Are Gray Marriages Common In Long-Term Relationships?

Our marriage is falling apart and there's need to spice it up. An open marriage for 2 weeks can help, right? But let's not forget the rules, after all not everything is open in an open marriage.

The cocktail hour had just ended when I picked up a video call in the bridal suite. It was Ethan, three years from now. By then, time‑travel tech had matured enough to let him contact me three years into the past. After enough specific details, I finally believed it. The man on the screen really was Ethan, three years older. I rubbed my aching ankle and pouted at him through the screen. "Ethan, smiling at all these guests is exhausting. But the second I remember I actually married you today, I'm happy all over again." "We're still happy three years from now, right?" He was leaning back against a headboard, and he didn't answer. His face was flat and unreadable. Then I heard it: a woman's voice from his end, low and breathy, asking to be kissed. I froze for a second, then covered my mouth and laughed. "Is that future me? In broad daylight? Get a room." Ethan turned the camera into the bed. My maid of honor was lying there, naked, sprawled across his chest. Her body was covered in hickeys. He looked straight at me as I started to break, and his voice didn't shift at all. "As soon as the reception ended, I told you I had a client meeting. I went to her room instead." "Jo, now you know what's coming. The guests haven't gone home yet. If you want a divorce tonight, you can have one. Up to you."

This is my 18th time coming to City Hall, yet Tessa's still nowhere to be seen. Right as I'm about to call and ask her how much longer she'll be, her childhood friend's post popped up on my screen. "Celebrating 1000 days of marriage with my wife. May we always be this happy." The photo highlights a marriage certificate, and Tessa Cross' name is right there under "wife". As for the license date, it shows February 14th, three years ago. So this is why she hasn't shown up the last eighteen times. It turns out that she's already somebody else's wife.

Three years ago, on the day I married Luca Moretti, he personally handed me a marriage contract with a fixed term of three years. His tone was casual, indifferent, as if he were discussing an ordinary business deal. "This marriage exists solely to serve the alliance of interests between the Morettis and the Vitales. Sign this agreement. After three years, the marriage will automatically dissolve. When that time comes, you can go and pursue your true love." I barely hesitated before signing. Ten years earlier, at an inter-family business gala, when I was ten and Luca was sixteen, I had already fallen hopelessly in love with him. What looked like a strategic alliance was, in truth, the outcome of my decade-long unrequited love. During the three years of our marriage, Luca was attentive and gentle toward me. Over time, I began to believe I was loved. I sank into that illusion, unable to pull myself out, forgetting entirely about the agreement. That illusion was shattered completely on the night of our third wedding anniversary. That evening, Luca arrived with Elena, who had just returned to New York, and attended what was supposed to be our third anniversary celebration together. She stood beside him with ease and composure, smoothly engaging with business partners. People praised her, saying she looked more like the Donna of the Moretti family. In that moment, even though Luca never mentioned the agreement again, I understood clearly that it was time for me to step aside. After breaking free from his control, crossing an ocean to rebuild myself, and becoming a brilliant leader in my industry, I would no longer wait for his love.

We had been married for three years, yet my husband, Richard Thornton, who suffered from touch deprivation syndrome, still refused to consummate our marriage. Every time his condition flared up, he would only press his forehead tightly against the curve of my neck. I assumed he was saving himself for his first love, the woman who had left years ago. Then, I overheard him talking to his friends. "Stop teasing her next time. It makes her tense up every time." "Got it, Richard. But if you care about Valeria so much, why won't you touch her? It's been three years. Aren't you worried she'll leave you for someone else?" Richard shook his head. "You don't understand. The longer we're together, the harder it is to control myself around her. She's so delicate. I'm terrified I'll hurt her. As long as she's mine, I wouldn't care even if she slept with someone else first." His friends burst out laughing. "Richard, you're all talk. If you could really handle her being with another man, you wouldn't keep running to the hospital. You think we don't know what you're up to?" The next day, I found Richard's medical records. Visit after visit, he kept asking the same question, "How can I be gentler in bed? I don't want to hurt the woman I love."

　Just two weeks after their wedding, Raphael left for the other side of the world on business. Two years later, when he returned, Grace barely recognized her own husband. 　　 　　Everyone knew their marriage was nothing more than a business deal between two powerful families. To Grace, it was simply the last hurdle on her way to freedom. She barely knew her husband. All she really knew was that he was rigid, dull, and emotionally detached—like a financial machine. She figured he must find her just as insufferable—dramatic, and high-maintenance. When Grace placed the divorce papers in front of Raphael, stating that she wanted to end this loveless marriage, he merely looked at her, his gaze warm yet unreadable. He gently took her hand and murmured in a husky voice, half-smiling, 「Hmm? Did I not please you enough last night?」