Love, Lies, and Spies

In this world, there are more ways to deal with a problem than the problem itself. That applies just as well to cheating men.

Rich men, especially, will go to absurd lengths just to have more women in their lives. There's no trick too low, no scheme too shameless.

Take my boss, for example. He handed over his stunning mistress to me. Honestly, I suspected he couldn't perform in bed, because she came into my bedroom night after night.

Tracy Carroll was the personal assistant to my boss, Colin Booth.

To keep their affair under wraps and make his relationship with Tracy seem more "legitimate", Colin had me sign a three-year fake marriage agreement.

According to the deal, Tracy and I would live together as husband and wife for the next three years. On paper, we were married, but in reality, it was more like being roommates. We had to stay out of each other's business, keep our finances separate, and go our own ways once the contract expired.

To sweeten the deal, Colin even gave us a nicely decorated apartment—just over a thousand square feet, with two bedrooms, a living room, and a dining area.

The idea was simple: Tracy and I were married, but we would live separate lives and see other people.

Of course, Colin also offered a little incentive—45 thousand in cash, paid yearly, as compensation for my "lost youth".

Only a fool would turn down that kind of money.

Everybody got what they wanted. Colin got to keep his mistress close, hidden safely under the roof of a respectable bachelor, and he got to keep fooling around without alerting his wife.

But still, I couldn't shake the weirdness of it. I imagined every night, I'd lie in bed scrolling through my phone, while one wall away, Colin and my wife would carry on like lovers without a care in the world.

Technically, we were a fake couple, but the whole setup was still bizarre.

Colin's fear of his wife wasn't unfounded. His entire career had been built on the wealth and influence of his in-laws. If she ever found out about the affair, he'd be done for, completely ruined.

And the woman who had him so whipped, so obsessed, was none other than Tracy. She wasn't just beautiful—she was breathtaking.

When she first joined the company, most of the guys were stunned by her looks.

She was just over five feet seven, always dressed in sleek business suits, with sheer black stockings and stilettos. Her oval-shaped face had a touch of baby fat; her skin was porcelain smooth, and her delicate features looked like they'd been carved by a master. Her big, expressive eyes shimmered like a lake under the autumn moon.

As my buddy from sales once put it, "If I could spend one night with her, even if they dragged me out of bed the next morning and shot me with a machine gun for five whole minutes, it'd still be worth it."