He Offered Me To His Wife

The buildings WhatsApp group chat was usually a boring feed of package-delivery complaints and noise warnings. But that night, a message popped up that made me stop scrolling.

It was from Derrick, the guy who lived directly across the hall from me on the eighth floor. He tagged the entire building.

Looking for someone to keep my wife company. Duties include chatting and cooking dinner every night. Ill pay $3,000 a month cash, plus a brand-new bottle of Herms Terre dHerms cologne.

The chat went dead silent. No emojis, no thumbs-up. Just absolute, stunned silence.

Then came the second notification. This time, he tagged me directly.

@Lewis, I think youd be perfect for this. Youre single, and I see you heading to the gym all the time. Ive already left the cologne outside your door. Just come on over tonight.

I walked over to my front door and opened it. Sure enough, sitting on my welcome mat was a perfectly wrapped orange Herms gift box.

A dry, disbelief-fueled laugh escaped my throat. I picked up the box, walked it straight to the trash chute down the hall, and tossed it in.

Then I opened the app and replied to the group thread: Youre out of your mind.

I thought it was just a bizarre, isolated stunt. A joke in poor taste.

I was wrong. It was the first quiet creak of a door opening into a nightmare.

The next morning at seven, I grabbed my briefcase and opened my door, ready to head to the office.

"Lewis. You took the cologne. Why didn't you show up to keep my wife company last night?"

Derrick was already standing there, blocking the hallway. He was wearing a silk pajama set, his hands planted firmly on his hips, glaring at me like a disappointed boss.

I frowned, taking a step back. "Are you seriously out of your mind?"

Derricks eyes went wide. "Why are you being so hostile? I went out of my way to buy you an expensive designer cologne, and you take it but don't do the job? Where's your integrity?"

I pointed toward the trash chute at the end of the hall. "The box is in the garbage. Go dig it out yourself if you want it back. And get out of my way."

I tried to squeeze past him toward the elevator, but he took a sharp step forward, grabbing the strap of my messenger bag.

"Hold on! Is it the money? You think three grand isn't enough?"

Derrick held on tight, his fingers sinking into the canvas strap.

"Let me tell you, three thousand dollars is a lot of cash! How much do you even make at your little design firm anyway? Just cook some dinner for my wife, talk to her for a few hours. Its not going to kill you!"

My face went cold. I knocked his hand off my bag.

"Derrick, Im going to say this exactly once. I have zero interest in your wife, and I don't want your money. If you touch me or harass me again, Im calling the police."

"Go ahead! Call them!"

Instead of backing down, he pressed closer, his breath smelling faintly of stale coffee.

"My wife is pregnant! What are the cops going to do to me? You touch me, even a finger, and Ill sue you for everything you have!"

Our voices had been echoing down the concrete hallway, and the racket finally drew attention.

The door to the apartment below us clicked open, and Jerry, an elderly neighbor who lived on the seventh floor, poked his head out, clutching a reusable grocery bag.

"Oh, Lewis, whats going on up there? Quite a loud morning, isn't it?"

Derrick immediately pointed a finger at me and shouted down the stairs.

"Jerry! You be the judge here! This guy took my gift, agreed to keep my wife company, and now hes backing out of the deal!"

My hands began to tremble with pure rage.

How could someone distort reality so seamlessly?

I pulled out my phone and swiped open the buildings group chat, showing the screen to Jerry as he walked up the stairs.

"Jerry, look at this. He posted this crazy proposal in the group chat last night. I didn't even let him in. I threw his box straight into the trash chute."

Jerry squinted at my screen, then shifted his gaze to Derrick. His expression warped into deep embarrassment.

"Derrick... come on, man. This is... it's a bit much. Who looks for a 'companion' for their own wife like this?"

"How is it a bit much?" Derricks voice grew even more shrill. "My wife is pregnant! Shes hormonal, shes stressed, and she can't stand the sight of me right now. Why shouldn't I find someone to keep her happy? Thats what a good husband does!"

He sneered at me, looking me up and down.

"Look at him. A single guy, always showing off his muscles at the gym. Hes practically begging for female attention. Im giving him an opportunity, and hes acting like hes too pure for it!"

I took a slow, deep breath, dialing the building's property management office.

"Yes, this is Lewis Matthew in Unit 802. Theres a resident harassing me outside my door. Send security up right now. If they aren't here in three minutes, Im calling 911."

Hearing the word security made Derricks expression flicker.

"Call them! You think I'm scared? My wife's family has real money, Lewis. They could crush you like a bug!"

Five minutes later, two security guards rushed out of the elevator, panting.

I pointed at Derrick. "Get him away from my door. I have to go to work. If he blocks my path again, I will file a formal complaint against management for failing to maintain a safe environment."

The guards looked uncomfortable, offering placating smiles.

"Uh... Mr. Collins, lets calm down. Why don't we head back inside your apartment?"

Derrick shoved one of the guard's hands away, pointing his finger right at my nose.

"You think this is over, Lewis? Its not. You reject me, you humiliate me, I will make sure you can't show your face in this building again!"

I kept my expression entirely blank, walked past him, and stepped into the elevator.

I truly believed that if I just ignored him, hed get tired of the drama and stop.

But I had severely underestimated how low he was willing to go.

I got back from the office around eight that night after pulling a long shift.

The moment I stepped out of the elevator, a sharp, chemical stench hit my nose. It smelled like fresh paint, heavy and toxic.

I walked down the corridor to my door and stopped dead.

My door was covered in thick, dripping crimson paint. Scrawled across the center in jagged, mocking letters were the words: DIE, BOY TOY.

And hanging from the doorknob by a bright red string was a dead, blood-smeared rat.

I stood there, the air leaving my lungs. My stomach violently churned.

Before I could even process the horror, my phone vibrated in my palm.

I swiped to answer. Derricks voice, smug and dripping with satisfaction, filled my ear.

"Hey, Lewis. Do you like my little housewarming gift?"

My voice was a frozen whisper. "Did you do this? Are you admitting you vandalized my door?"

On the other end, he let out a sharp, arrogant laugh.

"What door? I don't know what you're talking about. I just happened to walk past your place and saw a mess. Thought I'd call and check in on my neighbor." He paused, his tone shifting into something darker. "But honestly, plenty of people in this building are sick of looking at your smug face. Maybe some good Samaritan decided to do something about it."

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.

"Derrick, do you honestly think because there isn't a working camera in this hallway, you're going to get away with this?"

"Go ahead and try to prove it! Management hasn't fixed those hallway cameras in months," he sneered. "Listen to me, Lewis. You wash up, clean yourself up, and go knock on my wife's door tonight. We can let bygones be bygones."

"And if I don't?"

"Then tomorrow, it won't just be paint on your door."

I hung up on him, instantly blocking his number, and dialed 911.

Ten minutes later, two police officers arrived at the scene.

I laid out everythingthe screenshots from the building's WhatsApp group, the context of our morning confrontation, and the audio recording of the phone call I had just received.

The two young officers stared at the dripping red door, their brows furrowing deeply.

"I've got to admit, this is a first," one of them said, before walking over and knocking on Derrick's door.

The door swung open.

Derrick stood there in his silk pajamas again, holding a bowl of freshly washed green grapes.

Seeing the police, his face instantly morphed into a picture of innocent concern.

"Officers? Oh my goodness, what happened?"

The officer pointed at my door. "Did you do this?"

Derrick gasped, covering his mouth.

"Oh, that's horrible! Who would do such a thing? Lewis, have you been getting involved with the wrong crowd? Is someone after you?"

I stared at him. "That's not what you said on the phone five minutes ago."

The officer pulled out my phone and played the call recording right in front of him.

When the audio finished, Derrick squeezed his eyes shut, looking like a victim of a grave injustice.

"Officers, listen to that. Did I confess to anything? Not at all." He wiped a fake tear from his eye. "I was just frustrated because this guy is always trying to hit on my wife. I was throwing some shade. Is it a crime to talk trash to a guy whos eyeing your pregnant wife? I'm a respected tenant here. I wouldn't touch paint."

The officers exchanged a look of frustration.

Without direct eyewitnesses or functional hallway cameras, and with Derrick's clever wording in the recording, their hands were legally tied.

"Mr. Collins, your behavior and statements are bordering on criminal harassment," the officer warned, his voice stern. "Watch your step. If we receive another call regarding your conduct, you will be brought down to the station."

Derrick nodded quickly, his head bobbing like a toy. "Of course, officer. Absolutely. I understand."

Once the police left, the hallway fell silent again.

Derricks fake remorse evaporated instantly. He leaned against his doorframe, a nasty, victorious smirk spreading across his face.

"See that, Lewis? Even the cops can't touch me." He stepped closer, dropping his voice to a low, venomous whisper. "My wife is carrying the sole heir to the entire inheritance of her family. You want this to stop? You do what you're told. Go keep her happy."

I looked at him, and to my own surprise, a quiet laugh slipped out.

"Is that so? We'll see about that."

I didn't waste another word on him. I called a locksmith to change my locks, and hired an emergency cleaning crew to power-wash the crimson paint off my door.

The next morning, the moment I stepped into the lobby of my design firm, the young receptionist, Toby, rushed over and grabbed my arm.

"Lewis, man, you need to check the company-wide Slack channel right now."

My stomach dropped. I pulled out my phone.

An anonymous user had posted a long, detailed thread in the main channel.

The headline read: The Secret Life of a Star Designer: The Self-Righteous Lewis Matthew is a Home-Wrecker Preying on Pregnant Women.

The post included my headshot from our company website, alongside a cropped screenshot of the message Derrick had sent in the building's chat.

The text underneath was pure venom:

This man will do anything for moneyeven target a pregnant woman. He accepted expensive designer gifts from her husband, but when he realized the cash wasn't enough, he backed out of the deal and tried to frame the husband by calling the police. This is the kind of predator we work with.

The office was already a hornets' nest.

When I walked past the open cubicles, the whispering started. People turned away, pointing, murmuring behind their hands.

I gripped my phone and walked straight into the creative directors office.

My boss, Richard, was a no-nonsense man in his late forties. He looked up as I entered, then closed his laptop.

I handed him my phone, showing him the full, uncropped chat logs and the police report from the night before. His expression grew incredibly grim.

"Lewis, I've known you for five years. I know your character," Richard said, his voice measured but serious. "But this post has already circulated. We've got clients calling, asking what's going on with their lead designer."

"I know," I said, taking a steadying breath. "I'll handle this. Completely and legally. If I can't resolve it within the week, I'll resign."

Richard gave a slow nod. "Go handle it. I'll have IT scrub the post and block the IP."

Leaving his office, I immediately called an attorney friend of mine.

Defamation. Stalking. Sexual harassment.

I packed a bag and checked into a boutique hotel near the office, refusing to go back to my apartment.

For a few weeks, Derrick went quiet. No more messages, no more online posts.

The silence was a relief. I started to think they had finally realized they had crossed a line. I thought they were scared.

But I was incredibly naive.

A month later, on a chilly Friday afternoon, I stepped out of the office building.

Before I could even reach my car, a figure stepped out from the shadow of the parking garage, blocking my path.

It was a woman in a designer maternity dress, wearing gold-rimmed glasses. She was visibly pregnant.

She looked at me, a tight, apologetic smile plastered across her face.

"Mr. Matthew. Hello. I'm Aurora, Derricks wife."

I stopped, my guard immediately going up. "What do you want?"

Aurora sighed, reaching into her Chanel bag to pull out a beautifully wrapped package, holding it out to me with both hands.

"I came here to apologize to you in person," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness.

"My husband... since we found out about the pregnancy, his mental state has been incredibly fragile. He does erratic things. I've been staying at my parents' estate upstate to rest, and I had no idea he was causing you so much trouble. I am truly, deeply sorry."

I didn't move to take the box. "Save your apology. I've already hired a lawyer. Well settle this in court."

At the word lawyer, a sharp flash of calculation crossed Aurora's eyes.

She slowly retracted the gift box, took a step closer, and lowered her voice.

"Lewis, a lawsuit is so tedious, don't you think? It takes forever, and honestly, a public court battle won't do much for a handsome, single young man's reputation."

She pushed her gold-rimmed glasses up her nose, her eyes scanning my chest and shoulders with a slow, predatory appraisal.

"Besides... Derricks idea might have been poorly phrased, but that doesn't mean its a bad opportunity for you."

I froze, wondering if I was actually losing my mind. "What did you just say?"

Aurora smiled, a cold, empty expression.

"Come on, Lewis. You're a talented guy, but working this hard to pay rent must be exhausting. Derrick... well, his physique isn't exactly thrilling, and he certainly can't satisfy me."

She reached out, her fingers hovering just inches from my jawline.

"If you agree, we can forget about the three thousand. I'll pay you thirty thousand dollars a month. All you have to do is come over and spend a few nights a week with me."

She gave a soft laugh. "Derrick is a bit simple-minded. He actually believes this is his duty as a husband to keep me happy. You see? My entire household is welcoming you with open arms. Why be difficult?"

A cold shiver raced up my spine.

This couple was a nightmare of epic proportions. One was a self-righteous pimp; the other was a casual solicitor.

The sheer disgust boiled over. I violently slapped her hand away.

Slap!

My hand caught the side of her face.

Auroras head snapped to the side. She stumbled back, clutching her cheek, her polite facade crumbling instantly. Her eyes turned black with venom.

"Lewis Matthew, don't play hard to get. I offered you a golden ticket."

She spat on the pavement next to my shoe.

"Believe me, I have a hundred different ways to make you crawl to my bed on your knees."

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of a threat.

I met her gaze, a cold smile touching my lips. "Then I suggest you try them. Lets see who breaks first."

I turned on my heel and walked away.

The moment I got back to my hotel room, I called my lawyer to document the encounter.

But the storm hit sooner than I expected.

At two in the morning, I was dead asleep when a deafening racket shattered the quiet of my hotel room.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Lewis! Open the door, you pathetic piece of trash!"

It was Derrick.

I sat straight up in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs. How did they find out which hotel I was staying at?

"Open the door! You try to steal my wife? You lay your hands on her? Get out here!"

The pounding on the door grew more violent, shaking the frame. Derricks slurred, hysterical insults echoed through the hallway.

I grabbed my phone, immediately dialed 911, and then patched through to the front desk.

"This is room 802. There is a man trying to kick my door down. Send security up right now!"

Outside, the shouting escalated. I heard Auroras voice join in.

"Lewis, open up! You think you're so high and mighty? You had the guts to hit me, but you don't have the guts to face us?" Her voice sounded thick, slurred with alcohol.

I pressed my back against the locked door, my hand trembling as I gripped the can of pepper spray I kept in my bag.

Five minutes felt like five hours. Finally, the muffled voices of security guards echoed in the hall, followed by the heavy, authoritative footsteps of police officers.

I let out a long, shaky breath and turned the lock, stepping out.

The hallway was a scene of pure chaos. Derrick was thrashing wildly, trying to tear himself away from two police officers who were attempting to cuff him.

Aurora stood to the side, trying to smooth things over with a third officer.

"Officer, please, this is all just a misunderstanding. My husband is just incredibly protective. He thought his wife's lover was in there, that's all."

I stepped forward, pointing at them. "Officers, this isn't a misunderstanding. This is criminal harassment. Theyve been stalking and harassing me for over a month."

The officer dealing with Aurora looked at Derrick, recognition dawning on his face. "Wait. Are you the guy from the paint vandalism call last month? And now you're bringing the drama to a hotel?"

Derricks face flushed a deep, violent purple. He lunged toward me, spit flying from his mouth.

"You home-wrecking coward! You hit my wife! Ill kill you!"

The officers slammed him against the wall. "Stop resisting! Calm down!"

But then, Derrick suddenly went limp.

He stared down at Aurora.

My eyes followed his gaze.

A dark, crimson pool of blood was rapidly spreading down the fabric of Aurora's maternity dress, staining her shoes and the carpet.

"Oh my god..." Derrick whispered, his voice cracking. "My baby... Aurora..."

The entire hallway froze.

Auroras face drained of color. She collapsed against the wall, clutching her stomach. "My baby... it hurts... oh god, it hurts..."

The officers immediately radioed for an ambulance.

The hallway dissolved into a frenzy of shouting and medical jargon.

As the paramedics arrived and loaded Aurora onto a gurney, Derrick turned back to me. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a primal, terrifying hatred.

"Lewis Matthew," he hissed, his voice trembling with a terrifying promise. "If my baby dies, I will take your life."