Defying the Plot: A Villainess's Love

My husband is the most beautiful man I have ever touched. He has never once wanted to touch me back. Our sex life was a onewoman war effort. Mine.

Then, out of nowhere, I started seeing comments. Floating in the air. Like a livestream chat scrolling across my bedroom— [LMAO. The male lead is Mr. Strictly Platonic.

His heart belongs to his soulmate and no one else.] [Wait till the heroine shows up. Those two hopeless romantics are endgame.] [The villainess?

Kicked out with nothing, and she dies alone in a little rented studio. Nobody even comes to claim the body.] I was still staring when my husband pushed open the bedroom door.

He took one look at me. All lace. His ears went red as he turned his face away. "My hands are sore today... can I use my mouth instead?" Chapter 1 "Forget it.

Let's just sleep." I yanked the blanket around myself and turned my back on him. Lucian's hand froze on his shirt buttons, half undone. He thought I was mad he'd come home late.

The mattress dipped. One finger brushed my shoulder. "Is it because I was late? I'll come home earlier. I promise." I said nothing. He leaned in closer.

His ears had gone scarlet. "Or you could... you could sit on my face. If you want." I'll admit it. I paused. Came this close to pouncing.

Then I looked up, and the comments drifted by again. [A man like him. Pure moonlight. Look what she's turned him into.] [What choice does a kept husband have? Her house.

Her rules.] [She bullied him into this marriage, remember? Prenup, everything in her name.

You think he'd stoop to her family otherwise?] [He was winning an award in Paris while she was out buying purses.] [The second his company goes public, he files.

She won't see a dime of his.] [And after the divorce? No quiet exit. Full public meltdown. Then the rented studio. Then days before anyone finds her.] "Really not in the mood.

Go to sleep." He went still for a long moment. Fair. The old me would have been on top of him before he finished the sentence. Now? Flat calm. I couldn't even spare him a glance.

After a long silence came a slow, small "...okay," and he got up to shower. I fished out my phone and texted my doctor friend. Me: [I'm seeing words floating in the air.

They're insulting me.] Her: [Could be mushroom poisoning. Get seen ASAP.] Me: [The wildmushroom hot pot was LAST week.] Her: [...I'm in clinic Monday.

I'm booking you a psych appointment.] I put the phone down. The words were still up there, crawling across my ceiling. Piece by piece, the comments handed me a whole story.

I was the villainess in some squeakyclean romance serial on a fiction app. My husband was Mr. Strictly Platonic, written for the heroine: his hopelessromantic soulmate.

And my ending was ugly. ...It's a romance novel. They couldn't even give the heroine a virgin male lead? What is this genre coming to. I sighed.

Then a comment in red pinned itself dead center in front of my eyes— [Backstory: as a kid, the male lead walked in on his father screwing his aunt. His dead mother's own sister.

At his mother's wake. He's been terrified of sex ever since.] [And the villainess forces herself on him. Constantly. He doesn't dare say no.

He's been sneaking off to see a therapist alone.] [How do you think he meets the heroine? She IS his therapist!] I stared at the words, head ringing. ...Sex hurts him?

Before we married, Lucian told me he had a condition. He was vague about the details. I didn't push. That night, we tried. Once.

Chapter 2 I draped myself over him and worked at it forever. Coaxing. Sweettalking. Everything. Finally he shut his eyes, voice scraped raw. "I'm sorry.

I can't... it won't." I froze for a solid thirty seconds. What a criminal waste. A face like that, parked in my house as decoration? But God, he was beautiful.

Skin so pale it glowed. Eyes rimmed red, lashes damp. Wrecked and obedient and sorry, all at once. I looked at him a while longer, and made my peace.

If eye candy this gorgeous had to sit somewhere, it might as well be my house. The next day I called in a favor with a specialist. Herbal performance supplements.

A dozen rounds' worth. He drank every dose like a good boy. Nothing changed. Eventually I let it go. Hardware fails? There's still software. His hands were clever. His mouth, too.

He never refused a single thing I asked. He just never wanted any of it. At first I blamed his body. Then the details stopped adding up. He took care of me perfectly. Every time.

And stayed cool as glass through all of it. Afterward, he'd vanish into the bathroom and not come out for ages. I asked once. He said he was washing up. I didn't dig.

Nobody's perfect. With a face like that, was I going to demand passion on top? Until tonight. Until the comments. All these years, he'd been swallowing his disgust to service me.

The bathroom door cracked open. His voice drifted out through the steam. "...I forgot my pajamas. Could you hand them to me?" I blinked. There were towels in there.

Since when was he shy? I rolled out of bed and grabbed a silk robe. The crack widened. He wasn't wearing a towel. He just stood there in the steam. Bare.

Wet hair plastered to his temples. Skin steamed a faint pink. That waist. Water sliding down the line of it. My eyelid twitched. My gaze dipped two inches.

I hauled it back up. "Robe." I shoved it through the gap. He took it. Didn't close the door. Steam curled out past him.

Half his body in the light, he said, low, "...Thanks, honey." His throat bobbed. The corners of his eyes were flushed, and he gave me a look like there was more he wanted to say.

That look was new. My breath snagged. A comment floated by overhead— [He's terrified.

Scared stiff she'll jump him.] [Then why is he asking her to bring pajamas??] [Walk out naked and she'd eat him alive. A towel comes off in one tug.

A robe at least has a belt.] Me: ... Lucian waited a few seconds. What he got was— "Dry your hair before you come out." He looked down at himself like he couldn't quite believe it.

Waited a little longer. Nothing else came. His lashes lowered, and he shut the door. Soft. [His FACE. That disbelief.

I'm dying.] [Dodged a bullet.jpg] I climbed back under the covers. Ten minutes later he came out. Trailing damp warmth, he lifted the blanket and slid in beside me. Careful. Quiet.

Rose body wash, faint. The same as mine. I kept my back to him and played dead. Behind me, the softest sound— [He's laughing.

He turned away so she can't see, and he is actually laughing.] [The silent GLEE. I cannot with this man.] I didn't turn around. Chapter 3 I only heard him turn over. Toward me.

A long while later, the smallest voice. "...Honey?" I didn't answer. A gentle tug at the edge of the blanket. He tucked it in over the gap at my back.

Next morning I dragged myself up and washed. Lucian stood at the door, briefcase in hand, stepping into his shoes.

On the table: a light breakfast, and a little plate of softboiled eggs. Already peeled. "You're up." His eyes curved. "Breakfast's cooled just right." I hummed something.

He finished with his shoes. Then just stood there at the door. Fussed with a cuff. Glanced up at me. [What is he waiting for? Dude.

You're going to be late.] [For her to release him, obviously.

Didn't she used to pin him down and kiss him forever every morning before letting him out the door?] [Forced kisses every single day, like punching a clock.

He has to be so sick of it.] I sat at the table, spoon in hand, not moving. He stood there a moment longer. Then came back. He bent down, just slightly, and offered me his cheek.

Asking for his goodbye kiss. I turned my head. His lips grazed my cheek and landed on nothing. His lashes flickered. For a second he didn't process it. He straightened.

His voice came out quieter than before. "...I'll go, then." The door shut. My spoon cracked against the rim of the bowl. So he doesn't like touching me.

All these years, it was me forcing it. The morning kiss was clocking in. Bedtime was a task on a list. I dodge him once, and the man finally gets to breathe. [HOLD ON.

The villainess DODGED??? Since when?] [Is it just me or does he not look... happy?] [Obviously. Get used like a dog every day, then suddenly nobody's using you. You don't relax.

You start wondering if you're about to be put down.] I stared into my bowl. My stomach pulled tight. Nine sharp, I walked into the office.

My secretary followed me in with a stack of files. Not one word landed. I stared at the air. [The male lead sees his therapist after his meeting today.

Heroine's about to make her entrance, right?] [Didn't they say he files for divorce the second his company goes public? Do the math. It's soon.] My pen hit the desk. Thunk.

I surfaced. My secretary jumped. "Everything okay?" "Keep going." After she left, I opened my laptop. And spent the whole morning staring through a project brief.

Then a knock: the boss's husband was here. He stood in my office doorway with a cake box. Light gray shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms.

Sunlight poured in behind him and tipped his lashes pale gold. "I passed that bakery you like. Picked this up on the way." His company is north.

That bakery is south. "Have you had lunch?" "Not yet." "Then now?" He sat down across from me and opened the box like he'd done it a hundred times. [He JUST left his session.

Got his childhood trauma all understood by the heroine. And now he's bringing the villainess cake?

That's guilt if I've ever seen it.] I stared at the slice of Black Forest in front of me, fork hanging midair. I wanted to ask if he hated being touched. If he did? Fine.

Strictly platonic could work too. Another line of text drifted overhead— Chapter 4 [I've got it! His company's project hit a cash crunch.

He's here for a loan!] [Doesn't he hate touching her money more than anything?] [Used to. But now he's in a hurry to fly off with the heroine.

A man needs capital to leave his wife.] I paused. Stared at him for three full seconds. Set my fork down. Smiled. "Lucian. You came here today because you need something.

Don't you." His lashes trembled. "...Just. Bringing you cake." "And?" "...There's a project at my company.

Cash flow's gotten tight." His voice dropped low. "Honey, could you wire me two million dollars?" I couldn't name what went through me in that second. Something bitter.

Something hollow. I sat with it a moment. Then nodded. "Sure. When we're home, I'll give you your card back." He went blank. "...What card?" "Yours. The one your paychecks go into.

You're short. What's built up on there over the years should cover it. Take it back.

Move the money however you want." His brows drew together, slow. "Why would you give me the card? If I'm short, you just wire me some. Like always." [Um??

When you're broke, isn't getting your own card back EXACTLY what you want?] [Maybe he's... embarrassed?] [Stop spinning it. It doesn't spin. He's broke, not brainless.

If he's really racing off with the heroine, he turns down his own money??] Me: "You're short.

There's enough on the card for an emergency." "Then wire me the money." An edge of urgency now. "Why are you giving it back?" He stared at me.

Those eyes, dark and depthless. "Are you hiding something from me?" A beat of silence. "...No." "Then why the card, out of nowhere?" "The money sits with you.

Saves you asking me next time." "...Oh. Then I'll return it when I'm done." [Dying. He plays dumb pretty well. His own savings can't do much.

HER money is the real number.] [Boss, I don't know if he's playing dumb. But I'm starting to think WE'RE the ones playing dumb.

Why does it feel like he's just in love with the villainess?] [Shut up.] [Has anyone considered the possibility that the male lead simply loves the villainess?] [Oh, did YOU write the book?] [...] That night I held the card out to him.

Lucian was propped against the headboard with a book. He didn't take it. Just looked up. "You're really giving it to me?" "Mm.

You're short." I set it on the nightstand. "PIN's your birthday." He looked at the card for two seconds.

Then his hand closed around my wrist and pulled, once, toward his side of the bed. I tipped off balance, palm landing on his chest.

He turned his face up and pressed the lightest kiss to the corner of my mouth. He does this every time I give him his allowance. But tonight it lasted longer than it ever had.

Then the tip of his tongue. I turned my head away. His lips grazed the corner of mine and landed in the air. Lucian stopped.

He held there, face still tilted up, for several long seconds. Then he let go of my wrist and sat up straight.

His voice came out low, like he was holding something down. "...You're dodging me?" I didn't speak. He pressed his lips together. "Honey. What is going on with you lately?

You dodged me last night, too." What could I even say? Chapter 5 Say I've been seeing words in the air, insulting me?

Say I know he's been swallowing his disgust every time he touches me? Say this marriage was a mistake from the first day? I closed my eyes.

Something in my head was a thread away from snapping. "Babe. What if we just... went platonic." "You've never really been into that side of things.

I pushed you too hard, all these years. From now on we keep it clean. It's better this way." His face changed. Like someone had dumped ice water over his head.

His throat worked once. Stopped. He didn't say a word. [He's celebrating inside, guaranteed. She offered platonic FIRST. Saves him the acting.] [No more clocking in as her toy.

A national holiday.] [...Does he look happy to you?] [What else would silence mean? A man with his manners can't exactly applaud.] Something went sour in my chest.

I pressed it down fast.

I leaned in and left the lightest kiss on his forehead. "Sleep early." Then I got up, pulled a thin comforter from the closet, and carried it toward the door.

His voice came from behind me. "...Where are you going?" "Guest room. Separate rooms tonight." Nothing behind me. At the door, I looked back once. His head was down.

I couldn't read his face. As the door swung shut, through the closing gap, I caught him look up. The lamplight sat broken in his eyes, little shards of it, wet and trembling.

His lips moved. No sound. I leaned against the guest room door, heartbeat pounding in my ears. The shape his mouth had made...

It looked like— Don't go. [He's laughing in there right now.] [Quietly, probably. Wouldn't want her to hear.] [The villainess finally did one decent thing.

Too little, too late.] [Bet he runs to the heroine tomorrow with the good news.] I took a deep breath and threw the comforter on the bed.

I don't know how long it took, but the comments began to thin. One. Then another. Long gaps between them.

The letters looked fainter, too. [So when do these two actually divorce...] The last comment drifted past, and the ceiling was clean.

I stared at the blank space for a few long seconds. Since the day I started seeing them, the comments swarmed whenever I got close to Lucian.

And the more they swarmed, the easier they steered me. No. I should not be trusting words that appeared out of thin air over the man I love.

Eyes closed, I walked back through the last two days, piece by piece. I wanted to go tell him everything. My feet touched the floor. My knees buckled.

Something pressed down on my whole body. In front of my eyes, a line of text seeped in. Bloodred. [Follow the storyline. Deviation is not permitted.] I blinked. It stayed.

It didn't drift away like the others. I tried to lift my foot. Rooted. Like the floor had grown through my soles. I couldn't move. [Character attempting to alter plot direction.

Forced correction mode: ON.] Cold sweat crawled down my back. A soft sound from the bedroom. Footsteps, coming toward the guest room. Lucian knocked. "...Honey?

Can we talk?" I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Chapter 6