Desired by the Billionaire Playboy

Emily's POV

I could hear my brain chorusing, "Ground open and swallow me up." as I stared at the screen.

On the screen were pictures and videos of me, dancing at the strip club party, wearing barely anything.

My heart dropped so fast I thought I might actually throw up. Was this real?

I looked at the name of the poster 'Braden .W. Junior' Brad really did do this.

He actually posted them on the internet. Gosh, it felt like I couldn't breathe.

"You see?" Mom hissed, shoving the phone in my face. "You're all over the internet. Disgusting."

"You're a disgrace. A disgrace to me, to our family and to everyone around you." She spat.

"Mom," I whispered, my throat aching. "You know the reason I-"

"Gosh," she cut me off harshly. "I can't believe I even gave birth to you."

My chest ached.

"You see," she went on, "this is the difference between you and Becky. Becky would never do such a thing."

Her words stung more than anything Brad could've done. I just stood there, staring at the screen, and at the disgusted look on her face.

Her eyes swept over me from head to toe like I was some kind of rotten fruit. Dad didn't say a word, he just glared at me with disgust. And then, without another word, the two of them stormed out, slamming the door behind them.

I dropped to the ground, my knees hitting the floor hard, but I didn't care. The tears came hysterically.

Wendy rushed to me, holding my shoulders.

"Hey, it's okay. Okay? Don't let what they say get to you."

"How am I supposed to, Wendy?" I choked out between sobs. "How am I going to erase this disgrace? You know why I did what I did!"

Wendy's eyes softened. "We know, Emily. I know. Even your parents know. Brad is just being evil. Don't let him get to you."

But I couldn't stop crying. The humiliation and betrayal was too much.

Yes, I had worked as a stripper. For a couple of weeks or so. But it wasn't because I wanted to. I was the one paying my way through school. I needed the money. My grandmother's health had started failing around that time, and everything was falling apart.

And Brad had begged me for money to start his stupid business. I helped him. I did that for him too, to raise some capital. He literally took 60% of the money I made from that. And now he had the guts to post this, to destroy me like this?

"Gosh... Brad is a monster," I whispered, wiping my face with the back of my trembling hand.

"Stop crying," Wendy said gently, pulling me up from the floor. She guided me toward the dining table and made me sit down. "I'll make you something to eat."

I watched her walk to the kitchen, the sound of drawers opening and the clinking of utensils filling the silence. I just sat there, feeling empty and devastated.

My hands clenched around the edge of the table as tears burned behind my eyes again.

A few minutes later, Wendy placed a plate of food in front of me. Steam rose from it, but I couldn't move.

"Stop crying, Emily," she said softly, sitting across from me. "Stop crying, okay? Fuck him. Don't let him get to you."

I lifted my gaze to her, her expression was filled with concern.

"He's done his worst," she continued. "He posted the stupid videos and pictures, fine. Let him. Relax, okay? Move on. Don't let him define you. You are strong and beautiful. And Brad..." she exhaled, shaking her head, "Brad will regret what he did to you."

....

It had been three weeks since that day and honestly, it's been hell.

I had been going from company to company, dropping applications, attending interviews, hoping someone would just give me a chance. But every single time, it ended the same way. Rejection.

Apparently, the video was everywhere. No matter where I went, people had seen it. They didn't see me as Emily anymore, they saw me as that girl. The stripper.

Each rejection hurt badly. They all said the same thing in different words, that I was "irresponsible," "not fit for the company's image," and that they couldn't have "someone like me" working for them.

Even some girls from college who were always jealous of me for my grades, joined in on the mockery. They laughed behind my back, sent me screenshots, whispered when I passed by. It was their turn to shine, finally having something to throw at me.

It was painful. So painful that, at one point, I didn't even want to step outside. I just wanted to hide.

But Wendy wouldn't let me. She told me hiding wouldn't take the videos down or change anything. That I had to face it, no matter how hard it was.

So, that's what I was trying to do.

I sat nervously in front of the manager at the latest company I'd applied to. It was a woman, probably in her forties. I passed the first interview. She had even told me to come back today for the final phase.

"I'm sorry, Miss," she said, avoiding my eyes. "We can't accept you for this job."

My heart sank. "But ma'am, why not? You looked at my CV, you said I had all the qualifications, and you even asked me to come back for the final stage. Why are you turning me down now?"

She sighed, finally meeting my gaze. "I'm sorry. That was before I figured out... about your video. I can't accept someone like you."

The words hit me with great force, I felt my head spin. I didn't even realize when a tear rolled down my cheek. I tried to blink it back, but it was useless.

"Miss, please," I said, my voice trembling. "I promise, that video and those pictures... They're from my past. My ex-husband put them out there to get revenge on me because I asked for a divorce. Please. I was in a really bad place. I needed money. That was the only reason I did it."

She just looked at me, her expression blank like I was talking rubbish.

"I promise I'm responsible," I continued, my words coming out too fast. "That's my past. I'm sorry, Miss, but please just give me a chance."

She sighed softly and shook her head. "I'm sorry. But we just can't. Look, my company means a lot to me. It's my source of income. And my workers need to be eloquent, responsible, and have a good name."

"I'm sorry," she repeated, avoiding my eyes. "I can't accept someone like you. Please leave. Let me attend to the next person."