My Wife Paid Ten Million for Her Lover’s AIDS

It was already past midnight when Sofia Griffin finally came home.

She slipped off her blouse as if nothing happened, exposing the bite marks scattered across her skin.

I stood there, frozen, unable to speak for a long moment.

She was the one who broke the silence.

"It was Chris's first time. He's young and impulsive. It's only natural that it got a little rough."

My fists tightened. I could not hold back and questioned, "Did he at least use protection?"

Sofia shook her head calmly. "I took something beforehand. Stop worrying over nothing."

At her words, the tension in my chest dropped straight to the pit of my stomach.

Just then, her phone rang.

It was Christopher Parnell. His voice trembled on the other end, almost on the verge of tears.

"Sophie, something's wrong. It's suddenly swollen and painful down there. I'm in a lot of pain. What's happening to me?"

She panicked immediately.

"Don't be scared. I'm coming over right now. Give me ten minutes! I'll be right there!"

Even though my heart felt numb, I still reached out to stop her.

I wanted to tell her the truth about Christopher's condition.

But she brushed me off, irritation written all over her face.

"I told you already! I'm only doing this to help Chris. If there were really something between us, would I have let you know about it?"

She shot me a glare, hurriedly changed her clothes, and headed for the door.

Before leaving, she tossed one last sentence over her shoulder.

"Wash my clothes and underwear. They're stained with blood; if you leave them for too long, the stains will be hard to get out."

The door slammed shut.

After she left, I stood there blankly, staring at the wedding photo on the wall.

All these years, I was by her side as we built everything from nothing.

From a cramped rental barely ten square meters wide to the luxury apartment we now owned in the city center.

Every hardship along the way was etched into my memory.

She was, by all accounts, a devoted wife.

After we earned our first real fortune, the very first thing she did was hold the wedding we'd once missed.

She even had a ring custom-made for me.

The diamond was not big, and there was a faint crack running through it.

Even so, I always treasured it like a priceless heirloom.

And yet, this same woman, praised by relatives and neighbors as the perfect wife, did the one thing that chilled me to the bone.

With no protection at all, after such high-risk exposure, the chances of infection were almost certain.

I was angry, but I could not bring myself to abandon her.

She still had a seventy-two-hour window.

If she took the medication in time, it could still prevent transmission.

I was just about to call and warn her when a new post popped up on my social feed.

It was from Christopher.

[They say married women have strong needs. It looks like it's true. I can barely keep up.]

The photos showed a bed in disarray, stained and chaotic. Among them was one with scratches running across his back.

On the surface, it sounded like a complaint, but in truth, it was a straight-up brag about how intense their night had been.

But none of that was what caught my eye.

Instead, it was the ring on his finger.

The design was almost identical to mine, with only one main difference; The diamond was bigger.

My heart jolted.

I found the serial number engraved inside my wedding band and called the brand's customer service.

After checking, the representative replied politely,

"Ms. Griffin did indeed order a diamond ring from our store before. However, the first batch had a flaw, so we remade another one afterward."

She paused, then added, "Mr. Parnell, we're very sorry for the inconvenience. Is there anything else you're dissatisfied with at the moment?"