My Body Calls BS On My Husband

Eunice shook her head, crying, clutching the costume. "No! Not when everyone's around!"

At that, Landon quickly removed his suit jacket and moved to drape it over her.

"Move!" I snapped, stopping him in his tracks.

Then, I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pair of scissors—the sound of the snip cut through the silence. Step by step, I walked toward Eunice, the scissors' tip aimed at that glittering costume.

"You're not going to do it? Fine. I'll cut it off for you."

Eunice's scream pierced the room. Under everyone's eyes, she fumbled and tore the costume off herself, humiliated and shaking. All that was left on her was a set of revealing undergarments, every bit of her disgrace laid bare.

Around us, muffled laughter broke out, mixed with the sound of phones snapping photos.

With the scissors, I lifted the contaminated costume in disgust, turned around, and tossed it straight into the towering champagne pyramid beside me.

I watched the Ice Queen costume slowly sink into the bubbling liquid and said to Landon, "I don't want it anymore. It's filthy."

A wave of anger and physical nausea hit me all at once. My vision blurred, and everything went dark.

When I came to, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I was in a VIP hospital room. An IV needle had been reinserted into the back of my hand.

Landon stood by the bed, impatience written all over his face. Seeing me awake, he poured a glass of water and handed it over, his tone stiff.

"Let's put an end to this. I've already handled the gala incident. Eunie's depression relapsed from the shock. She's in the room next door right now. You just need to issue a statement saying it was all a misunderstanding."

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if I were the one causing trouble.

I didn't take the water, but looked at him quietly. The face I had loved for so many years now felt completely foreign.

"Landon, did you ever love me?" I asked softly.

He froze for a moment. His eyes flickered away almost immediately, then he put on that same impatient expression again. "Of course, I do. Why would I marry you if I don't? Stop overthinking things. Eunie is just a good friend. We—"

Before he could finish, another wave of nausea surged up from my stomach. I turned my head abruptly and retched violently into the trash bin beside the bed.

This time, it was worse than anything at the gala. The cardiac monitor at my bedside suddenly blared. Doctors and nurses rushed in immediately.

When the doctor took one look at my condition, he glanced at Landon. The doctor's expression darkened instantly, as if he had understood something.

"Didn't you read her medical records?" the doctor snapped. "She has Pathological Lie Aversion, a severe allergy to lies! Stop feeding her more of them! You could kill her!"

Landon was stunned. He looked at my pale face, then at the doctor's serious expression. Disbelief twisted across his features. "Pathological Lie Aversion? Now, what kind of act is this?"

To him, it was all theatrics, a ridiculous excuse to gain sympathy.

It turned out he had never read my medical records nor once believed the pain I had been describing.

I browsed my phone and tapped into the trending page. It was all about Eunice and her depressive episode.

In a video, she was lying in a hospital bed, livestreaming. Tears streamed down her face as she accused me of tormenting her. The comment section was flooded with insults directed at me.

I turned the screen toward Landon. "Did you do this, too?"

A flicker of unease crossed his face, but he didn't deny it. "I just needed to control the public opinion quickly. As my wife, taking a little hit like this shouldn't be a big deal, should it?"

Wow. What a sentence. I couldn't help but laugh.

This was the man, the husband, whom I had loved for a decade.