His Debt, My Body

My name is Emily Laurent, a newlywed trophy wife.

Looking back, my first brush with infidelity was actually orchestrated by my own husband.

A while ago, Ryan became obsessed with an online game. He played as a female character, often pretending to be a girl to coax high-level players into giving him gear.

Then one day, one of them suddenly demanded a video call to verify his identity before handing over more items.

That’s when I found out Ryan had been using my photos to catfish the guy.

To keep up the charade, he begged me to video chat with the stranger.

At first, I refused. But after relentless pleading, I reluctantly agreed.

When the call connected, I was stunned. The man Ryan had been gaming with turned out to be a muscular young hunk, shirtless on his bed, his six-pack abs faintly visible.

The moment he saw me, he sat up straight, arms flexing against the mattress, his biceps bulging.

I’d never seen a man so built before. Especially when he kept angling the camera toward his abs, calling me "babe" every other second. It made me flustered, too shy to meet his gaze.

He studied me for a long moment, complimented my looks, then suddenly asked, "I’ve got better gear. You want it?"

Without thinking, I replied, "What kind?"

He said something I didn’t understand—some gaming term.

Before I could respond, Ryan frantically gestured behind my phone, mouthing, Say yes!

But this time, the man had a condition: I had to lift my nightgown for him, or no deal.

Humiliated and angry, I was about to refuse.

Ryan, though, kept begging silently, mouthing, It’s just your body. No big deal.

That pissed me off. This was a complete stranger! Was he really selling out his own wife over a game?

Furious, I acted on impulse—and yanked my nightgown all the way up.