Rhea POV
A word of advice to all social media users: never—ever—link your social accounts to your stupid gallery.
I deleted the video. Then, in a full panic spiral, I deleted my entire account too. But the damage was already done. All I could do now was pray the video wouldn't be traced back to me. Just to be safe, I wiped everything—Instagram, X, TikTok—gone.
I had deleted my entire account. But the damage? Oh, the damage was already done. The moment it was uploaded, I felt the world tilt beneath me. It was only a matter of time before someone connected the dots.
I prayed the video wouldn't be traced back to me. I even deleted every last one of my social media accounts. Poof—gone.
And when you make a mistake like I did? Never—I repeat, never—let your best friend find out. Because she'll make your life the joke of the year.
I lost it for almost an hour, pacing around, cursing myself, and finally stood up, determined to at least salvage the rest of the day. I shuffled my way to my room for the long-delayed bath. My body was sore in places I didn't know existed.
As I dragged myself up and limped toward my room for the long‑delayed bath. As expected, Lucy noticed my funny walk and immediately pounced.
"Well, well, look who can't walk straight!" she sang out. "I bet you're still feeling him with every step you take!"
She wasn't wrong… but I refused to give her the satisfaction. I ignored her entirely, went straight to my room, and slammed the door. Her laughter followed me through the walls.
Soaking in the bath was exactly what I needed. The warm water worked wonders on my muscles, my tense body finally starting to relax.
With my phone in hand, I started scrolling through the tabloids, bracing for disaster—ready to see my video plastered all over the internet.
But… nothing.
No mention of me. No video. Just one scandal splashed across every site: Amber's humiliating night.
The news was up for a whole five minutes before they took it down. But the memes? Oh, the memes were everywhere. One cartoon Amber, cheeks puffed up in embarrassment, farting while people around her covered their noses and her fiancé gave her a thumbs-up.
I stared at the screen, cringing. Good lord, I felt bad for her. Karma, I guess? Maybe she had it coming for trying to cheat with her fiancé's brother, but still… that had to hurt. But, hey, at least she wasn't getting dragged across the internet the way I was about to.
I sighed, leaning back into the water. Please, I silently prayed, please let the PR team of Mr. Cortez clean up my mess. He had the power to squash anything before it went viral. Right?
Right?
Right?!
Great. Now I was convincing myself. I just hoped my face wasn't visible in the video because, sure, the internet might forget eventually—but Mr. Cortez wouldn't.
He'd hunt me down. And when he did, I was dead.
So much for my big revenge plan. Fantastic work, Rhea. Truly brilliant.
After soaking in the bath for almost two hours (hey, don't judge me — anyone would fall asleep in the water after the kind of night I had), I finally dragged myself out. My skin was wrinkled and the bath had done its magic, but I was still exhausted.
So I dried off, threw on some underwear, a baggy shirt, and booty shorts, and dragged myself to the kitchen in search of something to eat. Lucy was lounging on the couch, typing away on her laptop like a woman possessed.
I made myself a couple of omelettes, threw one her way, and asked her what she was up to.
Apparently, she was inspired by my little adventure last night. How? Oh, she's writing a novel. The title? A Wild Night with the CEO.
I almost choked on my omelette. "Wait, what?" I blinked at her. She was writing a book based on my scandalous night? I didn't know whether to be flattered or horrified.
Before I could even gather my thoughts, there was a knock at the door.
My mind immediately jumped to panic mode. Oh no. Mr. Cortez's goons found me. I'm so screwed.
I shoved the omelette at Lucy and begged her, "You open it. I can't. I'm not ready to face whatever's waiting outside."
So, like the responsible adult she is, Lucy made her way to the door. But when she opened it, I peeked over her shoulder, half expecting to see some thugs or men in suits with grim expressions. Instead, it was… the landlord.
Great. Just great.
I ducked behind the couch, hiding like a coward, while Lucy worked her magic. She can sweet-talk her way out of anything, and I wasn't going to ruin that moment. If it had been me at the door, the guy would've eaten me alive. Seriously.
Lucy, with all the charm in the world, managed to get him to give us this month's rent, but next month? Double.
Now, that's what I call a miracle worker.
I let out a sigh of relief when the landlord finally left. That could've gone much worse.
I returned to the couch to see Lucy still typing away. Her fingers flew over the keys like a woman on fire. "Your book is... well, let's just say it's going to make the sex god blush," I said, eyeing the screen.
She shot me a cheeky grin. "You bet it will. People will love it."
I stared at her for a moment, then sighed. I really need a job. After everything that happened last night, the only thing I've really learned is that my life has spiraled from zero to full drama in the span of a single night. But hey, maybe it's time to figure my shit out and stop living in Lucy's wild, unpredictable world this is her version of living mine is more organized. At least long enough to find some stability.
"Alright," I muttered, shaking off my self-pity. "Time to stop pretending I'm not a hot mess. Let's go job-hunting, Rhea."