a knock shattered the silence.

At this hour, it could only be my husband, Brent—all looks, no action. The man who treated his stomach with more care than his wife.

"Ava," he slurred as I opened the door. "My head hurts. Do you have any painkillers?"

He was a tall man, but right now, he was all dead weight. The moment the door was open, he collapsed into my arms.

"Brent! Hey! Are you completely wasted? You're so heavy, I can't hold you."

You wouldn't believe it, but in two years of marriage, this was the closest we'd ever been.

"Ava, my head… it hurts so much. Can you blow on it for me? Please?"

Was he possessed? Was this the same robotic man whose entire vocabulary seemed to consist of "Okay," "Thank you," and "Good night"?

His warm breath tickled my ear as he nuzzled against me. "Ava, it hurts." He was being so clingy, refusing to move until I did as he asked.

I blew a quick puff of air onto his forehead. "There, all better? Let me get you to your room."

With a grunt, I managed to heave him onto my bed, shoes and all. I landed beside him with a thud, stars exploding behind my eyes.

He murmured into my ear, his voice thick with sleep. "Stay here."

I looked at the man passed out on my bed and sighed, rubbing my temples. What a handful.

Two years ago, to fend off my parents' relentless nagging about my single status, I had posted a ridiculous, half-joking message online: "Someone, anyone, please marry me."

That night, Brent, a man who had been a silent ghost in my contacts list since college, actually messaged me.

"Ava, hello. I believe we might be in need of the same thing."

He then proceeded to send me a ten-page PowerPoint presentation outlining the pros and cons of marrying him.

1. My parents are open-minded and will not interfere.

2. I have a demanding job, but I will ensure your daily needs are met.

3. I'm an excellent cook...

His face, I had to admit, was devastatingly handsome. So, in a moment of weakness, I made the same mistake countless women have made before me.

And now, I was regretting it. Who knew that at twenty-five, Brent would be living the life of a monk?

I went to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. When I came back, he was sprawled out on the bed… and my mind started to wander. It wasn't that he was unattractive. Far from it. He was probably just not interested in me. Otherwise, what man could resist a 34D?

"Here, drink this."

As he reached for the glass, his fingers brushed against mine, and he held my hand as he drank. Water dribbled down his chin and onto his shirt.

"Brent, are you doing this on purpose? Are you faking being drunk?"

I had seen him turn off my phone before he collapsed.

His brow furrowed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes.