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."

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?

I crept up to Tracy's bedroom.

Just like always, the door was tightly shut, and everything inside was quiet. A faint rustling sound, like plastic brushing against itself, drifted through the gap under the door.

"Tracy, are you heading out?" I called out tentatively. No response.

I paused, thinking maybe it was just a plastic bag fluttering from a breeze through an open window.

I casually tried the doorknob.

The door opened—it wasn't locked.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, stunned. Curiosity about the mystery that surrounded Tracy tugged at me, tempting me to step inside.

After a brief hesitation, I made up my mind and gently pushed the door open.

A delicate fragrance, laced with her familiar scent, instantly filled the air—it was oddly comforting.

It was my first time seeing her room. It was smaller than I'd imagined.

By the window sat a single bed, and beside it were two pale pink wardrobes. Off to the side, a small desk with a computer stood neatly against the wall.

The room was spotless, immaculately organized. The only odd thing was the clothing rack—there wasn't a single shirt or jacket hanging on it. Instead, it was lined with lingerie, plus black and white stockings draped side by side.

I glanced twice before quickly looking away, feeling oddly embarrassed.

I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but… a single bed?

No wonder Colin never came over. That bed was way too small for two people to get up to anything.

Following the strange rustling sound, I looked toward the desk. Sitting on top were little plastic bags girls often used to keep their accessories, and under the faint neon glow from the window, I could clearly see them moving—twitching, even—like something inside was squirming.

But… the windows were shut tight. There wasn't a trace of wind in the room!

I leaned in for a closer look.

In each bag was a plant—each about the length of a finger and shaped like a little twig.

The bags were sealed, but the plants inside were moving, pressing toward each other like they were alive, gently wriggling against the plastic.

What the hell were these things?

I scratched my head, a little amused. I guessed that weird sound came from these things after all.

Seeing nothing dangerous, I turned to leave. That was when my eyes caught something odd on the top shelf of the desk.

It was a little straw doll, crudely made from dried grass, dangling from a hook. Its eyes were pitch-black beads, and three embroidery needles were stabbed into the top of its head.

Right through the chest, a large pushpin was brutally jammed into a red heart.

A voodoo doll? A curse doll?

Why the hell would Tracy have something like this?

I picked it up and flipped it over. On the doll's back, stuck to the straw with a white label, was a name written in bold black letters—[Colin Booth].

My boss!

Damn.

I jerked back in shock. This woman… she wasn't playing around.

I was just about to set the creepy thing down and get the hell out when suddenly, a strange, chilling laugh echoed right by my ear. The doll's mouth twisted open in a wicked grin and, with a snap, it bit down hard on my finger!

What the hell?! It was alive?

With no time to think, I flung it away and turned to bolt.

But before I could take a single step, a wave of dizziness hit me. My legs gave out, and the room spun before everything went black.

-

I had no idea how long I was out. When I came to, my whole body felt heavy, especially my stomach, like something was weighing it down.

I moved my hand instinctively, and it landed on something soft. Warm.

I gave it a squeeze. It felt... weirdly nice.

"You're up, Honey?" Tracy murmured sleepily from beside me.

What the…?!

My eyes flew open.

There she was—on top of me, her limbs tangled with mine.

And we were in my bedroom.

This was our first time this close.

As my panic flared, I quickly pushed her off. "Wh-what are you doing in my room?!"

I already knew what that soft, squishy feeling had been.

She yawned, sat up in her thin sleepwear—nothing underneath—and said lazily, "You fell asleep in the bathroom!"

"In the bathroom?" I stared at her, completely confused.

"Yeah! I came back late last night and found you passed out next to the toilet, fast asleep… You were still holding a lit cigarette. You burned your hand and almost set the house on fire. Does it still hurt?" she asked, looking genuinely concerned.

I looked at my right hand. Sure enough, there was a bandage wrapped around my index finger. I brought it closer to my face—there was a faint smell of burn cream.

And that spot—wasn't that the exact same place where the doll had bitten me last night?

But if I burned it with a cigarette… wouldn't both my fingers have gotten it?

"Honey, what are you thinking about?" Tracy was now resting her chin in her hands, those big, sparkly eyes staring at me.

"N-nothing," I mumbled.

No way I was going to tell her what I'd seen last night. I was sure I passed out in her room… So how did I end up by the toilet?

Could everything I saw after entering her room have just been… a dream?

I'd always been a skeptic, never believing in ghosts or voodoo dolls. Dolls that bite people? Seriously?

I decided to keep it to myself, at least for now.

A glance at the wall clock made me jump—it was already past 9:00 AM.

"Crap, I've got a meeting. I'm gonna be late!" I jumped out of bed in a rush.

It was Saturday, a day off, normally. But my boss's wife had called a planning session today and invited a bunch of us into the office.

I had just thirty minutes. I hurried to get ready.

Meanwhile, Tracy was lying there on my bed, still in her sleepwear, casually scrolling on her phone without a care in the world.

"Uh… Tracy? Mind stepping out for a second so I can change?"

She didn't even blink. "I'm your wife. Why can't I watch you get dressed?"

What the heck?

Was she high? Or was this some weird prank?

Or worse—had Colin's wife installed a hidden camera in my room and was watching this live, like some kind of sick reality TV?

This was way too messed up.

I muttered something random in reply and grabbed my clothes. Then I got dressed as fast as I could, splashed my face with cold water, and bolted out the door.

I took the bus and made it to the office just in time for the meeting.

Rachel wasn't there, but Colin was.

Holding my folder, I checked the clock—still a few minutes to spare. One of the guys came over, grinning, and started teasing me.

He said I was the luckiest guy alive, that he would never nail such a beautiful wife.

Then he asked if Tracy and I had "gotten to the good part" yet.

I shot him a look and stayed quiet.

He chuckled and leaned in like he was about to press the issue, but I wasn't in the mood.

That was when Colin stormed in with a sour expression, flipping through a stack of papers. "Enough chit-chat. Get to the meeting room. Tracy, you're taking notes today."

Wait, what?

The sound of high heels clicking against the floor rang out as Tracy walked in behind him, looking all business: blazer, skirt, black stockings, laptop in hand.

I froze.

Wasn't she just at home?

We all followed behind Tracy and headed into the conference room.

The moment we stepped inside, Colin started yelling at us without warning. He laid into everyone with a harsh scolding, and we were all left blinking at each other, completely confused.

From what we could gather, an out-of-town order had fallen through. Apparently, someone in the company had messed up, and it cost us the deal.

It had something to do with our reputation. Word was, someone had too much to drink and started running their mouth, saying all kinds of nonsense about the company.

The client ended up thinking that the company was a total mess.

In the end, they backed out. The contract we were supposed to sign next week was cancelled.

We were all exchanging looks, each of us wondering who the idiot was.

After Colin finally cooled off, he got down to business. The meeting turned to what we were going to do about it, and eventually, Colin said he'd handle the negotiations himself next week.

The meeting lasted around half an hour. Afterward, one of my coworkers grumbled as he walked over, eyebrows knit. "Seriously, dragging us in on the weekend for this?"

I replied, "Right? Wasn't Mrs. Booth the one who called the meeting? How'd it end up being Mr. Booth instead?"

My coworker shrugged. "Who knows with those two. Whatever's going on between them, salarymen like us aren't meant to understand."

As the meeting ended and I headed downstairs, I ran into Tracy, who was holding her bag.

"Honey? Honey, wait up!" she called.

I paused by the stairwell. "Weren't you lounging at home? What are you doing here all of a sudden?"

She was fully made-up—foundation, lipstick, the works. Stunning as always.

Judging by how long it usually took her to get ready, she must've spent at least half an hour putting herself together.

She said, "Oh, right after you left, Mr. Booth called me and told me to come to the meeting too."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, you got ready fast."

She laughed. "Women can be quick when they want to be. It's the men who shouldn't be fast."

I couldn't help but chuckle. I caught the dirty joke right away.

On the bus ride home, I asked, "Nothing going on today?"

She shook her head. "Nope. It's the weekend; what could I have going on?"

But what I really meant was, why was she heading home with me this early? Shouldn't she be off somewhere with Colin on weekends?

I asked, "Is Mrs. Booth staying home?"

She frowned a little. "No idea. Why do you keep bringing them up?"

I scratched my head, not sure how to reply.

The bus was packed. What was I supposed to do? Ask her outright why she wasn't off cuddling up with Colin, or whether his wife was home so they couldn't sneak around?

I kept my mouth shut and dropped the subject.

The next few days passed quietly, just like always. Tracy stayed close, sticking to me like glue. Honestly, it was starting to feel like… like she really was my wife.

Then came another weekend morning. I woke up feeling something heavy on my chest. I didn't even have to look—I already knew Tracy had snuck into my room again while I was sleeping.

I pulled the covers back, looked down, and there she was, fast asleep. She was wearing a thin tank top, her pale, smooth skin glowing in the morning light. Her curves were impossible to ignore.

I mean, I was a normal man. With her throwing herself at me like this, I'd probably need to get checked out if I didn't do something about it.

While she slept, I leaned in and kissed her. She slowly opened her eyes but didn't pull away.

I wrapped my arms around her. She moved closer, resting her face on my chest.

In that moment, my whole body felt like it was on fire. I was excited—who wouldn't be? But more than that, I was confused.

Just a few days ago, she wouldn't even let me into her room. Now she was all over me like this?

I rolled on top of her, ready to take the next step, but she suddenly gasped and pushed at me. "No—don't!"

"Huh?" My pants were already halfway off. Was she being serious?

"Anything but that," she begged. "Please."

She was trembling, her body curled up. She looked terrified.

I asked, "Why not? Is it that time of the month?"

She shook her head.

Judging by the look on her face, I knew it wasn't happening. Not today.

With a sigh, I turned over.

She snuggled up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I picked up my phone to check my messages.

There was a missed call and a text—both from Tracy.

The timestamp said it was sent just after midnight.

I opened the message, and what I read hit me like a punch to the chest.

[Honey, Mr. Booth asked me to go on a business trip with him to Joselton. I'll probably be gone for three or four days. Take care of yourself, okay? Don't skip breakfast. Love, Tracy]

Tracy had left for a trip last night?

Then who the hell was the woman lying behind me right now?