My Wife's Livestream Scandal

A new scandalous video made the rounds in our car enthusiasts' group chat.

There she was—a voluptuous nurse, kneeling suggestively on a massage table, striking poses that left little to the imagination.

But my stomach dropped when my eyes locked onto her neck.

Why did it look exactly like my wife's?

Vivian Lowell—my stunning, fair-skinned wife—was a nurse.

Even after having our daughter, she still looked like she'd just stepped off a college campus.

And when she wore that nurse uniform? Forget about it.

I was obsessed.

I raced home every day just to see her.

Let's just say—unless it was that time of the month—I rarely let a night go to waste.

But tonight, it was past nine, and Vivian still wasn't home.

After tucking Lily in, I called her.

"Hey, babe, where are you? Need me to pick you up?"

"No, don't bother. Another surgery tonight. I'll be late. Go to bed."

Her voice sounded off—like she was holding something back.

I frowned. "You okay? You sound weird."

"Just tired. Headache. Gotta go—busy!"

The line went dead.

I shrugged it off.

Vivian worked at Beverly Hills Medical Center, and with the never-ending demand for cosmetic procedures, she'd been swamped lately.

Come to think of it, it had been almost a week since we'd been intimate.

She finally dragged in after eleven.

Maybe she had been working—she was still in her pink nurse uniform, unchanged.

The summer version was dangerously short, barely covering her thighs.

Her toned legs were on full display, smooth and flawless.

The tight fabric clung to every curve.

I couldn't help myself.

The second she stepped inside, before she could even kick off her heels, I pulled her into me, my mouth crashing against hers.

My hands roamed.

She shoved me back with a glare. "Ethan, stop. I'm exhausted."

I gave her my best puppy-dog eyes. "Come on, Viv… it's been a week."

"Not tonight. We'll talk when things calm down."

She brushed past me and headed straight for the shower.

Frustrated, I clenched my jaw and waited.

Later, in bed, Vivian lay with her back to me, scrolling through her phone.

I watched the curve of her body under the sheets, my restraint crumbling.

My fingers trailed along her waist.

She smacked my hand away, irritation flashing in her eyes. "Seriously, Ethan? Don't you have anything better to do? Other men are out there building empires, buying mansions and Mercedes. And you? This is your priority? Pathetic."

Her words cut deep.

The disgust in her voice—it wasn't like her.

"How much money is enough? This is normal. If you're not in the mood, fine."