Chapter 2Listed for Sale on Prime Day—My Wife Never Expected a Buyer

After a few cigarettes, I strapped on my helmet, opened up the delivery app, and waited for an order.

Soon enough, I got a delivery for crawfish, and the customer even left a $50 tip, asking that I peel the crawfish when I got there. After picking up the crawfish, I made my way to the customer at the Galactic Lounge & Karaoke Bar.

About half an hour later, I found myself outside room 808. Just as I reached for the door, I saw her—Samantha.

Inside, a group of seven or eight people were laughing and singing, with Samantha sitting right in the middle next to her ex, Tyson Caldwell. They were singing “Only True Love,” looking like a couple.

Didn’t she say she was working late? Guess she’s working overtime… at karaoke.

I could feel the heat rise on my scalp, like a storm cloud had just settled over my head.

Just then, a heavyset girl opened the door.

“Come on in.”

I stepped inside. Samantha, engrossed in singing, hadn’t even noticed me.

“Just sit over there and peel the crawfish for me. Let me know when you’re done,” she said, pointing to a corner.

I settled in, back turned to them, and started peeling. After a few minutes, the group decided to play a game of Spin the Truth. Samantha lost and picked truth.

“So, how often do you and your husband, you know…?” Rebecca, the heavyset girl, giggled, prying into her private life.

“Ugh, don’t make me sick. Forget weekly; we haven’t done a thing in over a year,” Samantha scoffed, full of disdain.

Ever since I lost everything, she’s kept her distance from me.

“No way! Not even once in a year? Are you telling the truth?” someone chimed in, incredulous.

“I swear, if I’m lying, let me get hit by a car,” she said, raising her hand like she was making an oath.

“Well, does your husband even… function?” one of them asked with a snicker.

“Hmph. If he doesn’t, I’ll just go elsewhere. Not like I care,” she shot back.

“Samantha, that sounds miserable,” someone sighed.

“It’s absolute hell. You guys don’t know how disgusting he is, lazing around all day on video games, living off me. Every minute I’m home with that deadbeat is torture,” she sneered.

“Oh, Samantha, you deserve better,” Tyson said, pulling her into a comforting hug.

“If it weren’t for your mom opposing us back then, I wouldn’t have married that loser out of spite,” Samantha sniffled, clinging to him with tears streaming down her face.

“Samantha, I let you down. Don’t cry; it hurts me even more to see you like this,” he said softly, brushing her tears away.

“Come on, a few tears aren’t enough! How about a kiss to really make it better?”

“Yeah, kiss to rekindle those old flames!” the others cheered.

I stole a glance at them, and fury burned in every cell of my body.

They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, Samantha shyly biting her lip before closing her eyes and tilting her head up.

Right as Tyson leaned in to kiss her, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stood up and threw a punch straight into his face.

My sudden outburst left everyone in the room shocked.

“Are you insane, delivery guy? What’s your problem, punching someone like that?” Rebecca barked.

Only then did Samantha notice me.

“Oh, him? That’s my pathetic husband.”

The room fell silent.

“Tyson, are you okay?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m fine,” he said, wiping a bit of blood from his split lip.

We knew each other—he’d even been at our wedding. Samantha had introduced us back then.

“What’s wrong with you? Why would you just start hitting people?” Samantha snapped at me, her tone icy.

“What’s wrong with me?” I shook with rage, clenching my jaw. “My head is practically drowning in storm clouds, and I’m just supposed to sit back and take it?”

“Tell me where you see any infidelity here,” Samantha said, deflecting.

“Oh, please. You were about to kiss him, and you’re still denying it?”

“So what if we kiss? Are you going to lose some imaginary pride over it? If I’m shameless, who’s to blame? You. You live like a spineless loser, like some maggot in a sewer—disgusting and worthless,” she spat.

My chest felt like it was going to explode.

“If you can’t make Samantha happy, maybe you should take the high road and set her free,” Rebecca suggested, smugly.

“Right, know your place. Samantha was the campus queen in college, and just look at her—still gorgeous. Look at you now, a lowly delivery guy. How much do you even make a day?” another girl added, scoffing.

Turns out these were all Samantha’s college friends.

“Go take a long look in the mirror. Here’s $50—just finish peeling the crawfish and stay quiet.”

“What an embarrassment. No wonder Samantha’s miserable. If I had a husband like you, I’d rather slam my head into a wall.”

“Hey, hey, here’s $200. Just act like you didn’t see anything and scram.”

They kept piling on the insults, reveling in it.

I clenched my fists, taking in every cruel word.

“Go home. Now.” I shouted, grabbing a beer bottle and smashing it against the floor.

They all fell silent, seeing the rage twisting my face.

“Go home if you want, but I’m not coming with you,” Samantha said without a shred of fear.

At that moment, a security guard rushed in, hearing the commotion, and threw me out.