CEO's Lost Love

When I got home, it was pretty late. My husband, Michael Johnson, was standing on the balcony smoking. His profile was sharp and handsome, incredibly attractive.

I squeezed the carefully prepared item in my purse, my heart racing.

To outsiders, Michael had money, power, and good looks. He was extremely considerate toward me—a rare, perfect husband.

But no one knew that in our three years of marriage, we'd had sex only a handful of times.

This was my hidden frustration beneath the glamorous surface, something no one could understand, and I had nowhere to turn.

How to win him over and become a truly loving couple had almost become an obsession for me.

I'd consulted a psychologist about it, and even secretly made appointments for him at a men's health clinic.

I'd even tried shameless tactics like getting him drunk, using aphrodisiacs, and setting up romantic scenarios. But every time, at the critical moment, he would pull away.

Tonight, I deliberately got myself tipsy outside, and with that secret weapon in my purse, I was determined to succeed!

"Michael, I'm home." I stood in the doorway, leaning softly against the wall, calling his name gently.

Michael turned around. His loving eyes sparkled with starlight, his handsome features making my heart race even faster.

He walked over, wrapped his arm around my waist, kissed the top of my head lightly, wrinkled his nose slightly as he sniffed, and scolded me affectionately, "You've been drinking? Your period's coming soon—you're going to feel awful and make a fuss again."

I hooked my arm around his neck and nestled against him playfully. Our breaths mingled, our bodies pressed close, and the heat in my chest grew even more intense.

Since I wanted to seduce him anyway, I mischievously bit his Adam's apple. After successfully hearing him gasp, I slipped out of his embrace. "I'm going to wash up."

Behind me came his indulgent voice and soft laughter, "Little troublemaker, teasing me and running away."

Back in the bedroom after my shower, I blow-dried my hair until it was half-dry, then carefully took out the lingerie from my purse and put it on. Just one glance at myself in the mirror made my cheeks burn hot and red.

Delicate ribbons gently traced my tender skin, soft lace bloomed like flowers at key areas, and sheer fabric revealed my smooth skin, slender waist, and alluring curves. Combined with my hazy, intoxicated eyes from the alcohol and seductive charm, it was like an exquisitely beautiful erotic painting.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I smiled with satisfaction.

I simply can't believe he'll still be able to keep his composure like this!

After giving myself a pep talk for a while, I patted my burning cheeks and quietly walked out of the bedroom. I came up behind Michael and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against his back and rubbing gently.

"Done washing up? I made you some soda water. Want some?"

Michael held my hand. I turned around, and as his gaze fell on me, the smile on his lips suddenly froze. His eyes instantly reddened, and in them, two burning flames leaped up.

He curved one corner of his lips into a wicked smile, pulled me into his embrace, his large hand rubbing back and forth on my lower back, his voice hoarse, "You're playing with fire."

I smiled and kissed his Adam's apple, mimicking what I'd read in romance novels, my finger tracing silent circles on his chest. "Fire? Where? I don't see any."

His eyes flashed with flames. He swept me up in his arms, kicked open the bedroom door, roughly tossed me onto the bed, and his tall, strong body pressed down heavily. His large hand moved passionately over me through the thin, sheer fabric of my nightgown, not missing any part of my skin.

Our two bodies pressed tightly together, breaths mingling, hearts beating wildly.

His kisses came hot and fierce, like burning fire, falling on my nightgown, leaving wet marks everywhere.

My breathing became heavy and labored. The red in his eyes deepened, intense desire rising in them.

He murmured in my ear with a rough voice, "Baby, I love you... I want you... you're driving me crazy..."

His slender fingers seemed to carry magic—wherever they traveled, they sparked flames, almost setting me on fire.

I couldn't resist his teasing at all. My body felt unbearably hot, yet my heart felt incredibly empty, desperately needing to be filled with something I'd been longing for.

I couldn't help but unbutton his shirt, kissing and biting his neck, Adam's apple, and skin, leaving mark after mark that belonged only to me.

When my lips reached his chest, Michael groaned. He seemed unable to hold back any longer, urgently searching for a way to undo my nightgown. His fingertips swept across my skin, raising waves of tingling sensations.

My hands continued downward, reaching into his waistband, pulling out his shirttail. My fingers touched his warm skin.

My heart pounded even more wildly. My mind was in chaos, thinking—almost there, almost there, today I would definitely succeed in getting pregnant!

"Honey, let's have another baby!"

I murmured passionately.

But he suddenly stopped, as if someone had pressed pause. His large hand quickly and firmly pulled out my wandering hand, stopping my movements. The desire in his eyes receded as quickly as the tide, leaving only unfathomable stillness.

He pulled away again!

How many times had this happened?

I couldn't remember!

Why? Why did he always do this?

I refused to give up and tried to continue, but he sat up, said nothing, and went straight into the bathroom.

The sincere fire was extinguished by hurtful coldness. An indescribable pain rose in my heart.

Everything changed three years ago after we lost our first child.

At the time, Michael used "praying for our dead child's soul" as an excuse to voluntarily abstain. Our sex life became once a month at most.

Even though I was only 24 years old and had sexual needs, I could only go along with his decision.

...

Michael left the house in the middle of the night.

Not long after, I got a call from my best friend, Amelia Martinez.

Amelia's voice was extremely urgent: "Evelyn, check the trending topics! Doesn't Alice's exposed sugar daddy look a lot like Michael?"

The moment I clicked on the trending topic, my mind exploded with a buzz.

"Breaking News! Popular actress Alice Baker is suspected of sleeping her way to the top with a sugar daddy! The identity of the sugar daddy is currently uncertain, to be revealed!"

Although the photo only showed a blurry back view, how could I not recognize my own husband?

Michael's right hand was wrapped around Alice's slender waist as they entered a hotel together.

Just then, two anonymous emails popped up on my phone.

High-definition photos flooded my screen.

The first one: Michael kneeling on one knee, holding a cute little girl in his arms, letting the child in a tutu dress hug his neck and kiss his cheek.

The second one: Alice reaching out to brush dust off his shoulder. He didn't coldly avoid her hand as he did with me. Instead, he smiled happily.

...

Dozens of photos finally made me understand that his growing coldness toward me over these three years might not have been because he was praying for our dead child.

It was because he was having an affair.

My fingertips dug deep into my palm. I kept taking deep breaths, forcing myself to calmly open the second email.

It was a line of text:

"Mrs. Johnson, expose it or pay one million dollars to bury it?"

"One million dollars. Bury it."