NTR: The live-in-husband gets a perverted heart system

Tom turned over in the bed. Again.

The mattress was the softest thing he’d ever slept on and he hated it. Cold sheets, empty side - it was too much room for one man who used to fall asleep on a mattress half this size and sleep just fine.

He stared at the ceiling. Through the wall, the headboard was already knocking against plaster in a steady rhythm, and underneath it, wet, obscene, the slap of skin meeting skin.

"Right there - fuck, right there, don’t stop -"

Sienna’s voice cracked high on the last word, wrecked already, and Tom’s stomach turned over hearing how well his wife knew this man’s rhythm, how fast she’d gotten there. The bed frame picked up speed. A man groaned low, guttural, and the headboard started slamming instead of knocking, hard enough that Tom felt it faintly through his own wall, a vibration he could’ve sworn he felt in his teeth.

"Yes - yes, right there -" Wet sounds, obscene and rhythmic, her voice breaking apart into moans that weren’t words anymore, just noise, high and desperate and pleased with herself.

"Harder - slap my butt harder - let it bleed..."

The man obliged. The headboard slammed once, twice, a third time, and Sienna screamed through her teeth like she’d been struck, then laughed breathlessly right after, delighted with her own noise, like she wanted the sound to carry.

Tom lay rigid on his back and listened to every second of it. His cock was so hard it hurt, straining thick and heavy against the front of his boxers, a dull ache that pulsed in time with the headboard next door.

He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes and gritted his teeth, willed himself soft, willed himself to stop listening, and neither worked.

He was painfully, humiliatingly hard, alone in a cold bed, listening to his wife get fucked by another man through six inches of drywall, and there wasn’t a single thing he could do about any of it except lie there and take it, the way he took everything else in this house.

Down the hall, more noise joined in. Laughter, high and drunk. More than one woman moaning now, more than one man’s voice. Sienna’s friends were over again, and from the sound of it, so were more men. A full orgy two doors down from a husband who hadn’t been touched in a month, who hadn’t so much as gotten a hand on his wife’s skin since the wedding night, and even that had been a formality neither of them enjoyed.

He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. He almost didn’t check it, but the silence in his own room was worse than whatever was on the screen. A reminder. His loan payment. It was the one for his mother’s hospital bills, back when he was still allowed to work, still allowed to earn something. She’d died anyway. The debt hadn’t.

He opened his banking app out of habit, some sick curiosity to see how bad it had gotten.

**Balance: $1.00**

One dollar. He was married to a woman worth millions, a designer whose name was plastered across magazine covers and storefront windows and he had one American dollar to his name, and even that felt like an accident, some rounding error the system hadn’t caught yet.

Tom let the phone drop onto the sheets. He lay there and listened to his wife enjoy herself through drywall, and something in his chest sat there, dull and heavy, too tired to even call itself rage anymore.

The sun came up. Nobody in that house had slept, one way or another.

~~~~~~~

By morning the noise had stopped, or maybe he’d just gone numb to it. His stomach cramped hard enough that he doubled over getting out of bed.

He hadn’t eaten in almost twenty hours.

Sienna had made it clear that he shouldn’t show his face around the house whenever she had friends over. He knew better than to ask the housekeepers for anything - orders were orders, and the orders came from Sienna.

But if he was quiet, if he was fast -

He crept down the hallway in yesterday’s clothes, bare feet silent on marble that cost more per square foot than his mother’s funeral. The dining hall was empty. Leftovers sat abandoned on the long table - some kind of roasted chicken, half a baguette, cold and picked-over, clearly meant for the trash.

He didn’t care. He grabbed a plate and started eating with his hands, standing up, shoveling it in like a starving dog because that was exactly what he was.

"Oh my god."

He froze mid-bite. Sienna stood in the doorway in a silk robe that did nothing to hide what she’d been doing all night, her hair a mess, her mouth curled into something between disgust and delight. Behind her, two of her friends peered in, already laughing.

"Look at this," Sienna said, not to him. To them. Like he was an exhibit. "This is what I married."

"Sienna, he’s actually eating off the floor plate," one of the girls said, hand over her mouth, delighted.

"I told you he was a stray, didn’t I tell you? Pick one up off the street, it never learns how to act indoors." Sienna said, scrunching her nose in disgust.

Tom’s jaw locked. He kept chewing because stopping felt worse, felt like giving them the reaction they wanted.

The other girl - blonde, cruel mouth, rings on every finger - walked over and plucked the plate right out of his hands.

"You don’t belong here," she said sweetly, and let the plate fall.

The plate shattered on the marble. Chicken and bread skidded across the floor between his bare feet. The three of them laughed like it was the funniest thing they’d seen all week, and maybe it was.

Sienna didn’t even look back at him as she turned to leave, already talking about brunch reservations, already forgetting he existed.

Tom stood there in the wreckage of his breakfast, hungry, hard, humiliated, broke, and something in him finally snapped clean in half.

He turned to walk away - anywhere, didn’t matter where, just away from this room - and his foot came down wrong. Oil from the shattered plate, slick under bare skin. His leg went out from under him before he even registered falling.

His head hit the marble.

The sound was wet, a crack that didn’t belong to a person still breathing.

The last thing Tom Harlow saw was the ceiling of a house that was never his, and the last thing he heard was laughter, fading, already walking away, not even looking back to check if he had gotten up.

Black.

Then - not black. A field of dark blue, endless, and floating in the middle of it, letters made of cold blue light.

[HEART SYSTEM DETECTED A QUALIFYING HOST]

[CAUSE OF DEATH: HUMILIATION. STARVATION. CARDIAC FAILURE FROM BLUNT TRAUMA.]

[HOST PROFILE: TOM HARLOW - WORTHLESS. POWERLESS. BROKE. DESPISED.]

[THE HEART SYSTEM DOES NOT SAVE MEN LIKE THIS OUT OF MERCY.]

[IT SAVES THEM BECAUSE MEN LIKE THIS, GIVEN THE RIGHT TOOLS, BECOME UNSTOPPABLE.]

[QUEST TYPE: NETORI. OBJECTIVE: SEDUCE AND CLAIM WOMEN BELONGING TO POWERFUL MEN. REWARD: WEALTH. INFLUENCE. POWER BEYOND WHAT YOU WERE EVER ALLOWED TO TOUCH.]

[DO YOU ACCEPT THE HEART SYSTEM?]

[YES / NO]

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