Chapter 2Husband Personal Trainer for Her

The light from my phone screen stabbed at my eyes.

On the screen, a woman in tight yoga clothes was sprawled on a yoga mat.

A pair of large hands pressed down on her perky buttocks.

"Coach, please be gentle~"

The woman's voice dripped with seduction.

"Can't handle it already?"

The man's voice was low and laced with laughter, carrying notes of flirtation and wild desire.

It was Derek Chase.

The same Derek who blushed at saying anything harsh to me, who came home every day only to complain about being tired.

I stared at the top comment's reply beneath the video.

[Married, but he told me—marriage is responsibility. I'm his pleasure.]

I clicked into the woman's profile.

Her pinned video had this caption:

[I'm pouting, he's smiling. This is what love looks like at its best.]

In the video, Derek was doing push-ups with her on his back.

With each push-up, she leaned down and kissed his neck.

Derek's face was full of adoration.

The video was posted yesterday at 9 PM.

At that exact time, I'd been writhing in bed with acute gastroenteritis, calling him in agony.

He'd said: "Mara, I'm with a private training client. This student is really important—yearly membership, big spender. I can't leave. Just drink some hot water, okay? Be good."

So this was the truth.

My stomach churned violently. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up until I was dizzy.

The door lock clicked.

Derek was home.

He walked into the bedroom carrying the winter chill and the scent of body wash.

Not the brand we used at home. It was a sickeningly sweet peach scent.

"Mara, why are you still up?"

He walked over, trying to hug me like always.

I instinctively turned away.

His hand froze mid-air. He frowned, then quickly switched to a concerned expression.

"What's wrong? Still mad about yesterday? I told you, that was for work. To earn money for our family."

He sat on the edge of the bed and reached out to feel my forehead.

I looked down at his calf.

His pant leg had ridden up slightly, revealing that winding scar.

It was from last year when an out-of-control electric scooter came rushing at me, and he threw himself in front of me without hesitation.

Back then he'd said: "Mara, as long as you're okay, losing a leg would be worth it."

At that moment, I'd sworn to love him forever.

But now, that scar was like a mocking mouth, silently ridiculing my stupidity.

"Derek," my voice came out hoarse.

"Why do you smell like peaches?"

His expression flickered, gone in an instant.

"Oh, the gym switched to new body wash. The scent is pretty strong. If you don't like it, I'll shower again when I get home next time."

His answer was airtight.

"That big client yesterday—male or female?"

I stared into his eyes.

Derek sighed, his tone tinged with impatience.

"Mara, are you interrogating me again? Of course it's a guy. What female client would have the stamina to train that late?"

"Really?"

I pulled out my phone and held it in front of his face.

"Then who's this woman? And whose scar is this on that leg?"

The video played. The woman's breathy moans echoed through the quiet bedroom.

Derek's pupils dilated.

He snatched my phone away, his fingers flying across the screen.

"Mara! Can you stop being so paranoid and watching this garbage all day?"

He looked at me, his face full of wronged fury.

"This is for marketing! To sell training packages! Do you have any idea how competitive the gym industry is? Without these provocative gimmicks, who's going to buy packages?"

"This is all scripted! It's staged!"

"Staged?"

"Staging requires you to go to bed with her? Staging requires you to say I'm responsibility and she's pleasure?"

Derek froze for a second, then flew into an embarrassed rage.

"That's just copywriting! Do you understand internet marketing? Mara, I bust my ass out there every day—for who? And here you are, not only showing no appreciation, but attacking me over this nonsense!"

He got more worked up as he spoke.

"If you don't trust me this much, there's no point in staying together!"

With that, he grabbed his pillow, slammed the door viciously, and went to the guest room.