Betrayed by my Ex, Became the Billionaire's Obsession

DEMI

I wake up to the annoying ring of an alarm that doesn't sound familiar. I know the sound of my alarm very well and it's usually less annoying. Now this one is from a fast and loud pop song I don't recognize. Why would I put an alarm like that? And when exactly did I set the alarm?

I’m too sleepy to open my eyes, but the thought makes me jolt and my heart begins racing.

Jesus Christ!

Today is my interview day. My pupils almost pop out as I sit up. I turn sideways to shut the fucking alarm off. It's only when I hold the phone in my hand, do I realize, it's not mine. For a moment I'm confused. I've never seen that phone in my life. It's not even from any of my best friends.

I don't recall buying a new phone, especially since

this one looks like it cost a hundred times this apartment's rent, if the golden casing is any indication.

This is strange. Do I need an intervention? Since when does one wake up to an expensive phone beside them?

After a few seconds of thoughts, it dawns on me, what if there's a stranger in the house. I try to shuffle out of bed to inspect the house, when a sharp pain in my head reminds me of my situation. From deep sleep to being too stunned about the phone, the confusion must have hit a wire in my brain that I didn't immediately recall the events of last night.

Forget the sharp pain. My head weighs a ton. I feel thirsty, yet I'm disgusted by the thought of water.

Hangover!

I hate mornings with hangovers. They ruin my days.

I take in deep breaths to calm my racing heart.

Checking the time again, I have almost three hours before the interview. Pretty early if you asked me, considering I drank out last night…and… I had drinks with Gavin Morgan!

I really had drinks with Gavin Morgan!

My jaw still drops even though it's been hours.

Which would explain… I stare at the phone.

Did he leave the phone on purpose? Or did…he…spend…the night…

My pupils widen at the thought of the possibility.

If he did, then where is he? He's definitely the one with the most annoying alarm. The last thing I recall is, in addition to the tequila shots, I took the only wine left in the fridge, and started gulping it in huge swigs.

I get up quickly to try and find him, but the speed at which I get out of bed makes me feel the headache even more, and I'm still thirsty.

It’s only then do I spot the glass of water on the nightstand and the medicines next to it.

I smile at the thought of this being Gavin's doing, because I'm pretty sure I wasn't the one who put that hangover care package there. However, I only tolerate it for a few seconds. Some things still don't add up.

While I'm headed to the kitchen I have this insane thought of the beautiful moments I've read in books and seen in movies, where the woman walks to the kitchen and is welcomed by a sweet aroma in the air, and then she finds the man preparing a very delicious breakfast.

Silly thoughts again.

I scold myself for thinking like that. My silly thoughts are proven wrong. Gavin is not in the kitchen, and neither is he in any other place in the house.

Is it strange that I feel disappointed he's not here?

I shouldn't. Gavin is a busy man. As he'd said last night was one of those days when he would decide to disguise himself and act normal. From the tone I was getting, that doesn't happen regularly.

There must be some shots of tequila still lingering in my head for me to have such silly, crazy thoughts.

Or wishful thoughts.

I'm still confused about the phone as I walk back to my room. I think about unlocking it to try and call someone, but it absolutely feels like a breach of privacy. Since I'm going for an interview at one of his companies, I decide to use the opportunity to find a way to make the phone reach him.

I've already wasted minutes, and if I keep on drowning in thoughts, I'll end up being late for the interview. After taking painkillers, I jump into the shower. As the warm water hits my body the events of the previous night replay in my head.

Not that having Gavin Morgan in my house wasn't a big deal, it just seemed too good to be true that I was having a hard time believing it.

I blush in the water when I recall how I’d asked him to fuck me. What was I thinking?

I want to put the full blame on the alcohol, but again, who would resist such a hot guy.

I also thought it would make me feel better, but it didn't, it just reminded me of Ernest and Laila's betrayal.

Gavin saw me cry.

He saw me in a very vulnerable state.

I take in deep breaths shutting my eyes.

I should get over myself. That was a one time thing. I shouldn't be having delusional thoughts.

He's a billionaire. He must have had so many women in his bed. There's no way he's still hang up on me. I'm just a common person. A stranger he met at the club.

In fact there's a high chance, he'll forget the events of last night like it never happened. That must not have been a big deal to him, right?

After hitting myself with thoughts of a harsh reality, I finally get out of the shower to get myself ready.

I do a very light l makeup and tie my hair into a ponytail.

I find an official blue dress with length slightly above the knee and match it with a black pair of heels.

Just something simple for the interview.

Before I leave, I call to check on my mother.

She's happy to hear from me. The first question she asks is the one I was dreading.

“How was your date?”

Even though the wound is still fresh, I'd promised myself not to cry again.

Still, my mum seems largely excited and I don't want to rain on her parade. Not when she's being discharged this evening. I wouldn't want to risk sending her back to the hospital bed.

“It was good.” I lie, hoping she doesn't realize.

“Good? That's all? I was hoping for something eventful…Something big…Something like a proposal.”

I'm doomed!

Totally doomed!

I can't believe those are the kind of thoughts mother has about Ernest. It breaks my heart even more. Though to be fair, mother has always held him with high standards and I guess it's because he saw me happy with him. He didn't just fool me. My mother is caught up in this too.

Breaking the news will be hard.

The more I stay in this call the worse it feels.

“I'll talk to you later, mum. I have an interview to catch,” I divert the topic.

“Okay, honey. Make sure you do. I need all the details.”

I shake my head and say, “I will.”

“Wish me luck.” I add.

“Of course. I know you've got this. You're my daughter.”

“Thanks mum.”

I hang up and prepare to leave.

I would send a text to the ‘best friends’ chat group, but the conversation would take forever. I haven't told anyone else about last night, and I'm not sure what's going on with Laila. Problem for another time.

I pick the important stuff, not forgetting Gavin's phone, and I rush out.

When I open the door, I almost jump out of my skin when I find a strange, intimidating beefy man in a black suit, standing at the door.

No, this is not normal. My heartbeats heighten as the worst possibilities swirl in my brain. It's not everyday you find a strange man standing at your door.

My first instinct is to quickly get back to the house and call for help.