Chapter 17 Bailey
Bailey
Ican’t sleep.
I hate that I’ve been lying here for hours, staring at my ceiling and replaying Daniel’s words on an endless loop.
You’ve become a liability.
That’s the cruelest thing anyone has ever said to me, but what hurts me more is how easily they came out. He probably felt that way from the beginning and finally just had the opportunity to say what he really felt.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, and I pick it up against my better judgment.
Of course, it’s the usual again. This time, my face is next to Daniel’s in a blurry shot of him holding me after the incident with the reporter. We look serious, like the celebrity couple of the year, avoiding paparazzi, but the commenters see the opposite.
Why is the gold digger of the year in that horrendous shirt? Dress the part, bitch! Rootin’ for u.
Imagine being this desperate for a rich man’s attention.
Cassidy is prettier IMO.
I scroll through dozens of them. Each one is worse than the last. One even went so far as to make a compilation video of all my “desperate” moments, including when I reached for Daniel’s hand at the gala, laughed at something he said, and then looked at him as if he had hung the moon.
The caption reads, When you’re trying too hard to lock down a billionaire.
I delete Twitter, then Instagram, followed by every app that could show me my own face.
However, I’m unable to delete the hundreds of emails from strangers flooding my inbox.
You’re so pathetic. Homewreckers like you don’t deserve to be happy.
He is going to dump you the second this blows over.
I’m a huge fan. Breaking up my first couple this week, wish me luck.
Have some shame.
I hope you know that you’re nothing but a pretty distraction.
I’m deleting them one by one when my phone rings. Trevor’s name flashes across the screen. For a second, I consider not answering. But ignoring Trevor only makes him more persistent.
“Hey,” I answer in my most cheerful tone.
“Oh, look, they do answer calls.” He sounds upset, but it’s just in the usual annoying big brother way.
Right. He isn’t on any social media.
“Hi, Trevor.”
“Hmm,” I hear him moving around, probably getting ready for his shift. “You sound weird. You okay?”
“Fine, just a bit tired.”
“That has never stopped you from being rude.” He stops moving. “Bay, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Work has been busy.”
“Is it about Daniel?”
My throat tightens. “No.”
“Good, because I’m still not ready to talk about it.”
“That makes two of us.”
Silence. Then a sigh. “Okay. But I’m coming to town this weekend and we’re having dinner.”
Despite everything, I smile slightly. “Deal.”
“And Bay? If anything is bothering you … If he is mistreating you, I don’t care how long I’ve known him. I’ll kill him.”
“Noted.”
We hang up, and I stare blankly at my phone. I’m so starved for care I barely recognize the feeling anymore, and the worst part is I can’t even open up to the one person who has been my safest place the longest.
***
I’m halfway through my eyeliner when my phone buzzes again. I almost ignore it, but Gretchen’s name flashes in my peripheral vision, stopping my hand mid-stroke.
GRETCHEN: Have you seen this?
There’s a link beneath it.
A slow, uneasy thrum starts in my chest as I tap it open. My paper girl animation reel fills the screen, and for a split second, I’m convinced I’m seeing it wrong; that nobody had recorded my laptop’s screen on their phone and made a viral YouTube video out of it.
The comments are vicious.
This is what she does instead of actual work?
No wonder Williams’s company is failing. He’s too busy fucking the help to notice she’s useless.
Cute hobby.
Something hot and cold at the same time washes through my body, like shame and fear are fighting over who gets to suffocate me first. My stomach bottoms out so fast I grip the sink to brace myself as I dial Gretchen.
“I know,” she says immediately. “I saw it twenty minutes ago. Bay, this is bad.”
“Who would do this?” My voice cracks. “Who hates me enough to—”
“I don’t know, but you need to report it.”
“It is already out there. Ten thousand people have already seen it. They hate it, Gretchen. It’s not good enough.” I’m crying now. “I’m a failure.”
“Fuck them.” Gretchen’s voice is fierce. “Fuck every single person who thinks they get to judge you. You’re brilliant, Bay. Don’t let them take that from you.”
But they already have. Gretchen doesn’t get it. They’ve already dug their nails in, and I can feel them pulling pieces of me away.
Because somewhere deep down, a terrible fear curls itself around my ribs:
What if they’re right?
***
I arrive at the office early, hoping to avoid people.
It doesn’t work.
The moment I step off the elevator, conversations stop. People glance at me, then quickly look away. Someone’s computer screen goes dark as I pass.
I keep my head high and my spine straight, pretending I don’t notice.
At my desk, I bury myself in work even though there is nothing to do. I reorganize my pens by height, rename my folders, and spend most of the day scribbling my signature repeatedly.
When that gets old, I unlock my phone and start scrolling mindlessly. Somehow, I end up on my period tracker. A little red notification is blinking at the top, “Cycle overdue: 14 days.”
Below it, the calendar shows last month completely blank except for a greyed-out circle where a period should have been.
I frown. That can’t be right.
I refresh the app, but the result remains the same.
I frown, scroll, scroll again.
Did I forget to log last month’s period?
Well, with everything that is happening, I wouldn’t blame myself. I push away from my desk and go in search of coffee, but the first sip hits my stomach like acid. I barely make it to the bathroom before I’m on my knees, retching.
I’m still wiping my mouth at the sink when the door swings open and footsteps click in. Two women, oblivious to my presence, enter the first two stalls, chatting loudly.
“Do you think they did it in the office?”
“Hell, yes. She was his office whore, sucking his dick all day long. Bet he couldn’t even take her home. Maybe they met at hotels outside work.”
“I know, right? Ugh, I’m so embarrassed on her behalf. Women shouldn’t have to go through all that, you know? Do you think we should invite her to empower her this Friday?”
“Hell, no. I’d actually gag if I had to stand next to that walking embarrassment.”
My throat tightens. I slip out quietly, not waiting to hear anything else. Daniel’s office door has been closed all morning. I scoff. What am I expecting, a hug?
By lunch, I can’t take my restlessness anymore.
I grab my phone and head for the stairwell. Nobody ever comes there, so I’m assured of privacy. I shouldn’t look. By God, I know I shouldn’t, but curiosity claws at me anyway, and before I stop myself, I create a burner Twitter account.
I’m trending. Number seven worldwide.
#Williamswhore
I click it against my better judgment.
There are thousands of tweets dissecting my worth as a human being, reduced to whether or not I’m pretty enough to justify Daniel’s “lapse in judgment.”
My hands shake as I scroll.
The hate comments blur together, and my stomach turns violently.
I’m going to be sick.
I shove my phone in my pocket and press my forehead to my knees, breathing hard.
I feel the sweat creep up over me and wonder if I’m about to pass out. This is what it’s like when the world decides you’re worthless.
My phone rings. Gretchen again.
“I’m fine,” I answer before she can ask.
“You’re not fine. Come home. Please.”
“I can’t. I have work—”
“Fuck work! Bay, please.”
“I’m not a baby, Gretchen. Just let me be.”
I hang up before she can argue.
By five, most people have left.
I’m packing up my things when I sense someone in my doorway.
I look up to see Daniel hovering over me. He looks terrible, his tie loosened, his hair a mess, as if he has dragged his hands through it a hundred times. His eyes flick to mine and away again.
“I saw the video,” he says quietly. “I’m finding out who leaked it.”
I don’t respond.
“Bailey—” He steps into my workspace. “You didn’t deserve any of this.”
“You made it clear what I am to you, remember?” I ask coldly.
His face crumples slightly. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” I stand, gathering my bag. “You meant every word. And honestly? You were right. This—” I gesture between us, “—was always going to end badly.”
“Bailey, please—”
“I have to go.”
I brush past him, not trusting myself to stay a second longer.
The elevator ride down feels endless. I keep my eyes forward, jaw clenched, holding everything in.
The doors open on the ground floor.
I make it to my car before the tears come. That night, I collapsed on my bed fully clothed.
Gretchen has texted seventeen times. Trevor called twice. Even my mom left a voicemail asking if the “rumors” are true.
I ignore all of them. Instead, I stare at my ceiling, palm flat on my stomach.
There’s a slow, rolling nausea flooding me. Gretchen blames stress, and maybe she’s right, but this doesn’t feel like my usual brand of falling apart.
My chest feels weirdly tight, my appetite vanished, and I gagged while brushing my teeth earlier.
I close my eyes and whisper into the dark, “I’m just tired.”
But this doesn’t feel like normal exhaustion.