My husband’s friends had organized a camping trip. As night fell and everyone was thinking about settling down, someone suggested we make things more interesting. A game of drawing lots would decide who would share a tent for the night.

I didn’t want to join in, but Gregory’s close friend Lena drew the number for our tent. She looked at us with a pleading expression, and Gregory quickly let go of my hand.

“Are you really going to make her feel awkward now?”

“Eleanora, could you stop being so uptight for once?”

They climbed into the tent in front of everyone. Through the gap, I saw Gregory’s restless hand. When it was my turn to draw, Gregory laughed, saying I was too stuck in my ways to join the game.

Just then, Keith Walker, the tech mogul, approached me and offered his hand. “Want to share a tent with me?”

Everyone said Keith wasn’t interested in women, yet under everyone’s watchful eyes, I walked into a tent with him, leaving Gregory outside, repeatedly calling my phone.

---

As evening fell, the camping organizer, seeing the shortage of tents, jokingly proposed, “Couples in one tent, and everyone else partners up.”

Luckily, Gregory and I had come as a couple, so one tent was just perfect for us. Or so I thought. As I relaxed a little, a single guy raised his hand with a cheeky grin.

“Why should couples get a tent while we single folks have to pair up?”

“And let’s face it, didn’t we all come here hoping to meet someone special? There’s no fun in splitting up.”

“Plus, check out the girls here; they only have eyes for the handsome ones, leaving us hanging.”

His words brought laughter and agreement from the group.

The organizer asked, “So, what’s your idea?”

“Why not draw lots to decide who shares a tent?”

“It’s fair, and everyone gets a chance.”

His idea was met with cheers, with many excited at the prospect of pairing up with someone attractive for the night. As they eagerly gathered paper and pens, I tugged at Gregory’s sleeve.

“Greg, this game isn’t for us. Let’s just leave…”

I thought, considering we were married, they wouldn’t mess with a real couple. But Gregory gave me an annoyed look and pulled his sleeve free.

“It’s just a game. Why are you such a buzzkill? You can leave if you want; I’m staying.”

Gregory spoke in a hushed tone, his voice tinged with irritation. I opened my mouth to argue but ultimately lowered my head.

We’d only been married a short time; my parents had set us up on a blind date. He was handsome, with a good job, a top catch in the matchmaking scene. My parents often said marrying him was like winning the lottery.

But in reality, Gregory had never been kind to me. When angry, he might not speak to me for days or even weeks until I cried and begged for forgiveness. I was used to this dynamic, and Gregory’s rebuke left me speechless.

By then, the men had already scribbled numbers and crumpled them into balls for everyone to pick.

“If you draw the same number, you share a tent.”

It was a thrilling game, and surprisingly, the couples were the first to grab numbers. Even when split up, they cheerily accepted their fate, teasing each other about their willingness to take a chance.

I had always been under strict guidance from my parents, who raised me to be proper. I never dared to take such a bold step.

My palms were sweaty, and just as I tried to muster the courage to speak to Gregory, I heard a familiar voice.

“I’ve drawn number three…”

I turned toward the voice to see Lena, her ponytail swinging, looking our way with pursed lips.

Number three?

I glanced at the number Gregory had just revealed. It was the same.

But why, of all people, was it Lena…

Lena was a long-time friend of Gregory's, aware of things I didn’t even know. No woman would want such a close female friend around her husband.

Whenever I voiced my discomfort over their relationship, Gregory’s reaction was always impatient.

“Seriously, Eleanora, stop being so narrow-minded!”

“Lena and I are just friends! If we wanted to be together, it would’ve happened ages ago!”

Gregory had said those words with such certainty back then. Yet now, facing Lena, he was at a loss for words.

“Greg…”

Lena said nothing, only gazed at him with a helpless look. Gregory, who usually ignored my pleas, couldn’t withstand her gaze for even thirty seconds.

As he stood up, I clung to his wrist.

“Greg, you can’t do this; I’m here too, I…”

Just moments ago, Gregory had looked at Lena with tenderness, but now he frowned at me.

“Are you really going to embarrass her now?”

“Her husband just died; she’s at her most vulnerable!”

“Eleanora, could you stop being so petty!”

Gregory shook off my hand and followed Lena into the tent. Through the tent flap, I watched Lena’s hand slide onto Gregory’s inner thigh.

At that moment, my body shook uncontrollably. Almost on impulse, I stood up, ready to storm into the pavilion and put an end to the whole scene. But before I could take a step, the other guests crowded in, blocking my way.

He looked at me with a sneer and teased, "What's the rush, Mrs. Grant? Aren't you curious to see if your husband will stay true to his values?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but then I caught sight of Gregory inside the pavilion. His hand was already resting lightly on Lena's bodice. Lena was in a Victorian-style dress today, the snug fit highlighting her voluptuous figure, and Gregory's hand seemed to blend seamlessly with the silhouette.

Against all reason, I saw it all too clearly: Lena's flushed face, her trembling body, and Gregory's hand, alternating between grasping and releasing, were painfully evident. It felt as though a heavy stone was crushing my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Even with my eyes closed, I could still hear Lena's heavy breathing interspersed with soft, flirtatious murmurs. These were accompanied by jeers and taunts from the onlookers.

I don't know how long it went on, but it felt like an agonizing eternity to me. When Lena finally emerged, her dress was slightly tousled, and there was a faint trace of coffee glistening at her lips. Gregory, on the other hand, seemed unaffected, even attempting to take my hand with brazen audacity.

I stepped aside, avoiding his touch. Gregory immediately complained, "Eleanora, stop overreacting!"

"We were just alone for an hour, nothing happened!"

Nothing happened? Did he really think I was so naive?

I was about to fire back when the host jumped in, trying to ease the tension, "Okay, okay, next up, Mrs. Grant, it's your turn."

But Gregory blocked my path, declining the host's invitation for me. "Let's skip it. My wife is more traditional. She wouldn't enjoy this sort of game."

Looking at Gregory's back, I felt no gratitude, only a bitter amusement. He had been so eager to chase after Lena just moments ago, and now suddenly I was too traditional?

Did he really believe that after such a humiliation, I would stay at his side forever? Anger and bitterness churned within me as I boldly stepped forward, maneuvering around Gregory.

"I'll join."

Under Gregory's startled gaze, I confidently drew a pavilion number for myself. Number five.

The crowd exchanged uncertain glances, but no one stepped forward to claim the number. Gregory seemed relieved, placing a hand on my shoulder with a smile, "Come on, Eleanora, what's gotten into you?"

"Don't I know you better than anyone? Before we got married, you wouldn't even let me stay over. How could you possibly join a game like this? If you're just trying to make me jealous, it's childish. See, there's no one—"

"It's mine."

Before Gregory could finish his sentence, a stranger's voice emerged from the far end of the group. The crowd parted to let him through. Gregory was considered attractive by most standards, but seeing this man's face, I couldn't help but gasp.

In my younger days, I was quite taken with graphic novels, and he looked like a hero who had stepped straight out of one. The man looked at me with a hint of amusement in his eyes and spoke softly, "I’m staying in pavilion number five. So, would you care to join me?"