Protecting My Husband's Virtue

The bedroom door didnt just open. It exploded inward.

Callahan charged in. He didn't speak. He didn't explain. He dove straight under my covers with a sharp whoosh.

I froze. Statue-still.

I had woken up in the pages of this Boy's Love novel as the beard wife. The disposable cover-up. By all logic, tonight was the wedding night. My billionaire husband should be storming out right now. He should be rushing to the hospital to coddle his delicate little flower, Florian.

I was fine with that. More than fine. I was ready to count my cash and enjoy the empty bed.

But he wasn't leaving.

Callahan was a mess. His shirt was half-unbuttoned, hanging off his frame. His usually cold, ascetic face was slick with sweat. Cold, clammy sweat. He peeked out from the duvet. Only his eyes were visible. They were shot with blood. Red veins mapping out pure terror.

His voice shook. A vibration that rattled his bones. "Campbell! Kill the lights! Don't let him find me please!"

Chapter 1

My phone was still glued to my hand. My brain stalled. "Callahan, have you lost your mind? Isn't Florian waiting for you at the hospital?"

"He's not there!"

The name hit him like a taser. Callahan convulsed under the sheets. Like Id stepped on his tail. A hand shot out from the dark. Pale. Corpse-white. He gripped my wrist. Hard. Bruising.

"He's downstairs! Right downstairs!" His breath hitched. Hyperventilating. "He spiked my drink The doctor said it shuts down motor functions."

"That wasn't a thermometer in his hand. It was a chain! Thick as a finger! He wants to lock me in the basement!"

Callahan was spiraling. His eyes were red-rimmed and raw. He was actually choking back sobs. "It's terrifying Campbell, it's a nightmare! I'm straight! I have an empire to inherit! Am I supposed to play the tragic heroine in a romance with another man?!"

Boom.

The plot summary in my head crumbled to dust.

I looked at the man shivering in my bed. This wasn't a scumbag husband scamming me into a marriage to hide his sexuality. This was a straight man trapped in a Boy's Love novel. A tragedy. No wonder he always looked so gloomy in the book. He was traumatized. He was being hunted by these wolves.

Then it happened. Footsteps in the hallway.

Click. Click. Click.

Light. Slow. Deliberate. In the dead silence of the villa, they sounded like hammers hitting a skull.

Callahan stopped breathing. He lunged. He latched onto me like a terrified octopus. He buried his face in my chest. His body went rigid. A steel plate pressing against me.

His teeth chattered. A rhythmic, uncontrollable clicking. "He's here the psycho is here"

The footsteps stopped right outside. Then came the sound. Nails. Scratching against the wood.

Scritch. Scritch.

The sound of manicured nails dragging down expensive mahogany. It made my scalp prickle. Goosebumps erupted over my skin. "Callahan"

Florians voice drifted through the wood. Gone was the innocent tone from the book. This was sticky. Wet. Dripping with a horrifying excitement.

Chapter 2

"I know you're in there."

"Why are you running? The doctor said your condition is unstable. If you don't take your shot its going to hurt. Open the door. Let me help you. Okay? I'll be very, very gentle"

The voice wasn't human. It was the sound of a horror movie slasher toying with a trapped animal.

Callahan shook harder. The vibrations rattled the bed frame. He gripped my pajamas, staring at me with sheer despair. Tears were actually swimming in his eyes. "Campbell save me."

"Im not going out there. Id rather die. If I get defiled Ill be damaged goods. The family elders will use it as an excuse to strip my inheritance rights! I don't want to get lost in the garden I want to be a father"

Priorities.

The man was about to be kidnapped, and he was worried about his stock portfolio and his bloodline. Ruthless. But then the math hit me.

If Callahan got dragged away by Florian tonight, the plot would veer straight into the 'Indefinite Captivity' arc. The dungeon scenes.

And me? The beard wife? I wouldn't get a dime. Id be swept out the door. According to the script, Id die destitute on the street.

Hell no.

Callahans bodily autonomy was my long-term meal ticket. I was not letting that pervert cash in my check.

Click.

The lock tumbled. Our 'foolproof' deadbolt meant nothing to Florian. He had a spare key.

The heavy solid wood coat rack wed jammed against the door let out a screeching grind. It was being pushed back, inch by inch, by the force from the hallway. Callahan looked like hed seen a demon crawl out of a well.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Two streams of tears tracked down his cheeks. "It's over my life ends here"

The gap widened. A draft of cold air slithered into the room, carrying a perfume so sweet and cloying it made my stomach turn.

First came the hand. Pale. Ghostly. Dangling a glittering metal chain.

Then Florians face poked through the crack. He was flushed with a sickly, feverish red. He was smiling. The corners of his mouth split into a grotesque angle. His eyes locked onto the lump in the bed.

"Callahan I found you."

Callahan let out a short, pathetic squeak. He buried his face in my cleavage, trying to suffocate himself in my arms.

I looked at the psycho in the doorway. I looked at the trillion-dollar CEO crumbling in my embrace. A fire ignited in my gut.

Bullying the honest guy? Strong-arming the merchandise? Stealing a man on Campbells turf?

He clearly hadn't consulted the heavy crystal ashtray in my hand.

Chapter 3

I took a breath. A deep one. I wrapped one arm around Callahans trembling shoulders. I patted his back firmly. Like soothing a spooked Golden Retriever during a thunderstorm.

Then, I looked up. I whipped my fresh beach waves over my shoulder. My gaze locked onto the shadowy eyes in the doorway. I channeled every ounce of rage from my past life dealing with nightmare clients. I pulled from the diaphragm.

"GET. OUT!"

The scream had mass. It had velocity. It didn't just freeze Florian in the doorway. It made Callahan jolt in my arms, scaring his tears right back into his ducts.

"Who are you trying to scare, playing ghost in the middle of the night?"

I let out a cold, sharp laugh. My hand slid under the pillow. I gripped the telescoping baton Id hidden thereoriginally meant to fend off Callahanand flicked my wrist.

Snap.

The steel extended with a threatening click.

I ripped the duvet down. I grabbed Callahans already messy shirt and yanked it lower, deliberately exposing a patch of red skin on his neck. I twisted my face into a mask of pure, frustrated aggression. The look of a woman interrupted right at the finish line.

"Can't you see we're busy?"

"My husband was at a critical moment. If you shock him into dysfunction, can you afford to pay for my lost satisfaction?"

Florian froze. The creepy grin died on his lips. Disbelief washed over his face. He looked like he was seeing a monster. "You what are you saying? Callahan is clearly"

"Clearly what?"

I cut him off. I grabbed the heavy crystal ashtray from the nightstand. Worth a fortune. I hurled it.

CRASH!

The crystal impacted the doorframe and exploded. Shards of glass sprayed outward like shrapnel. A jagged piece sliced across Florians perfect cheek. Blood beaded up instantly. Red on white.

"Do I need to ask you again?" I narrowed my eyes. Mother lion mode: Engaged. "This is my bridal suite. He is my legal husband."

"You want to play games? Play them outside. But in here, anyone who touches my money tr" I corrected myself without missing a beat. "my man."

"You walk in vertical, you leave horizontal."

Florian clutched his bleeding face. He stared at me, stunned. Then he glanced at Callahan, who was buried in my chest, silent as a corpse. The madness in Florian's eyes flickered. It was replaced by something else. Fear.

In the original script, Campbell was a doormat. A crybaby. The Campbell standing in front of him had a steel baton pointed at his nose.

"Close the door behind you. And get the hell out!"

Chapter 4

Florian didn't make it inside.

Between my steel baton and the shattered crystal shrapnel, the psycho protagonist finally retreated. He clutched his bleeding forehead, shot me one last look of pure, unadulterated venom, and stalked off.

I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong. The real headache was just beginning.

For the next three hours, Callahan wouldn't let go.

The trillionaire CEO, the man who usually walked like he owned gravity, was currently attached to me like a traumatized koala. It was ridiculous.

I went to the bathroom. He followed. He stood right inside the door, back turned, hand reaching back to grip the hem of my pajama top.

"Don't close the door fully," he muttered, eyes scanning the tile like a radar. "Someone might climb in through the ventilation window."

"Callahan." I sat on the porcelain throne, my patience fraying. "Can you get out? I'm literally going to the bathroom. I'm about to snap."

"No."

He didn't budge. His voice was thin, weak with relief but heavy with paranoia. "Campbell, haven't you noticed? As long as I'm touching you, the noise stops."

I paused. "What noise?"

"The System." He tapped his temple. His face was pale, his eyes hollowed out by exhaustion. "The voice. The one forcing me to engage in sword fights. The one looping 'Maintain Male Virtue or Face Erasure' in my skull. It mutes when we make physical contact."

To prove it, he let go of my shirt.

The reaction was instantaneous. Callahan convulsed. His pupils shrank to pinpricks. It looked like hed been hooked up to a car battery.

"Hsssst"

He sucked in a sharp breath and snatched my hand. His grip was iron-tight. His face flushed red, then went corpse-white. "Did you hear that?"

Sweat beaded on his forehead instantly. I shook my head.

"Right. You can't." Callahan wiped his face with his free hand, teeth gritted. "The second I let go, it screamed in my brain: [Host deviation detected. Punishment imminent. Locate target immediately.]"

He squeezed my hand harder. "But as long as I'm holding onto you, it reads: [Signal Jammed. Correction Failed.]"

I blinked. So, I wasn't just the disposable villainess. I was a human EMP. A walking, talking WiFi jammer for BL plot devices.

I looked at Callahan. He was wrecked, shivering, but still annoyingly handsome. Then I looked at his hand, clamped onto mine like a man hanging off a cliff. My mercenary instincts woke up.

I finished up, washed my hands slowlyforcing him to shuffle along with meand dried them with a paper towel. Then, I held up one finger.

"Callahan." I flashed my best business smile. The kind a shark gives a seal before dinner. "You know we're heading for a divorce. Technically, I'm an external contractor now. This 24/7 shielding service? That's premium technical support. It costs extra."

"Add it!"

Callahan didn't hesitate. He reached into his pocket with his free hand and slapped a black card into my palm. The motion was so aggressive it was almost attractive.

"Supplementary card. Unlimited limit. Password is your birthday." He stared at me, intense and desperate. "From today on, you are my shadow. Eating, sleeping, board meetingsyou do not leave my side."

"If you run" He ground his teeth, trying to look menacing but mostly looking like a kicked puppy. "I will die. On purpose. And I will leave my entire estate to a shelter for stray dogs. You won't get a single cent."

What a vicious threat. I loved it.

Chapter 5

The next morning, the lobby of the Callahan Group witnessed a phenomenon that shattered the staff's collective reality.

Callahanfamous for his icy blood and absolute disinterest in romancewas dragging his "hated" new wife into the building. They were holding hands. Interlocked fingers.

But it wasn't romantic. It was the grip of a man clinging to a cliff edge. If he let go, he was gone.

"M-Mr. Callahan! Mrs. Callahan!"

Ashley, the receptionist, shot to her feet so fast she nearly knocked over her monitor. Her eyes bugged out. The latte in her hand wobbled, threatening to drown her keyboard. I stumbled behind him in my stilettos, barely keeping my balance.

This wasn't a public display of affection. He was walking me. Like a nervous dog.

"Callahan, slow down!" I dug my nails into his palm.

"Faster!" He didn't look back. His face was tight, eyes scanning the lobby like a radar dish. "This building is infested with plot devices. Just now? Rocco, the security captain? He looked at me. The vibe was wrong. He never smiles at me!"

We reached the private elevator. Callahan immediately shoved me into the corner and cowered behind me. He stared at the steel doors like they were the gates of hell.

"Campbell, listen. No matter who walks through those doors, you stand in front of me. Even if it's my own father, you tackle him."

Ding.

Top floor. CEO's office. The doors slid open. A wave of expensive coffee aroma hit us. Then came the hips.

Milo approached. He was wearing a suit so tight it looked painted on, swaying his hips with the sinuous grace of a viper. The original novels Deeply Devoted Second Male Lead. Callahan's Right-Hand Man.

Character Setting: Cool, ascetic elite (but a total seducer for the protagonist).

"Mr. Callahan~"

Milos voice did a vocal gymnastics routine, ending on a hook that scraped my eardrums. He held a steaming cup of coffee. His eyes were misty and unfocused, locked entirely on Callahan, completely filtering out the woman standing directly in his path.

"You didn't reply to my texts last night. I ahem this subordinate was worried sick."

He stepped into the danger zone. One foot away.

Suddenly. With zero warning. Left foot tripped right foot.

Milo launched himself forward with the silky smoothness of a darker instinct. He dove straight for Callahans chest. The coffee cup tilted. "Accidentally."

The trajectory was calculated with NASA-level precision: straight for Callahans crotch. The legendary "Soaked Suit" trope.

According to the script, the System should have paralyzed Callahan. He would be forced to catch Milo. He would get scalded. Then Milo would tearfully insist on removing Callahan's pants to "treat the burn"

"I missed you to death!" Milo shrieked as he flew.

Callahan was faster. The second Milo lunged, Callahan reacted like he was staring down a biological weapon.

He defied physics. He jumped backward with a velocity that shouldn't be possible in Italian leather shoes. At the same time, his hands clamped onto my shoulders. He hoisted me up. Like a riot shield.

SPLAT.

The cup hit the floor. Scalding liquid exploded.

Milo missed. He belly-flopped onto the handmade Persian rug and skidded for six feet. He finally came to a halt at my toes, splayed out like a roadkill frog.

The silence was deafening.

Chapter 6

Milo lay sprawled on the carpet. He lifted his head, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He looked like a kicked puppy. The look screamed betrayal. "Mr. Callahan why did you dodge? I didn't mean to"

"You're fired!"

Callahan didn't step out from behind me. He peeked over my shoulder, his face a mask of pure horror. His finger pointed accusingly at the man on the floor. His voice shook.

"Campbell! Did you see that? When he fell! His pinky finger! He tried to hook my belt loop!"

Callahan turned green. His grip on my shoulder vibrated with rage. "Filthy! How do these perverts get past HR? Security! Get him out of here! And burn this carpet!"

Milo froze. I blinked. I looked down at the man on the floor. Sure enough, his pinky finger was still curled in a predatory little hook. Awkward.

"You heard the boss." I sighed, looking down at the original novel's Elite Male Lead with genuine pity. "He says you're grossing him out. Do you want to walk out with dignity, or should I help you find the door?"

As security dragged him away, Milo howled down the corridor. "Mr. Callahan! My heart is yours! It's the plot! The plot made me do it!"

The echoes faded. Callahan was sweating bullets.

"What is happening to this world?" He buried his face in my shoulder. He looked like a giant, sulking thundercloud. His voice was thick with grievance. "Why Milo? We used to talk about football I bought him a signed jersey"

I patted the terrified billionaire on the head. Poor guy. Imagine your best bro suddenly deciding the "Bro Code" was actually a marriage proposal. Who could handle that?

To calm him down, the subsequent board meeting became a hostage situation.

Twenty executives sat rigid in their chairs. They didn't dare breathe too loud. At the head of the table, Callahan flipped through documents. Cold. Commanding. Terrifying. Except for the hand under the mahogany table.

It was clamped onto mine in a death lock.

I was forced to sit on an extra chair squeezed right next to him. Like a corporate mascot.

"Regarding the overseas acquisition next quarter" Callahans voice was ice. As he spoke, he unconsciously kneaded my knuckles. He needed the tactile confirmation that I was there. It was the only thing keeping his sanity intact.

The executives exchanged glances. Eyes darted frantically between Callahan and me. I could hear their thoughts: Mr. Callahan is so whipped? Holding hands during a board meeting? Is this the new billionaire power flex?

Just when I thought we were going to survive the day

Callahan went rigid. The hand holding mine suddenly crushed down. It hurt so bad I almost screamed.

Chapter 7