Secret
Six years into our marriage, my usually quiet and reserved husband suddenly started acting strange.
Every day, he would spend an hour grooming himself, two hours working out, and three hours bringing me lunch, all while warily eyeing every young man who passed by.
I couldn’t understand what had gotten into him until I stumbled upon his diary.
“She left the house without her wedding ring today. Was it mere forgetfulness or a deliberate act? I can’t figure it out. I’m too afraid to ask. I’m losing my mind…”
“She liked that male intern’s post again. Is she trying to drive me insane? It’s all because of that shameless man…”
“I’m aging, rotting, becoming ugly in the mirror. No, I must make my appearance more perfect. It’s the only way to keep her from leaving me!”
“I feel so helpless, so desperate. I’m five years older than her. I’m not young anymore. As I age and lose my looks, her love for me will fade. This is my fate…”
Adrian and I have been married for six years, and we’ve never had a fight. At least, not in front of others.
In everyone’s eyes, he’s handsome, successful in his career, gentle and accommodating towards me, respectful and polite.
He’s the epitome of the perfect husband.
But only I know the suffocating nature hidden within this perfection.
During lunch break, a colleague leaned against the pantry counter, vividly complaining about getting home late last night.
She described how her husband sulked, how much effort it took to appease him, and how she ended up being banned from wearing short
skirts.
As she finished her story, she suddenly turned to me with a challenging smile in her eyes. “Olivia, Mr. Adrian is so stern in business. He must be an incredibly possessive and jealous husband in private, right?”
I lowered my eyes and smiled without answering, a hint of bitterness rising in my heart.
It was quite the opposite, actually.
For the past six years, Adrian had been so honest and reserved, like a programmed robot.
He never got jealous, never questioned who I was hanging out with, never cared what time I came home, and never even touched my phone.
Colleagues often say that love always comes with possessiveness, and without possessiveness, there is no love.
So, perhaps Adrian… had never loved me? Was I the only one who had fallen into this marriage?
My fingertips unconsciously tightened around the warm glass in my hand.
The glass contained the brown sugar water Adrian had prepared for me before leaving this morning.
He had silently placed the cup in my handbag before turning and entering the closet.
Recently, he seemed particularly concerned about his appearance, even using the cologne he used to hate.
Thinking about this, I suddenly had some not–so–good thoughts.
On a whim, I opened the home surveillance camera feed.
On the screen, Adrian was working out directly in front of the camera.
He was shirtless, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he moved.
He was shirtless, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he moved.
His perfect muscle lines looked particularly sexy in the sunlight, with beads of sweat rippling across his abs as he exerted himself.
His low–rise workout pants hung loosely on his hipbones, sliding down slightly with his movements before he casually pulled them back up.
Every move seemed like a dangerous invitation, extremely seductive.
My throat tightened, and my fingertip hovered over the zoom button for a moment before finally pressing it.
However, the next second, the screen suddenly switched, and my boss’s video call abruptly popped up.
All my amorous fantasies were instantly shattered.
I quickly closed my eyes, my fingers pressing against the desk, almost crushing the mouse.
