The Viral Video That Shattered My Marriage

Nightfall spilled over the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting the living room in deep, woven shadows. Marcel Brewster was brought back by his assistant, reeking of alcohol. He was always immaculate, suited and sharp-eyed, like a blade drawn from its sheath. But at this moment, his tie hung loosely around his neck, and two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing smooth, defined collarbones. I had just taken the coat from his assistant when I saw him staggering toward the study. Before long, he came out carrying a black briefcase, his movements reckless from the alcohol. With a loud clang, he flipped the briefcase upside down onto the coffee table. Stacks of crisp banknotes spilled out, scattering across the floor like a carpet. I was stunned for a moment, then couldn't help but laugh out loud. It was the first time I'd seen him like this—stripped of all the CEO's aura, like a kid who just got candy. He was crouched on the floor, fiddling messily with banknotes, muttering something indistinctly. I took out my mobile phone, switched to video mode, and quietly started filming him. The man in the frame had reddened eyes and brows; his fingertips lazily brushed over the banknotes, looking both silly and adorable. Without thinking much, I cut out the blurry parts, added some funny background music, and posted it on social media. After sending it, I helped Marcel Brewster back to the bedroom, wiped his face, and changed him into his pajamas. He was sleeping deeply, his breath even, but his brows were slightly furrowed, as if he was troubled by something. I sat by the bed watching him for a while, gently smoothing the crease between his brows with my fingertips, my heart full of tenderness. We'd been married for three years, and he had always treated me well—gentle, attentive, and unshaken by anything. I thought we would keep going on steadily like this, forever. The next morning, I was woken by the vibration of the mobile phone. I picked up my mobile phone and saw the notifications flooding in—countless @ and comments from social platforms. My heart skipped a beat as I opened the video I had posted yesterday. The video had already surpassed a million views, and the comment section was in an uproar. At first, some found it funny, joking that Marcel Brewster was having a "wealthy drunken spree". But the deeper I scrolled, the more outrageous the comments became. "This way of throwing money around—obviously the playbook of an exclusive club, right?" "Those who understand, understand. The CEO throwing money late at night—probably just stepped out of the clubhouse, still riding the high." "The truth upstairs is out—someone who can toss money around like that must often hang out in those places. It's definitely confirmed infidelity, isn't it?" "I feel sorry for her; she's been kept in the dark and still thinks he's cute, unaware that her husband has already betrayed her." Each comment stabbed at my heart like a needle, making me shiver all over. I never imagined an accidental video would trigger such speculation. Marcel Brewster usually attends a lot of social events and sometimes comes home late, but he always tells me ahead of time. I've always chosen to trust him, but the words of those online still stir doubts in my mind.