The Girl He Called Desperate

The text from Andrew lit up my phone screen, and my heart jumped.

I' d spent years as his "friend," his late-night call, secretly hoping this was finally our moment.

He asked me to wear "that coyote ugly thing" he liked, denim shorts and boots, for a night at his downtown condo.

I drove there, heart pounding, ready to be "seen" by him.

But the door swung open to a jeering crowd of his friends, and next to him, recording, was Gabrielle Ross.

Andrew smirked, "Look what the cat dragged in," then claimed I'd "gotten the wrong idea," calling me desperate.

Gabrielle laughed, narrating for her phone, "When the crazy side-chick won' t take a hint."

He tossed a cheap sex toy at my feet, declaring, "Because I' m with Gabrielle now. We' re done."

The video went viral, my reputation crumbled, and my freelance design business vanished overnight.

With no way to pay my father's mounting medical bills, I was desperate.

An agency offered a mere $250,000 for five years of my life, a pittance but my only choice.

Then the call came: my father was critically ill and transferred to Andrew' s hospital.

I found Andrew and begged him to help, seeing a flicker of the promising doctor he once was.

But during my father' s emergency intubation, Andrew abandoned him to console Gabrielle, leaving a junior resident fumbling.

My father died.

Later, Andrew held Gabrielle in the hospital chapel, and she sneered, saying my father probably gave up "knowing what a slut his daughter is."

Rage consumed me.

I lunged at her, and Andrew violently shoved me away, caring only for Gabrielle.

My father' s ashes, the last physical piece of him, were later spilled and shattered by Gabrielle.

I was broken, humiliated, and utterly alone, a monument to Andrew' s callous disregard.

But then, my phone rang and a smooth voice announced, "Your patron has arrived. Mr. Blakely is ready to begin your contract."

Little did Andrew know, my "patron" was about to help me rise from the ashes.