Chapter 2
844 Words
I didn’t leave my apartment the next day.
I couldn’t.
The internet had done what it always does—turned a blurry, stolen moment into a full-blown spectacle. And I was its newest joke.
“Storm Corp secretary sleeps her way up.”
“From receptionist to mistress in one night—Serena Anthony caught in scandal with billionaire boss.”
There was even a meme now. My face, mid-laugh in one of the photos, with the caption:
>>> “When you skip the promotion and go straight to the penthouse.”
I threw my phone across the room. It flung against the wall and landed screen-down, still buzzing.
I curled up on the couch, hugging my knees, and thought about what to do.
What had I done?
What hadn’t I done?
The phone kept vibrating. Text after text. Ping after ping. I didn’t check them. I already knew what they said.
I didn’t cry until the news broke.
A headline, bold and brutal:
> **“Storm Corp Stock Drops 12% Overnight Amid s*x Scandal Allegations”**
I stared at it, numb. The article mentioned my name. Saying “Compromised Corporate Professionalism” and “Cast doubt on Storm’s leadership integrity.” It said it was an abuse of power.
Some said I seduced him.
Others said he used me.
Either way, I was the face of a corporate disaster.
The next headline made it worse.
>>>“Major Stakeholders Pull Out of Storm Corp Amid Ongoing Controversy”
I read it three times just to feel the sting.
Me. A receptionist. I had become a financial liability.
A walking nightmare.
The crying came hard after that. Ugly sobs. The kind that shook my chest and left my face soaked and blotchy. I pressed a pillow to my mouth just to muffle the sounds. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
I didn’t even notice when my doorbell rang.
Three times.
I opened it wearing pajamas, eyes swollen, hair a mess.
It was none other than Ashley, looking smug in her grey pantsuit..
She strolled in like she owned the place, fake concern painted on her face.
“You look awful,” she said, dropping her purse on my table.
“Good to see you too,” I muttered, turning away. I didn’t want her sympathy. Especially not now.
“I saw everything,” she said, tapping through her phone. “People are going insane. You’re all over the internet...”
“Thanks for the update,” I said coldly.
She gave me a look. “Okay, don’t bite my head off. I’m just saying… this is kind of a mess.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”
She tilted her head. “You think people care what you did or didn’t ask for? You slept with the CEO, Serena. In his penthouse. Someone filmed it. You let your guard down. What did you think would happen?”
I spun to face her. “You think I planned this? You think I wanted this?”
Her eyes flickered. “Didn’t you?”
The slap echoed through the room before I realized I’d moved.
Her cheek went red. Her mouth opened in shock, but I didn’t care.
“You drugged me,” I said, voice trembling.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t spike that drink. You wanted me to make a fool of myself.”
She looked away.
“That’s what this was, right? Ruin the quiet sister. Make her the scandal.”
Ashley didn’t answer. Just grabbed her purse and left, slamming the door behind her.
I collapsed onto the floor, fresh tears spilling. My sister. My own blood.
Had she hated me that much?
I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the headlines. The comments. The people laughing behind screens. Some men messaged me things I couldn’t even repeat. Others wanted to know if I am available now that I am “Storm’s girl.”
By morning, HR had sent me a formal letter:
>>>”You are placed on indefinite leave pending investigation into conduct unbecoming of a Storm Corp employee.”
I was suspended. Possibly fired. Blacklisted.
By noon, reporters were outside the building. I watched from my window as a man with a camera called out my name, offering money for an exclusive interview.
I shut the blinds.
Another text buzzed through.
Jordan hart: ”Let's talk, it’s urgent”
I didn’t reply.
What would I even say?
‘How are you, Jordan? I hope losing millions of dollars over a stupid, drunk mistake hasn’t ruined your week.’
Except it wasn’t just his week.
It was my whole life.
My reputation was dirt. My job—gone. My sister—traitor. My dignity—shredded across the internet for strangers to comment on.
And the worst part?
Some dark, twisted part of me still remembered how his hands felt on my skin, the way he kissed me and held me.
How safe I felt in that moment.
I hated myself for it.
- Writer
