Testing My Husband Into Her Bed Chapter 1

My mother always said her best friend was the most graceful, most principled woman in the world.

But there she was. The woman I’d called "Auntie" my whole life, the woman who supposedly knew everything about boundaries, was currently curled into my husband’s chest. Her hand was wandering, tracing the line of his jaw with a sickening familiarity.

The moment I ripped the mask off her face, the air in the hotel room turned to lead.

The slap I’d rehearsed in my head, the screaming match I’d prepared for—it all died in my throat. My brain felt like it was short-circuiting, a dull numbness spreading from my skull to my fingertips.

"You’re family," I whispered, my voice trembling so hard it barely sounded like mine. "How could you do something so... so subhuman?"

She didn't flinch. Instead, she let out a soft, melodic laugh. With a straight face and a voice full of unearned authority, she told me she was simply "testing" my husband for me.

I looked at the two of them—this scene so absurd it bordered on the surreal—and I started to laugh. A jagged, hysterical sound.

Fine. If one of you has no shame and the other is looking for a thrill, I’ll give you exactly what you deserve.

* * *

The hotel hallway was bathed in a dim, amber glow that felt like sticky syrup, coating the two of them in a sickly light.

My stomach did a slow, violent roll. Nausea surged in the back of my throat. I thought I would scream. I thought I’d turn into a madwoman, clawing at their lying faces.

But I didn't.

My body reacted faster than my mind. A bone-chilling cold raced up my spine, settling at the base of my brain. The rage didn't vanish; it was just compressed, shoved deep into my chest where it simmered without an exit.

I forced myself to breathe. I dug my nails into the soft meat of my palms until the sharp sting brought a flicker of clarity.

I pulled out my phone.

As the screen lit up, I saw Bradley’s face. My husband. He looked like a dog that had just been caught eating off the table—panicked, pathetic, desperate to hide the evidence of his sin.

He lunged toward me.

"Summer, wait! Let me explain. It’s not what it looks like!"

His voice was thin, reeking of his usual cowardice.

"Don't move," Victoria said, stopping him in his tracks.

Victoria. My mother’s best friend of thirty years. The woman who had watched me grow up. She didn't even fully untangle herself from Bradley’s arms. She just hooded her eyes, looking at me with a strange mix of excitement and provocation.

She was wearing that perfume my mother always praised—something "soft and elegant." Now, mixed with the stale, recycled air of a cheap hotel room, it made me want to gag.

I hit the record button.

The small red dot on the screen blinked like a cold, unblinking eye, witnessing everything.

"Testing my husband?" I repeated her words. My voice was so flat it sounded like I was reading lines for a play I wasn't even in.

Victoria smiled. It was a light, feathery thing, but it cut like a razor.

"Yes, Summer." She finally stood up straight, smoothing out her dress with practiced elegance. "Men these days... they can’t be trusted. I was worried you were being played, so I decided to see what he was made of."

She took a step toward me, her tone shifting into that of a concerned elder. "And look. He failed instantly. A man like this? He’s not worth your time."

Bradley’s face went from pale to a bruised purple. He opened his mouth to protest, but one sharp look from Victoria silenced him. He looked like a marionette, his strings held by a woman twenty years his senior.

Suddenly, it hit me. This wasn't just an affair. This was a joke. A cruel, meticulously planned joke at my expense.

I pointed the camera directly at Victoria’s perfectly maintained face. "So, how long has this 'test' been going on?"

"Bradley was the one who came to me," Victoria said, her voice dripping with faux-sympathy. "He said your marriage was suffocating. That he couldn't breathe. He said living with you was like living with a piece of wood—boring, lifeless. He needed someone who understood him. Someone who could bring back the spark."

She sighed. "Summer, don't be mad at me. I did this because I care about you. I wanted you to see his true colors before it was too late."

Bradley was sweating now, stammering over his words. "No! That’s not—she seduced me! Summer, you have to believe me!"

His defense only served to complete her narrative. A perfect, closed loop of betrayal.

I watched them through the screen—one smug, one frantic. Whatever was left of the thing I called "love" was ground into the carpet. I could almost hear the physical snap of my heart breaking.

"Test passed," I said. I stopped the recording and tucked the phone away, forcing a twisted smile. "You two deserve each other."

I looked at them—the executioner and the man-child—standing in the shadows of the hallway. They looked ridiculous.

I saw the confusion in their eyes, maybe even a flicker of fear, as I turned my back on them. I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I didn't waste another word.

My heels clicked softly against the plush hotel carpet. I walked away as quietly as I had arrived.

One step. Two steps. Three.

The moment I pushed through the revolving doors and hit the street, the icy night air slammed into me. My knees buckled. I collapsed onto the sidewalk, my body shaking with a violence I couldn't control.

The tears finally came—a flash flood that blurred the world into a smear of neon lights.

So this was what it felt like to be hollowed out.