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

The door slammed open and...

"Tom Harlow, you bloody nobody, how dare you?" Sienna’s voice rang out.

Tom swallowed hard, his eyes blinking, he was certain this was it - Davina had told her, and now Sienna was going to show him hell.

But that wasn’t it at all.

Sienna stormed in with her phone thrust out in front of her like evidence at a trial, the screen glowing with a photo Tom recognized instantly - his own face, tired smile, that did nothing to hide his unhappiness.

"Didn’t I tell you never to post anything about yourself on social media?" Her voice cracked through the room, sharp enough that Tom actually flinched.

"Do you understand what the public sees when they see this? Do you understand anything?"

"It was my birthday, I just posted a selfie. That’s all it was." Tom said, quiet, careful.

"I hate this." Sienna dragged a hand through her hair, more frustrated than furious now, like his existence itself was the inconvenience.

"I hate that I always have to explain the same thing to you five times before it sinks in. Do I have to spell out every single rule?"

"Are you a fucking nitwit?" She slammed.

[Won’t The Host Say Something Back? Or Has The Cat Got Your Tongue Again?]

The system’s voice slid in cool and amused, right on the heels of her insult, needling him from somewhere behind his own eyes. Tom ignored it, his jaw working, old habits fighting the small ember the system had lit in him an hour ago.

[That’s It? Nothing? You Just Took $5,000 From A Woman’s Ear And You Can’t Even Look Your Own Wife In The Face.]

[Don’t be pathetic, Host] [Say something if you aren’t.]

That one landed. Tom lifted his eyes to Sienna’s for the first time since she had walked in.

"You’ve never actually explained why," he said, steady, quieter than her but not shrinking from it. "You just say don’t, and I don’t. You’ve never once told me what the actual rule is for."

Sienna’s mouth fell open. For a second she looked genuinely thrown, like the doormat had spoken back and the floor had shifted under her. Then her face hardened fast, color rising.

"Did I have to explain?" she snapped, voice climbing into something close to a shout. "Did you not get the memo when you agreed to be a live-in husband to a designer?"

"Hey, the entire city knows my name. I built something, of course you don’t have an idea what that meant but I have a brand. I have a reputation people actually respect, and every stupid post you make is a liability I have to clean up." She jabbed a finger at nothing, at him, at the air between them.

"I asked you that night. I asked you clearly. You said yes."

She muttered the last part more to herself, bitter, half turned away already. "This is what a drunk bet costs me. Stuck with a dumbo who can’t even follow one rule."

Tom’s throat tightened. He said nothing.

[She’s Waiting For You To Say Something, Host. Go On. Or Is The Doormat Coming Back Out To Play?]

He still said nothing. Some habits took more than one system notification to break.

"Delete the post before I get back from my client meeting," Sienna said, already walking, already done with him, phone back to her ear before she’d even cleared the doorway.

The door shut. Tom blinked hard, fast, furious at the burn behind his eyes, and lost the fight to keep it there.

His mind spiraled and relived the memory from that night, when he had sealed this fate:

FLASHBACK

The high end bar had been loud that night, the kind of loud that made the floor hum.

Sienna and her friends had a corner booth like always, bottles stacking up, her laugh cutting over the music every few minutes in that way that made every man in the room turn to look.

And even at twenty-three she had already known exactly what she was doing to every man who looked at her twice.

And there was Tom, wiping glasses, keeping his eyes down, and losing that fight every single night she walked in. That dress was doing something criminal - black, tight enough to be a second skin, cut low enough that he’d caught himself staring more than once at the swell of her breasts, at the long bare stretch of her thighs when she crossed her legs on the barstool, at the way her hips moved when she walked like she already owned whatever room she stepped into.

She had a body built to be sinned over, and Tom, twenty-six and hopeless, had sinned plenty in his own head and never once let it show, because men like him didn’t get to want women like her out loud.

He had learned a long time ago not to be one of the men who turned to look, not obviously. He wiped glasses. He kept his eyes down, even though he had been crushing on her for six months from exactly this distance.

Then, out of nowhere, drink in hand, eyes glassy and bright, Sienna had pointed straight at him across the bar and crooked one finger. "You. Come here."

He’d gone. Of course he’d gone, immediately. He was smiling in his mind that his crush had finally noticed him.

"Would you marry me?" she had asked, grinning like it was the funniest thing she had said all night, her friends already leaning in, already smelling a game.

"Be my live-in husband. Say yes and we go to registry first thing tomorrow morning."

Tom, starstruck, half in love with a woman who didn’t know his last name, had said the only thing his mouth was capable of forming.

"I’ll be anything you want."

Her friends had roared with laughter, doubled over, one of them nearly falling off her stool. Sienna had laughed hardest of all. And Tom, drunk on being noticed, had heard none of the warning in it.

Out of nowhere and everywhere, camera had started clicking, taking pictures and the news all over the city was:

"Celebrity designer, Sienna Kensington proposes to her fiance."

END OF FLASHBACK

Tom’s jaw ached from clenching it. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his eyes until the sting eased off.

[Aw. Does The Host Want To Cry About It?] The system chimed.

"Shut up," Tom muttered, out loud this time, to the empty room.

[No, Host. You Shut Up. And Let Yourself Be Moulded Into A Better Man.] The system’s tone shifted, losing its usual teasing edge for something almost sharp.

[Check Your Balance Again. Go On. Look At The Evidence That You’re Capable Of Becoming Something More Than What She Just Called You.]

Tom picked his phone back up. The number was still there. $5,000, real, sitting in his account like proof he hadn’t imagined any of it.

He stared at it for a long moment, throat tight, the sting behind his eyes finally drying up into something colder and steadier.

"What do I need to do to become powerful enough that she can’t even reach me anymore?" he asked firmly, although his voice came out quiet.

[Just Complete The Quests, Host.][That’s All It’s Ever Taken.] The system replied, sounding smug and delighted.

Tom’s jaw set. Something in his chest that had been curled up small for a month finally unfolded.

"Bring it on, then."

[That’s the attitude expected of Host.]

[Host should await missions.]

[But first of all, Host shouldn’t delete any post, rather your wife will meet you burying your cock in her friend’s elastic mouth.]

"What?" Tom’s eyes went wide.

How would he get Davina to open her mouth and take in his cock?

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