When My Husband Fell Ill, I Seized His Business

The eighth time I caught Sheriff cheating, I didn't scream or cry.

I simply handed the girl her coat and said calmly, Use the back door.

She shot me a terrified glance and practically fled. Sheriff, meanwhile, leaned back against the headboard, watching me as he lit a cigarette with slow, deliberate movements.

"The kid's new to this. Don't scare her," he said, smoke curling from his lips. "She's not like you. I don't want her getting hurt."

He took another drag. "It's her birthday today. I'm staying with her tonight, so don't wait up."

I lowered my eyes and gave a soft acknowledgment, not bothering to argue.

After all, it seemed Sheriff wasn't aware of one crucial detail.

That young girl was HIV-positive.

1.

Used condoms littered the floor, and the air hung thick with a faint, cloying scent.

I put on a mask, opened the windows, and let the room air out. I didn't spare him another glance.

He, however, watched me with amusement, blowing smoke rings. "Not threatening divorce today? Finally come to your senses?"

My back was to him. My fingers paused on the windowsill before pushing the window open further.

"Yes," my voice was light. "I've come to my senses."

Sheriff let out a short, humorless laugh.

"About time," he said, getting up languidly and starting to dress. "In our world, this is how marriages end up. Everyone plays their own game. It's better you understand that. Saves us both the embarrassment."

I turned and watched him button his shirt. Four years of marriage, and he was still devastatingly handsome. That roguish, carefree air about him could still make a young girl's heart flutter.

"Are you sure you're not coming home tonight?" I asked.

"I'm sure." He fastened his belt, giving me a sideways glance. "Why, is today some special occasion?"

I shook my head. "Just asking."

He shrugged and picked up the watch from the nightstanda limited edition Patek Philippe I'd given him for his birthday last year.

"Oh, right," he said, pausing at the door. "We're out of condoms. Pick some up when you have a chance."

"Alright."

The door clicked shut.

I stood by the window for a while longer, watching his headlights cut through the darkness and disappear down the tree-lined drive.

Then, I picked up my phone and dialed a number.

"He's gone," I said. "You can start the cleanup."

Five minutes later, three people in full hazmat suits entered the room. They worked efficiently, gathering the scattered condoms, wiping down every surface with a special disinfectant, and stripping all the bedding to seal it in biohazard bags.

The woman in charge nodded at me. "It's all taken care of, Ms. Thorne. Rest assured, there's no risk of contamination."

"Thank you," I said. "This bedroom, especially. It needs to be completely sanitized."

"Understood."

I stepped out of the room and closed the door. The soft hallway light spilled onto the dark hardwood floor. On the wall hung our wedding portrait. In it, I was radiant in my white dress, my smile shy and full of joy. Sheriff had his arm around my waist, his gaze tender.

We were inseparable then, deeply in love.

Now, that same wall was covered in tacky hearts drawn with different shades of lipstick by his various women. The same women who had cost me two pregnancies, leaving me unable to conceive again.

I gave the photo one last, placid look before turning and heading downstairs.

On the living room coffee table sat a cake box.

I took out the complimentary candle, stuck one in the cake, and lit it.

Sheriff only remembered that today was his little fling's birthday.

He had, as usual, forgotten that it was also our fourth wedding anniversary.

And my birthday.

The flame danced. I stared at it for a long moment before blowing it out.

The truth was, I had been planning to file for divorce.

But not anymore.

I wanted his billion-dollar inheritance.

I wanted all his money, and all his power.

2.

Sheriff didn't come home for five straight days.

But his new girl, as if given his blessing, sent me texts and videos with clockwork precision.

He says I'm the kind of person he's always truly wanted.

He says he got tired of a stay-at-home wife like you a long time ago.

He's not coming home again tonight. Are you cold sleeping all alone?

I didn't reply to a single one.

I just took my medication on time, went to my check-ups, slept soundly, and had my assistant archive the screenshots as usual.

On the sixth night, Sheriff called.

I was at the hospital, waiting for test results on a bench in the hallway after a round of exams. His voice on the other end was hoarse, laced with the breathless fatigue of recent indulgence.

"Seraphina," he said my name. "Someone got pictures of me and Aria. There's an interview tomorrow. I need you to come to the office and help clear her name."

I was silent for a beat. "Clear her name of what?"

"Just say it was a misunderstanding. That she's just a student I'm sponsoring, and you were there at the time," he paused. "You know how it is. She's young, she can't handle this kind of public pressure."

I looked down at the faint needle mark on the back of my hand.

"Alright," I said.

He audibly relaxed. "You're always so understanding," his tone softened. "I'll come home tonight to spend some time with you. It's been a while since we..."

"It's not a good time for me," I said flatly, cutting him off. "It's that time of the month."

There was a moment of silence.

"...Fine," he sounded disappointed, but quickly switched back to his charming tone. "Well, get some sleep. Don't overthink things."

After hanging up, I stared at the dark screen and felt a sudden urge to laugh.

He thought I was saving myself for him.

He had no idea I was just disgusted by him.

The next day's interview was held in the lobby of the corporate headquarters. The press turned out in droves, their cameras all pointed at the "model couple." I linked my arm through Sheriff's, my makeup flawless, my smile warm and gracious.

When asked about the rumors, he instinctively glanced at me.

I took the microphone for him.

"It truly is a misunderstanding," I said with a smile. "Miss Aria is a student my husband sponsors. She hasn't been well lately, so he's been looking after her a bit more. Someone with ill intentions took those photos, and things got blown out of proportion. I hope everyone can refrain from over-analyzing."

Someone from the crowd pressed, "Mrs. Thorne, are you saying you don't mind at all?"

I turned to Sheriff, my eyes filled with nothing but trust and devotion. "Of course, I trust him completely."

I felt his grip on my wrist tighten.

Halfway through the interview, his phone buzzed with a message.

The color drained from Sheriff's face almost instantly. He shot up from his seat without even looking at me. "Sorry, something urgent has come up," he said to the host, already turning to leave.

I remained seated, microphone in hand, as a stir went through the media.

Someone shouted, "Mr. Thorne, is it about Miss Aria? We heard she was hospitalized?"

His stride faltered for a second.

Then he walked out without looking back.

I was left alone, sitting under the brightest lights, to clean up his mess and continue playing the part of the doting, supportive wife.

After it was over, my assistant asked cautiously, "Ma'am, are you alright?"

I stood up, smoothed my dress, and smiled. "I'm perfectly fine."

And I truly was.

Because I knew he had just given me another push toward the finish line.

He didn't come home that night. He just sent a single text: Her fever is high. I'm at the hospital. You go to sleep.

I replied with one word: Okay.

Then, after a moment's thought, I sent another: My mother isn't feeling well. I'm going back to my hometown tomorrow. I'll probably be back in a month.

Do you want me to go with you?

It's nothing serious. I can handle it.

Okay.

After sending the message, I let out a breath of relief. I put my phone aside and continued to review the new report that had just arrived.

On it, a few words were written with stark clarity.

Incubation period over. Now infectious.

3.

The next morning, I packed a suitcase and left the villa.

As the car pulled out of the tree-lined drive, I glanced in the rearview mirror at the house I had lived in for four years. The morning mist hadn't yet burned off, casting a greyish-white glow over the entire garden.

The garden was filled with red roses.

He had them flown in from France years ago, all because I had once mentioned I liked them. The golden boy of New York's elite had spent months with me, planting every one of those nine hundred and ninety-nine roses by hand. He had even stayed up late revising the layout nine times to ensure it was perfectly beautiful.

I had laughed at him then. "You're a grown man, why are you more particular about this than I am?"

He had leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Because this is our home."

Our home.

I looked away and leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes.

Now, he brought home an endless parade of lovers, and I was the only one left to tend the roses.

Our home had long since become their home.

I didn't go to my hometown. I drove directly to a private wellness retreat in the suburbs. The doctor was already waiting for me.

"Ms. Thorne, based on the current data, there are no signs of infection on your end," he said, flipping through the report. "But to be absolutely certain, it's best you avoid any close contact with anyone for the next month."

"I understand," I nodded.

"As for Mr. Thorne..." he trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

"Just continue to monitor the situation," I finished for him. "Let me know the moment you have any results."

I checked into a private cottage at the far end of the retreat. My days became simple and routine: check-ups, medication, reading, and walking. It was like I was patiently waiting for a countdown to end.

On the seventh night, Sheriff called me. It was the first time he had proactively contacted me since I left. The line was noisy, sounding like he was at a business dinner.

"Where are you?" he asked, his tone impatient.

"My hometown," I replied calmly.

"Why haven't you been answering my messages?" he sounded annoyed. "I haven't been feeling well the last couple of days, probably just exhausted. When are you coming back?"

"I'm not sure," I said softly. "I need to see how things go with my mother."

He was clearly unhappy but managed to keep his temper in check. "Fine. Just take care of yourself."

Before he hung up, he added, "By the way, Aria is feeling better. She's out of the hospital. She doesn't know anyone in the city, and I didn't feel right leaving her in a hotel, so I let her stay at the villa for a few days. She's in your bedroom, so don't be surprised when you get back. And don't overthink it."

I just said, "Mm."

Of course I wouldn't overthink it.

After all, that was the place I had chosen for them.

Four more days passed.

This time, it was his assistant who called me. His voice was frantic.

"Ma'am, something's happened to Mr. Thorne."

My fingers tightened around my phone. "What's wrong with him?"

"He had a high fever all last night. We brought him to the hospital this morning, and the doctors... the doctors are saying it's a bit complicated. They're asking for family to come as soon as possible."

I was silent for a beat. "Which hospital?"

The assistant gave me the address. It was the same one Aria had stayed at.

"I see," I said. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

After hanging up, I sat on the edge of the bed and looked out the window at the quiet lawn. The sun was bright. Too bright for something terrible to be happening.

The doctor knocked and entered. "Ms. Thorne," he said, seeing me. "Are you heading out?"

"Yes." I stood up. "To see my husband."

He looked like he wanted to say more, but in the end, he only said, "Please be careful."

I smiled and put on my mask. "Don't worry."

I value my life more than anyone.

4.

As the car entered the city, my phone lit up again. It was a message from Sheriff.

Where are you?

I stared at the two words for a long time before replying.

On my way.

I feel awful.

The doctors are with me.

He must have been truly scared. In the past, whenever he was sick, I was always the one by his bedside. Giving him water, medicine, staying up all night. He was used to me always being there.

This time, he could only reach out to me through a screen.

I didn't reply again.

The hospital reeked of disinfectant. His assistant was waiting for me at the entrance, his face even paler than I had imagined.

"Ma'am," he said in a low voice. "The doctors have done a preliminary examination on Mr. Thorne. They're recommending... further specialized testing."

I nodded. "I know."

When I pushed open the door to his room, Sheriff was leaning against the headboard, an IV drip in his arm. He had lost some weight, and his complexion was terrible. The moment he saw me, he visibly relaxed.

"You're here."

In that instant, the dependence in his eyes was almost instinctual.

I walked over and set my purse down. "What's wrong?"

"I have no energy," he frowned. "My head hurts. The doctors think it might be an infection."

He said it casually, as if talking about a common cold.

I tucked the blanket in around him, my movements as gentle as always. "Don't worry," I said softly. "You'll be alright."

He looked at me and suddenly reached out, grabbing my wrist. "Seraphina," his voice was hoarse. "This must have been hard on you."

I looked down at the hand gripping mine. His fingers were long and elegant. They had held my hand through crowds countless times before.

"We're husband and wife," I said.

Only then did he seem to relax, slowly closing his eyes.

Not long after, the doctor came in and asked to speak with me outside.

The hallway was long. Before he handed me the report, he gave me a look. "Ms. Thorne, the results are in."

I took it, my eyes falling on the most crucial line.

Infection Confirmed.

I was calm. So calm it was almost surprising, even to myself.

"Does he know yet?" I asked.

"Not yet," the doctor said. "In situations like this, we recommend that the family informs the patient."

I nodded. "I'll do it."

When I returned to the room, Sheriff was still asleep. The afternoon sun cast a warm glow on his face, making him look peaceful and innocent. As if nothing had happened yet.

I sat by his bed and watched him for a long time.

Then, I softly called his name.

"Sheriff."

He opened his eyes. "Hm?"

I looked at him, my voice as gentle as ever. "The doctor said you have a serious illness."

He froze. "What kind of illness?"

I didn't answer immediately. I just slowly, deliberately, placed the report in front of him.