The Mistress She Hired For Me

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I started with nothinga ghost of a man from the wrong side of the tracks. Yet Isla, ignoring the yawning chasm of our social standings, insisted on marrying me.

She didn't just give me financial security; she handed me a respectable seat at the table of the elite. But that debt of gratitude only served to nourish the weeds of inferiority growing in my heart. Even now, as I occupy a corner office with a view of the skyline, I feel like a subordinate in her presence.

To reclaim some twisted sense of dignity, I began an affair.

I chose a girl named Amber. She barely finished high school and spent her days detailing cars at a grime-streaked shop. In her eyes, I finally found what I craved: the look of someone gazing up at a god.

I guarded this secret with the precision of a clockmaker. I made sure to be home every evening, simmering gourmet soups for Isla and kneading the tension from her shoulders, masking my betrayal with layers of increasingly soulful lies. I used Islas money to buy Amber a condo, indulging in the sick thrill of playing a billionaires daughter for a fool.

I thought I was the one in control. I thought I had rigged the game.

But fate has a cruel sense of humor. The day I took my mistress to the clinic for her prenatal check-up, I ran straight into Isla.

...

The sound of hot oil popping hissed from the kitchen, followed by Islas sharply stifled cry of pain.

I rushed in and killed the flame. She was standing there, looking helpless. Those handshands that glided over Steinway keys and signed multi-billion dollar mergerswere already blooming with a row of angry blisters. Beside her sat a messy, half-finished attempt at a Boeuf Bourguignon.

"I realized today was our third anniversary," she said, looking up at me like a child caught in a lie. "You always used to mention this dishhow no restaurant ever got the seasoning quite like your mothers. I tried to learn it from the chef at the club."

She let out a frustrated breath. "I didn't realize the heat was so hard to manage."

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the sink, blasting the cold water. My movements were frantic, my eyes wide with manufactured panic. As the water rushed over her skin, I forced a hint of moisture into the corners of my eyes, turning them a sympathetic red.

"Why would you be so reckless?" my voice trembled, thick with performative heartbreak. "These hands weren't meant for grease and heavy pans. Isla, just sitting across the table from you is enough to make me happy. The food doesn't matter. Its about who Im with. Please, never risk yourself like this again."

I fetched the first-aid kit and knelt before her on the cold marble floor. With a cotton swab, I gently applied burn cream to her delicate skin. Islas eyes shimmered with tears, and she squeezed my hand.

"Caleb," she whispered, using my name with a reverence that made my skin crawl. "The vows you made the day we signed the papers... do they still hold true?"

Women are so sentimental. It was an anniversary; she just wanted to hear the script. I adjusted my expression to one of solemn devotion, acting as if I were baring my very soul.

"Isla, if I ever betray you, let me lose everything. Let my bloodline end with me, and let me rot in the gutter where I belong."

Her face went pale, and she pressed her hand over my mouth. "Dont say such things!" she scolded, her voice softening into pure, unadulterated tenderness.

Late that night, I watched Isla sleep. Even her rest was perfecther skin glowing like fine porcelain under the moonlight. It was a perfection that felt like a chokehold.

I slipped out of bed and left a note on the nightstand: Something came up with the Waterfront project. I have to handle it. Theres warm milk in the kitchendrink it when you wake up. Love you.

Thirty minutes later, I parked my Bentley outside a dark alley on the outskirts of the city.

Amber was waiting for me on the steps. She had just finished the night shift, still wearing her ill-fitting, grease-stained coveralls. She was shivering in the biting wind, an old, battered SAT prep book open on her knees. She was silently memorizing vocabulary by the dim glow of a flickering streetlamp.

She looked like a weed pushing through a crack in the sidewalk, desperate for a drop of water.

A strange, sharp ache hit my chest. Isla would never understand this. She was born on third base; anything she wanted was a mere reach away. She thought cooking a difficult meal was the ultimate sacrifice.

Before I put on these bespoke suits, I was the one in the shadows, eating cold bread and staring up at the lights of the skyscrapers. That desperate, ugly scramble just to surviveonly Amber understood that.

I stepped out of the car, my polished shoes clicking through the oily puddles. She looked up, her eyes igniting with hope. She scrambled to her feet, trying to hide a plastic bag behind her back.

"Caleb... what are you doing here? Im filthy. I smell like a garage." She retreated, embarrassed.

I stepped forward and pulled her into a hard embrace. I could smell the cheap shampoo in her hair; I could feel her body trembling against mine. With her, I wasn't the "trophy husband" who had to watch his step. I was the savior. I was a god she looked up to.

"Amber, don't move. Just let me hold you."

I closed my eyes, burying my face in her hair. When I thought of Isla, a sliver of malice rose in my throat. Some people are born with everything, while people like Amber and me are stepped on, forced to claw through the mud just to reach the starting line.

But so what? The little princess of the elite had turned into my lapdog anyway.

"Yes, the project in the neighboring city has hit a snag. Ill need to oversee it for a couple of days..."

I held the phone to my ear, my voice tired and professionally stern. Beneath me, Amber was biting down on a pillow, sweat beading on her forehead, letting out soft, muffled whimpers. I gripped her waist, my movements relentless and frantic.

On the other end of the line, Islas voice remained soft. "The forecast says theres a storm coming, Caleb. A big temperature drop. Did you pack a heavy coat?"

"I did," I said, forcing my breathing to stay steady while I played the martyr. "Its freezing here. I think my gastritis is flaring up from the stress; its a dull ache that won't go away."

"What?! Is it bad? Did you take your medicine?" Islas tone immediately sharpened with anxiety.

I let out a weak, performative sigh. "Don't worry. I bought something at the pharmacy. Ill just have some tea and try to sleep it off. Isla, Im exhausted. I think I need to go."

"Of course. Rest, honey. Don't push yourself. Goodnight, Caleb."

She was so easy to play. I tossed the phone onto the carpet and, amidst Ambers gasps, continued our night of entanglement. The rain began to hammer against the floor-to-ceiling windows, only making the room feel hotter. I had taken her on this "business trip" on the company dime, and I wasn't going to waste a single second.

At 3:00 AM, while I was in the shower, my phone buzzed. It was the hotel front desk.

"Mr. Sterling, there is a lady in the lobby. She says shes your wife."

I froze, the towel halfway to my head. I threw on my clothes in a panic. Amber was dead to the world, exhausted from the night.

I took the elevator down. When the doors slid open, I stopped dead.

Isla was there. She was soaked to the bone. Her hair, usually perfectly coiffed by professionals, was a tangled mess. In her arms, she clutched a waterproof bag.

I knew what was inside: the specific herbal tea blend I used for my stomach.

It was a three-hour drive from our house. The highway had been closed due to the storm; she must have taken the back roads, navigating dangerous, flooded stretches of blacktop. All because I told her I had a stomachache.

Seeing me, her blue-tinged lips curled into a weak smile. "Caleb!"

I rushed to her, my eyes welling up as I wrapped her freezing body in my arms.

"Are you insane?!" My voice was hoarse, a mix of faked horror and calculated anger. "Driving through this for some tea? If something had happened to you, how would I even go on?"

Isla leaned into me, her voice trembling. "I was worried you wouldn't be able to sleep from the pain. Im fine! See? Im right here."

"Come on. Lets get you upstairs for a hot bath."

I led her toward the elevators, but I pressed the button for the 8th floor.

I have always been a cautious man. From the first day of this "trip" with Amber, I had booked two rooms just in case Isla checked in. Amber was in the executive suite on the 18th floor. This room on the 8th was a standard business double, filled with my suitcase, my laptop, and a few changes of clothes.

It was seamless.

I boiled water for her, blew on it until it was cool enough to sip, and dried her hair. Once I was sure she was deeply asleep, I stepped out.

The elevator climbed back to the 18th floor.

Amber was awake. She was in a robe, holding the shirt I had ripped earlier in our heat, carefully sewing the buttons back on.

"Caleb? Youre back?" she asked softly. "Was it... was it Mrs. Sterling?"

I nodded, not wanting to discuss it. I brushed my thumb over the calluses on her fingersmarks of a life of hard labor.

"You clearly aren't tired enough if you have time for sewing," I whispered in her ear.

She blushed. "I can't help you with the big things, so I try to do the little ones."

I pulled her to me, a fresh surge of adrenaline hitting me. Downstairs, a woman worth billions had risked her life in a storm for a lie. And here I was, betraying her.

What good was a powerful woman if she was this easy to manipulate? It was my special talent.

I pulled her toward the window. "Round two."

--------

When I returned from the trip, I was forced into another family dinner. I sat next to Isla like a polished piece of furniture.

"So, Caleb," her Uncle Silas said with a thin, mocking smile. "I hear the Waterfront deal hasn't closed yet? Still dragging your feet?"

"We're still negotiating the finer points..." I replied, keeping my head down and my voice deferential.

"Business requires a certain... killer instinct," a cousin chimed in, interrupting me with a smirk. "But I suppose we can't all be like Isla. Honestly, Caleb, youre lucky. Not many men get to collect a six-figure salary for a desk job while their wife does the heavy lifting. Its quite the charmed life."

"Exactly!" another added. "There are perks to being a house husband. It saves you thirty years of climbing the ladder, doesn't it?"

The table erupted in polite, cruel laughter. I gripped the linen napkin on my lap, remaining silent.

Clink.

The sharp sound of a glass hitting the table cut through the noise. Isla wrapped her arm through mine, her eyes flashing with ice as she surveyed her family.

"My husbands capabilities are not up for debate," she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous register. "The Waterfront project is being held at my request. Caleb is patient enough to listen to my strategy. Unless any of you feel the need to audit my executive decisions?"

The cousins face shifted. "Isla, we were just joking..."

"I don't find it funny," she snapped. "An insult to Caleb is an insult to me. If I hear another 'joke' like that, don't bother looking for your year-end dividends from the holding company."

She stood up, taking my hand, and led me out of the restaurant without looking back.

In the car, the streetlights flickered across her face in rhythmic pulses of shadow and light.

"Still angry?" She turned to me, her expression softening. "Don't listen to them. I value you, Caleb. I know what youre capable of, even if they don't."

I looked at her profile. There was no gratitude in me; instead, my chest felt like it was bleeding.

She was so perfect. Strong, protective, and in total command. But it was that very perfection that made her defense feel like charity. She didn't snap at them because she loved me; she snapped because I was hers. I was a piece of property. If they mocked me, they were mocking her taste in acquisitions.

The more she protected me, the more she reminded me that I was a nobody who had climbed into her bed to find a life. I was the pathetic man who needed his wife to fight his battles at the dinner table.

"Im fine," I muttered. My throat felt tight. "Isla, the wine tonight made me a bit restless. Drop me at the next corner. I want to walk for a bit, clear my head."

She thought my ego was just bruised. She reached over and stroked my cheek. "Okay. Just remember, in my eyes, youre the best. You know that, right?"

I nodded and stepped out. I watched her taillights fade into the night before hailing a cab and heading straight to Ambers cramped apartment.

It was her birthday.

The place was dark. She was sitting at her small table with a cheap, five-dollar cake, her hands folded in a wish.

"Caleb! You... you said you had to go to a gala with her tonight. I didn't think youd come."

I didn't say a word. I placed two envelopes on the table. "I brought your presents. Open them."

She hesitated, then opened the first. It was an enrollment form for the citys top adult education program, tuition paid in full. The second was a key and the deed to a renovated condo downtown.

It was in her name.

"Caleb... this is too much. I cant take this! I just want to be with you, I don't need"

"Take it," I said, my voice firm. "I told you, as long as you're with me, you won't suffer. You want to go back to school? Go. I want you to live a life of dignity."

Suddenly, Amber was on her knees, clinging to my legs, sobbing into my slacks. "Caleb! Why are you so good to me? Ill spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Id die for you..."

Watching her gaze up at me with that raw, unfiltered devotion, the wounds from the dinner party began to heal. This was what I wanted.

I never expected to see those two red lines.

Amber held the pregnancy test out to me, tears streaming down her face. "Caleb, Im so sorry. I took the pill, I don't know how this happened..."

She was shaking, but she was so incredibly "selfless" about it. "Don't worry. I know who I am. Im not good enough for you. I won't be a burden. Ill go to the clinic tomorrow morning and take care of it. Ill never mention it again, I promise."

The more she groveled, the hotter the flame of my twisted protective instinct burned.

Just a few days ago, Isla and I had "argued." Except Isla didn't argue; she lectured. She had tapped her expensive fountain pen against a project proposal I had stayed up three nights straight to finish.

"Caleb, this is too aggressive. The risk management is non-existent. We can't move forward with this."

She was calm, logical, and effortlessly dissected every flaw I had. The calmer she was, the more humiliated I felt. It was like a slap in the facethe high-and-mighty Isla looking down at my hard work and dismissing it. She was always right. Always rational. Always unreachable.

But here... here was a woman carrying my child, willing to sacrifice it just to keep me from being inconvenienced.

Isla and I had been married for four years, and she had never gotten pregnant. She said we should "let it happen naturally," but I knew the truth: she didn't want a child interfering with her status at the company.

But this child would be mine. My blood. A legacy that didn't have to carry her family name.

"You aren't getting an abortion," I said, pulling Amber up and locking her in my arms. "Were having this baby. Im going to give him everything."

Once I drained enough from the Sterling accounts, once I controlled the connections... I would bring this mother and son into the light.

In the weeks that followed, I became a master of the balancing act. At home, I was the devoted, doting husband. I apologized to Isla for my "mistakes" at work. I cooked her healthy meals, took her on dates, and made everything feel like it used to. The CEO of Sterling Holdings was wrapped around my finger. She thought she was in control, never dreaming her husband had planted a seed elsewhere.

I thrived on the thrill of it. I was the ultimate predator in the jungle of marriage.

This afternoon, I canceled my meetings. I took Amber to the most prestigious private clinic in the city to start her prenatal file. I bought her the VIP package. Holding the ultrasound, seeing that tiny speck of life... my heart actually felt something.

"Look, Caleb," Amber whispered, leaning into me. "The doctor says the baby is healthy."

I kissed her forehead. "Of course he is. Hes ours."

We walked out of the exam room, laughing and talking.

Ding.

The elevator doors directly across from us slid open. My smile froze. The blood drained from my face, leaving my limbs cold as ice.

Isla.

She was stepping out, flanked by the hospital board members and a fleet of senior physicians.

I instinctively stepped back, my mind screaming: Hide!

But it was too late. Amber didn't notice my terror. She had been walking all day and let out a soft, playful whine. "Caleb, my legs are so sore. Carry me to the car?"

That flirtatious "Caleb" echoed through the quiet, sterile hallway like a gunshot.

Isla stopped. The board members stopped.

Slowly, Isla turned her head. Her gaze drifted over Ambers arm linked through mine. It drifted over Ambers slight baby bump, which I was carefully shielding.

Finally, her eyes locked onto mine.