Love, Lies, and Spies

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."

But to me, Tracy didn't quite have that effect.

Sure, she was gorgeous and sexy. I wouldn't mind sleeping with a woman like her. But I wasn't head over heels like the rest of them.

I felt like they were exaggerating. Honestly, they were acting like prisoners who hadn't seen a woman in years, totally over the top.

Still, under the envy of countless coworkers, Tracy and I threw together a rushed wedding. Family and friends showed up, and she played the role of the perfect daughter-in-law, calling my parents "Mom" and "Dad", like it came naturally.

For a moment, I even started to wonder: Was she just pretending? Or did she actually want to turn this act into something real?

After we got married, things got even stranger.

I used to imagine how the arrangement would go. Like, I'd be in the living room watching TV, and suddenly Colin would let himself in with a spare key.

He'd wave like nothing was wrong, saying things like, "Hey, Brady. Still up?"

Then he'd head straight to the bedroom and get comfy with Tracy, my legal wife. They'd cuddle, flirt, shower together, and then...

But that never actually happened.

After getting married, I noticed Tracy disappeared overnight fairly often.

I figured maybe they didn't feel comfortable hooking up here, with me around. So they probably booked hotel rooms instead.

But aside from not sleeping in the same bed and the occasional night away, Tracy acted like a perfect wife. She did the laundry, cooked meals, cleaned the apartment, and never once complained.

No matter how busy she was, she always came back early the next morning to make breakfast. And at home, she always called me "Honey", acting warm and affectionate like a real spouse.

She even dressed like she was totally at ease, like she truly lived here.

I didn't get it.

I'd smack myself in the head just to knock some sense in, telling myself to quit fantasizing.

This woman was still sneaking off every few days to meet with my boss. And here I was, dreaming that maybe, just maybe, she'd want to stay with me.

That jolt of reality would hit. None of this was real; it was all an act. I couldn't afford to fall for the part.

But then I started wondering—maybe Tracy was the one who'd gotten too into character.

Could it be that Colin's wife had started getting suspicious? Perhaps she had installed hidden cameras in my living room.

I checked the whole apartment and found nothing. Not a single device.

That brought my attention back to Tracy.

If anything was off about her, it was her room.

That door was always closed—day or night. We'd been married for a while now, but I had never stepped foot in there. Not once.

And Tracy didn't strike me as someone who was big on privacy.

She'd wander the apartment in skimpy clothes on weekends, like it was nothing.

Even in the evenings, she'd lounge next to me in half-buttoned pajamas, giving a full view of her curves like she didn't have a care in the world.

So what was with the locked door?

Once we were more comfortable around each other, I finally asked her, "What do you have in there, gold bars or diamonds? You keep that door shut all the time; don't you ever let some air in?"

She laughed, made a goofy face, and said, "There's a ghost in there; I'm afraid if I open the door, it'll come out and eat you."

Clearly, she didn't want to talk about it.

Fine. Everyone has their secrets. I respected that. So, I didn't press it again.

But then, one night, something happened that made me think—maybe there really was something strange going on behind that door.

It was a Friday. Tracy hadn't gone to work that day. I didn't get home until around 8:00 PM after a long evening meeting.

When I walked in, dinner was already on the table—three dishes and a soup, still warm. There was even a fresh pot of pasta in the kitchen.

Next to the meal was a handwritten note.

[Enjoy your dinner, Honey. I'm not coming back tonight. xoxo, Tracy]

I never understood why she wrote notes like that. Wouldn't a text be easier?

Maybe she was trying to be romantic.

After dinner, I cleaned up, watched a little TV, then around 10:00 PM, I went to shower.

Just as I was about to undress, I heard a soft clack. Like a pen falling on the floor.

I stepped out of the bathroom to check it out.

Then came another sound—faint rustling, like a plastic bag being crumpled.

It was coming from Tracy's room.

But… wasn't she supposed to be out for the night?