Chapter four

Rachel stood there, frozen, looking at me on the floor. Her eyes were swimming with tears.

"Bella," she said softly. "Come on. Let's get you up."

She reached down, helped pull me to my feet. My knee throbbed where it had hit the floor.

I wiped at my face with the back of my hand, smearing makeup everywhere. My chest heaved with sobs I couldn't control.

"Rachel," I choked out. "Where were you? At the club. You were supposed to be with me. Where the fuck were you when I disappeared?"

Her face crumpled.

"I... Bella, I'm so sorry. I was drunk too. We all were. One minute you were there, dancing with us, and the next... you were just gone. I thought maybe you went to the bathroom, so I waited. But you never came back, so I felt you left"

"How long?" My voice shook. "How long before you noticed?"

"I didn’t check time" She said looking down. "I should've been paying attention. We searched everywhere. Your phone went straight to voicemail. It was like you just... vanished."

"Marcus call woke me up," Rachel continued. "He was panicking. So we came searching ..."

"Something terrible did happen to me," I whispered.

I looked back at the hotel room door. It was closed now. Locked.

The bastard had just shut the door on me. On all of this. Got to walk away while my life burned.

"Let's go home," Rachel said gently, tugging my arm. "We'll figure this out."

The elevator ride was silent. We stepped into the lobby and everyone stared. At my bare foot. At my torn dress. At the way Rachel had to hold me up.

My bare foot slapped against the marble. Slap. Slap. Slap.

We were almost to the doors when someone gasped.

"Wait... is that... Bella?"

Mrs. Peterson. My mother's friend. Her hand covered her mouth, eyes huge with shock.

"Oh my God. Bella, aren't you getting married today?"

I couldn't speak. My throat had closed.

Her eyes traveled over me. Torn dress. Smeared makeup. Single shoe.

"I'm calling your mother!" she called after us as Rachel pulled me to the doors. "Patricia needs to know something is happening!"

We stumbled outside. Rachel guided me to her car.

"Rachel," I said suddenly. "How did you know to come here? How did Marcus know where to find me?"

Her face changed. Guilt flickered in her eyes.

"The tracker," she said quietly.

"What tracker?"

"The one Marcus put on your phone. After you got mugged last year. For safety. He checked it this morning when we couldn't find you. Your phone showed you were here."

We got to her car. I collapsed into the seat. My phone started buzzing continuously in my clutch.

"Don't look at it," Rachel said.

But I was already opening it. The screen was full of notifications. Texts. Calls. All of them vicious.

Mom: Marcus just called me. Tell me it's not true.

Mom: How could you do this to us?

Marcus's Mom: You are a disgrace.

Marcus's Sister: Slut.

On and on. Each one worse than the last.

Rachel pulled into my apartment complex. We walked up the stairs and I fumbled with my keys, hands shaking.

 Tried to open the door, and stopped dead, it was opened.

My parents were sitting on the couch.

My mother's face was red and blotchy. My father looked grey. Hollow.

They both looked up.

My mother stood slowly. Walked toward me.

And slapped me.

The crack echoed. My head snapped to the side.

"How could you?" Her voice shook. "The wedding is ruined. Do you know how much money we spent? How humiliated we are?"

"Mom, I didn't... something happened to me..."

"Don't." My father's voice cut through. Hard. Cold. "Don't make excuses. You made your choice."

"I didn't choose anything! I can't remember!"

"How convenient," my mother spat. "You're not our daughter anymore. Don't call us. Don't come to the house. You're dead to us."

"Mom..."

"Come on, Patricia." My father stood. They walked past me like I was invisible. The door slammed.

I stood there and felt surprised and shocked than I had been that day, my parents didn’t hear me out, they believed in the lies.

The next week was hell.

The story leaked everywhere. Social media exploded. Local blogs picked it up. Photos of me with vicious captions.

My phone wouldn't stop ringing with vile messages.

I deleted everything. Stayed in my apartment with curtains drawn.

Marcus's family called me names. My own family wouldn't speak to me. Friends blocked me.

Only Rachel stayed.

I went to the hotel for CCTV footage. Maybe it would show what happened. Proof I hadn't gone willingly.

But the files were corrupted. Technical malfunction. Nothing could be recovered.

I wanted to sue that bastard. But lawyers cost money I didn't have. My parents cut me off. My bank account was drying up.

I spent days on my couch, staring at nothing. Drowning.

Thursday afternoon, Rachel came over with that determined look.

"Things will get better," she said firmly. "I promise."

"How?" My voice was dead. "Everyone hates me. I have nothing."

My phone dinged. An email.

I almost ignored it. But Rachel made me open it.

Subject: Job Application - Executive Assistant Position

We are pleased to offer you the position of Executive Assistant to our CEO...

I read it three times.

"What?" Rachel leaned forward, after seeing the look on my face.

"I got the job," I whispered. "The one I applied for before... everything."

Rachel's face lit up. "That's amazing! This is a fresh start!"

I needed this. Desperately. Couldn't survive without money.

"When do you start?"

"Monday. Three days."

"Then we get you ready," Rachel said firmly.

 

The weekend blurred. Rachel helped me prepare. Made me shower. Pick out clothes. Practice being professional.

Sunday night, I didn't sleep. Lay staring at the ceiling, terrified.

Monday morning, Rachel showed up early. Watched me get ready. Grey blouse. Black skirt. Hair in a bun.

"You can do this," she said.

But all I felt was terror.

The drive felt like driving to my execution. The building was glass and steel. Imposing.

I parked. Sat for five minutes trying to breathe and finally forced myself inside.

"I'm Bella Morrison," I told the receptionist. "Starting today. Executive Assistant to the CEO."

"Oh wonderful! Let me call HR." She directed me to the fifteenth floor, I took the elevator and knocked on the HR’s door

A woman from HR appeared. Helen. Mid-forties, professional smile.

"Ms. Morrison? Welcome to Dreven Industries. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to meet the CEO."

She led me to another elevator. Up three floors. Down a hallway with plush carpet.

My heart pounded so hard in anxiety I thought I might pass out.

We stopped at a large door. Dark wood. Gold nameplate with a name I didn't bother reading due to my anxiety.

Helen knocked.

"Come in."

Helen pushed the door open and stepped inside.

I followed behind her.

The office was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Expensive furniture. A huge desk.

And behind that desk, a man stood up.

My eyes traveled up. Expensive suit. Broad shoulders. Then his face.

Him.

My bag slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.