Micah Liggett
2 Published Stories
Micah Liggett's Books and Stories
Irresistible Desire: How My Life Being Upended
Modern "Keith, I need to you have sex with my wife secretly."
This request hit me like a bolt from the blue.
My billionaire boss just asked me to secretly have sex with his wife, a charming lady from the upper class.
I was merely his driver!
Why did he ask me to do such a thing?
Was he impotent?
Did he find his wife sexually unattractive?
Or was he out of his mind?
Before I could ask him any questions, he explained why he made such an outrageous request.
He wanted me to impregnate her!
My boss's father suffered from cancer and had only two years to live. As the first son, he was given an ultimatum to produce an heir, otherwise, his inheritance worth billions of dollars would be given to his younger brother.
Now that he was desperate, he revealed why he hadn't been able to impregnate his wife during their eight-year-old marriage.
He suffered from necrospermia—dead sperm!
Nobody, including his wife, knew about his condition. I was his confidante, so he wanted me to do the job.
I agreed because I couldn't resist his wife's charm. She was every man's dream.
From that day, the course of my life changed for good.
I became a billionaire and strings of beautiful women were at my beck and call. And here is my story... Lost In Carnal Love
Modern "Keith, I need to you have sex with my wife secretly."
This request hit me like a bolt from the blue.
My billionaire boss just asked me to secretly have sex with his wife, a charming lady from the upper class.
I was merely his driver!
Why did he ask me to do such a thing?
Was he impotent?
Did he find his wife sexually unattractive?
Or was he out of his mind?
Before I could ask him any questions, he explained why he made such an outrageous request.
He wanted me to impregnate her!
My boss's father suffered from cancer and had only two years to live. As the first son, he was given an ultimatum to produce an heir, otherwise, his inheritance worth billions of dollars would be given to his younger brother.
Now that he was desperate, he revealed why he hadn't been able to impregnate his wife during their eight-year-old marriage.
He suffered from necrospermia—dead sperm!
Nobody, including his wife, knew about his condition. I was his confidante, so he wanted me to do the job.
I agreed because I couldn't resist his wife's charm. She was every man's dream.
From that day, the course of my life changed for good.
I became a billionaire and strings of beautiful women were at my beck and call. And here is my story... You might like
Ex-Wife, Please Have Some Self-Respect
Fritz Heaney I was driving through a rainstorm in upstate New York, pushing my old Volvo to the limit just to pick up a Dior gown for my wife, Catarina. She needed it for a gala tonight, where she planned to spend the evening standing next to the man she actually loved, Atticus Deleon.
The truck hit me head-on, crossing the center line and sending my car rolling down an embankment in a shriek of twisted metal and shattered glass. As the steering column crushed my chest, my brain didn't see a white light; it was pried open by a digital tsunami, flooding my mind with the "Quantum Archive"-billions of data points on surgery, high-frequency trading, and combat.
I woke up in the ICU with three broken ribs and a concussion, but the only thing waiting for me was a screaming voicemail from my wife's assistant.
"Jorden, where the hell are you? Catarina has been waiting for thirty minutes! You are so incompetent it's actually impressive."
There was no "Are you okay?" or "Are you alive?"-only fury over a ruined dress and a missing tie. While I was being resuscitated, my wife was on Instagram, singing "Endless Love" with Atticus and laughing at my "tantrum." She even called the family lawyer to freeze my credit cards, wanting to make sure I couldn't even buy a coffee without her permission.
For three years, I had been the "useful husband," the doormat who apologized whenever she stepped on my toes. But the accident had overwritten my desperation with cold, hard logic, and I realized I had almost died for a woman who viewed me as a liability with a negative return on investment.
When Catarina finally stormed into my hospital room to demand an apology for ruining her night, I didn't look at her with the usual puppy-dog eyes. I looked at her with ice in my veins and handed her a manila envelope I had drafted myself.
"Sign the divorce papers, Ms. Evans. I'm done being your canary."