My Husband Sold Me for Views

My name is Jean Reed. Five years into our marriage, a private honeymoon video of Ethan and me has gone viral, sparking a firestorm online. The memory of that moment is still sharp in my mind, but now I'm drowning in the whirlwind of public scrutiny.

Just as I was struggling to process the chaos, Ethan had the audacity to walk into our home with his mistress, Enya, clinging to his arm. She nestled against him, her eyes glinting with quiet triumph.

Ethan didn't even look at me. His voice was ice-cold as he said, "Enya's still young. If she wants to stir up trouble, let her. What's the big deal? We've been married for years—who even cares about that video anymore?" He paused, then dropped the bombshell. "Enya's pregnant, and she wants recognition. Let's get a divorce first. You can come back after the baby's born."

With that, he slapped the pre-written divorce papers in front of me like I was nothing more than trash to be discarded.

I sat there, numb, while the laughter and jeers of Ethan's friends cut through the air—distant yet razor-sharp.

"Bet she won't last a month without President Mook. She'll come crawling back, begging to be taken in." One of them sneered.

"No kidding. She's been a housewife for five years—what skills does she even have?" another chimed in.

My nails dug into my palms as humiliation crashed over me. The video of our honeymoon suite played on their phones, the sound like knives slicing into me over and over.

"Sister Jean's got a nice figure—36D—but she's still no match for Enya."

"President Mook's got game—first his wife, now the campus beauty."

"He'd even leak a video like that just to make Enya happy. Talk about spoiled."

Every word was a fresh wound, my face burning with shame. Ethan, completely indifferent, kept Enya tucked against him, never once meeting my eyes.

"Stop deluding yourself. No one cares about that video now," he repeated, irritation creeping into his voice. "Enya's pregnant and emotional. Move out before she gives birth. I'll bring you back after—simple as that."

My hand shook as I gripped the pen, unable to sign. This marriage—the one I fought so hard for—was ending in the most humiliating way possible. Two minutes passed, and Ethan's patience wore thin.

"Enough. This is just a game. Soon enough, you'll still be Mrs. Mook." His voice was frigid. "Jean, don't push me."

His friends burst into laughter.

"Mook, go easy on her. She's probably terrified of leaving—who wouldn't want to stay with you? Free money, zero effort."

"Hell, if I were a woman, I'd cling to you too."

Drowning in their mockery, I took a deep breath and finally signed. If this marriage was nothing but pain, why hold on?

"How generous of you, sister-in-law, putting up with all this," someone taunted.

I turned to leave, done with their cruelty—but Enya rushed over, grabbing my arm with fake concern that made my skin crawl.