Paid Witness

The first time Marcus hired me, I told myself it was just a job. Be charming at his sister's wedding. Make him look successful, loved. I'd done it a hundred times before—I was what LinkedIn politely calls a 'social companion,' what the rest of the world calls a friend for hire.

I was good at it. I knew how to laugh at the right moments, how to touch someone's arm like I meant it, how to slip into lives like water, leaving no trace when the check cleared. My golden retriever, Scout, was the only living thing who knew the shape of my actual life—quiet, ordered, utterly alone.

Three months in, Marcus asked me to a charity gala where his wife would be. "She needs to see I've moved on," he said, handing me a script of our romance. "Nothing too obvious. Just enough to make her wonder."

I should have said no. Instead I found myself playing the spy in my own profession, watching Elena from across the room as she pretended not to watch us. She was beautiful in the way wealthy women are—expensive hair, curated sadness, eyes that kept returning to Marcus's hand on my waist.

Later, Marcus found me outside with Scout, who'd waited in the car. "She saw us," he said, satisfied. "She knows I'm serious about you."

"About me," I repeated. "About the woman you paid five hundred dollars to love you for three hours."

"Don't," he said. "You're good at this. You're the best friend I've had in years."

Scout pressed against my leg, and I realized I'd become something worse than a spy—I'd become a weapon in a marriage I'd never agreed to destroy. Some betrayals don't feel like betrayals at all. They just feel like doing your job.

"I can't see you again," I said, and Scout seemed to sigh as we walked to the car, the only one who'd ever loved me for free.