Desired by the Billionaire Playboy

Emily's pov

"Perfect," I smiled to myself after lighting the scented candle and backing away to admire my work. A romantic steak dinner with wine and rose flower petals scattered on a fresh floral tablecloth. Tonight was my fifth wedding anniversary to Brad Winchester, the love of my life. He already gave me a heads up that we wouldn't be able to go to a restaurant this time, he lost a big project recently, and his agency took a hit.

I didn't want to be selfish. For the first two years of our marriage, he forgot our anniversary. For the third, he bought me gas station flowers and convenience store chocolates. Then last year, he took me to a two-star restaurant. The food honestly tasted like rat piss, but I smiled through it all. He was just going through a tough time, and as his wife, I was supposed to support him, so tonight I made this surprise dinner that I'd been planning for weeks.

Now that I was done, I took off my apron and wiped my hands clean of any residue of cooking before rushing to our bedroom. I threw the door open, and what I saw made my smile shrink instantly.

He was already fully dressed in a suit and was just struggling with his tie.

I held the door for support.

"Honey?" I called out loud enough for him to hear, but he barely acknowledged it. Maybe I wasn't loud enough.

"Honey?!" I said, increasing my voice and even stepping closer. He sighed heavily like a weight had been thrust on his shoulders.

"What now, Emily? Can't you see I'm busy?"

I gulped.

"Are you heading out?" I asked, hoping that he'd say no. After the first two years of forgotten anniversaries, I made sure that I plastered reminders everywhere on the fridge, in his folders and his lunchbox for work. I would even call his Secretary and tell her not to place anything on that day that would lead to him working overtime.

There was no stone left unturned to make sure he remembered what today was, yet he looked at me irritatedly and groaned out, "There's an emergency at the office, I'm heading out."

As he was about to walk past me, I held him back by his arm.

"Can't somebody else handle it?" I asked, my voice cracking. I didn't demand his attention on any other day of the year. He was always working late nights, and when he came back home, he would already be exhausted and pass out in a second. All I asked was for one day out of more than a thousand for my husband to come back home at night and just choose me.

He shrugged off my hand like I was infectious.

"Does everything have to always be about you, Emily?"

The air fell silent.

His callous remark hit me like a slap on the face, and I nearly staggered backwards. He hardly noticed and kept marching forward. He wanted a glass of water since he gets thirsty often, and I was behind him when he noticed the dinner laid out. He was transfixed to the spot until I walked past him, noticing a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

"You made all of this?" He said, disbelief echoing through his tone.

"Yes," I admitted, feeling embarrassed for some reason. "After you told me that there wouldn't be enough money for us to go out, I thought I'd surprise you with this."

He didn't say anything, he just stared at the table for so long, watching the candles turn to wax. I thought this would continue as a beautiful memory. That he'd look at me and say there was nothing more important than our anniversary. And that we'd sit together and have a beautiful romantic dinner, and afterwards

But this beep from his pocket shattered my moment. He dug out his phone, and after his eyes scrolled through, they hardened again like those of an angry bird.

"Sorry... Em... but they really need me at the office right now..." His eyes slid across the table, "Now I feel awful. Why would you do all of this without telling me?"

My legs became wobbly and I started to sweat. He was the one who was abandoning me on the night of our wedding anniversary, and yet I was the bad guy for making a surprise. This was a routine for us, a painful one on my side. I would tell Brad what was bothering me, and before I knew it, it was my fault somehow.

Tears began to well up in my eyes, and he rolled his eyes with annoyance.

"This is something I just can't stand about you. I'm trying to have a normal conversation, and then you start crying out of the blue. What's wrong with you?" His voice shot up, as if yelling at me was supposed to make it better.

I tried to speak, but my words were choked and drowned by the tears. I knew if I said a word, just a single word, the tears I've been holding back would find their way down my cheeks.

"Just put them in the fridge," he added, heading towards the door. "If I'm able to come back tonight, we'll heat up and eat. It's not a big deal."

With my mouth wide open, he was gone, and the food I had been craving looked terrible in my eyes. I lost my appetite and I didn't feel like eating the steak or even anything at that moment. I packed it up to put in the fridge. Then, I remembered the look on his face. There was no gratitude for the hours of painstaking efforts I put into making us this dinner; only a brief second of guilt before turning it around and blaming me. I trashed the steak, feeling my guilt for wasting food, but in too much anger to properly care.

I watched the light of the candlestick slowly die away.

Just like the spark in my marriage.

Then I trudged to where my phone was lying, trying to take my mind off the whole thing. A text swooshed in. It was from my best friend, Wendy Reeds.

I called her back, and she immediately knew something was up because I was more of a texter than a caller. I tried to keep it to myself, but ended up spilling everything.

"Okay, girl, I've got two things to say to you: One, a black dress, and two, Blue Haven hotel bar."

Emily's pov

On a normal day, I would not have accepted my best friend's offer. I had never really been a party animal and became even more reserved after getting hitched. But tonight was not just about my anniversary.

Grandma was dying.

She was bedbound, and the doctors said they were doing everything they could to treat her, but on every visit, I could see the light dimming in her eyes in real time; my heart cracked each time. I had hoped that this dinner would distract me, and he would be here for me, only to be abandoned yet again.

I obeyed the caller's instructions like my life depended on it. I arrived at the hotel, and Wendy caught me in the lobby, hooking her arm into mine.

"I'm so glad you came, girl and–"

She looked down disapprovingly at my wedding ring. It reminded me of the first time she saw it. She laughed and said, "All right! All right, I fell for your prank, now where is the real ring?"

It took a lot for my self-esteem to recover from that one, and I don't think I've really healed from that.

"Doesn't that ring ever get too tight for your finger?" She said, hooking her arm with mine and leading me towards the elevator. Once again, I was reminded why I didn't spend much time with Wendy anymore. Yes, my marriage wasn't perfect, but she wasn't helping by constantly poking holes into it. And she was single too, so maybe she was just insecure that I had a man and she didn't.

Yeah, maybe that's it.

"Wendy, the ring has always been too small. I told you that Brad accidentally got something that was a size smaller than my finger."

She nodded, "Yeah, 'accidentally',"

I frowned. "Wendy, if you're just going to badmouth my husband all night, why don't I just leave? You have other friends to hang out with, so you should be fine."

"No! Please stay," she clutched my hand. "Fine, I won't talk about your husband at all, happy?"

"But on one condition? She added."

"Which is?" I asked with an accusatory stare.

She stopped walking.

"Don't talk about him either," she warned. "I love you, Em... I really do... But sometimes I find it hard to invite you to anything, not just because you always say no, but you never fail to ruin the vibe by talking about that man."

"Me?" I asked, sincerely flabbergasted.

She nodded. "That's true, you always tell us about how your man could treat you better... How he did this and that to you, and then we console, only for you to go right back to him. Don't you think that makes us look stupid?"

We started moving again until we were in front of the elevator. She pressed the button while I was still stewing with my thoughts, thinking of how to defend myself.

"Nobody's perfect, Wendy. We've also had some falling out. But we patch it up later, right?"

She shrugged, "I guess we do; you're right, no relationship is perfect. But some things are just simply unacceptable. If he makes you complain and whine all the time, then it's not a happy relationship with a couple of bumps, but rather, a rocky one with a few rest stops."

My heart began to beat in my stomach as if it had changed position. However, I still kept my cool.

I was about to say something to defend my husband yet again; that was when the elevator doors separated, unveiling something that made my jaw drop in an instant.

My husband, Brad and my younger sister Becky, their bodies molded together and their lips glued so deeply that they were exchanging saliva. I stood without moving. It was like watching a horror movie I couldn't turn off. They were so engrossed with making out that they didn't even notice my existence.

It was when Brad's fingers started gathering the hem of her dress that I could take no more, and I screamed.

"Brad!"

He tore his face away from Becky. What came from his mouth wasn't an apology. Instead, he looked at me like I was the gum stuck under his shoe and asked, "Did you follow me here?"

l was stunned, and it was clearly written on my face. I froze as if I had been glued to that spot, and I watched the elevator close up. Everything was in slow motion, and my ears rang with high-pitched sounds.

Just then, there was a text on my phone. It read, "It's not what you think, I'll explain everything to you later, but just go home now."

My legs buckled, and if it wasn't for my best friend holding on to me, I would have collapsed on the floor.

I read the text over and over again, my eyes glued to my screen.

Tears began to form in my eyes and roll down generously. People who passed by had different variations of looks, from concerned to irritated. Most, if not all, were probably wondering why a full-grown woman was bawling her eyes out like a toddler. Wendy was tenderly stroking my back as she pronounced every curse under the sun at Brad.

By the time I was back on my feet, at least literally, I felt so embarrassed for myself. Breaking down like that in public, where other people could see me.

How humiliating!

I looked at the text again and wondered if I was in some nightmare that didn't want to end.

As if to torment me more, the scene of Brad kissing Becky flashed back in. When they broke off the case, she looked at me; she hadn't said anything, but she had this satisfied smirk on her face.

As for me, I was trying to grapple with reality.

All these years, I had poured everything into this man; my blood, sweat and tears. I gave them to him, and what did I get in return? Crumbs of affection!

I never saw a problem with him. Growing up, my parents always told me in a million ways and one that my younger sister, Becky, was the center of the universe, and I just had to deal with it.

Emily's pov

Becky was truly the golden child.

I'd get straight A's, but that was 'expected.' Becky would manage to avoid straight 'F's, and my parents would shake the house down to its foundation, congratulating her like she just solved world hunger.

After I left that house, I thought I'd left all that behind.

But nope!

It wasn't bad enough that she already had everything; she had to take the little I had as well.

"I want to go back home," I told Wendy quietly. I thought she'd argue and nag, but she agreed easily. When we passed the sliding doors of the hotel, I was still thinking of Brad; he had never once kissed me like that, leaning in with his whole body while he craved with need.

That was my wake-up call.

I held Wendy tighter.

"You know what?" I said, a rush of determination entering me, "Fuck Brad, the night is young and I deserve to have fun. Who cares about him?"

Wendy looked at me worriedly at first, then squeezed my hand with support, smiling back in approval.

We went to the hotel bar just like we had been planning at first. My heart was pounding with every step, expecting to catch Brad and Becky again from the corner of my eye.

To think that he still went ahead with his plans for her tonight propelled me forward.

That night, for the first time in years, I got lit, chugging bottle after bottle until I was wasted. My mind was so blurred with the alcohol that I could hardly process the ache in my heart. The most romantic thing that Brad had ever done for me was taking me to that two-star restaurant that ended up closing down a few days later because of how poor their service was.

Yet, he brought my sister to this lovely hotel that reeked of luxury and opulence. I guess all the money troubles that he was having in his business were yet another lie meant to deceive me.

I pressed another glass to my lips again, remembering that damn kiss.

Then I got up to dance.

With a pull that felt stronger than gravity, I found myself shifting closer to a man on the dancefloor, each clumsy step wobbling me closer to him until I collapsed in his arms. I know it was wrong, but for some reason, it felt so right. I looked up at him, sparks flew, and then, we kissed.

••••••••

I woke up the next morning on the floor of my best friend's apartment, spread out next to the coffee table in the living room. She was snoring on her couch when I woke her up, both of us groggy and stumbling over each other, trying to find the hangover pills. After that, a shower and a strong cup of coffee, I could feel some semblance of life flowing back to us.

I spent the entire morning with my best friend just chatting and pretending like my whole life had not collapsed.

It was nice, the escape from reality, but those stolen moments ended after I got a text from Brad.

I looked at the text and then at Wendy.

"He asked me when I'm coming home," I said, my voice breaking into a strange laugh as I put my phone and the coffee mug aside. "He asked when I'm coming home, Wendy! What home? The audacity of this man!"

That was no longer my home. In fact, I don't think it has ever really been my home. I just deluded myself into believing it. I felt like such an idiot for not realizing it, the smell of women's perfume he always had on him, working overtime even though there was never enough money to show it, getting irritated over every little thing.

It was screaming affair in every way, but I chose to turn a blind eye to it.

I especially didn't want to believe that of all the women he chose to be with, it had to be my sister.

There was no way to salvage this.

"I'm going to see him, Wendy," I said, covering my face, and I could already guess that she was worried even without saying her expression. "Don't worry, nothing he says will make me get back with him, but I just need to know why he did it. Maybe I'll get closure, maybe not... Then we'll talk about the divorce."

I broke down again, and Wendy hugged me.

Half an hour later, I was dressed in her clothes and parked in front of the house I'd soon have to split.

"Do you need me to come in there with you?"

I chuckled, grateful for my friend's support.

"Thanks, but I have a feeling that there won't be much talking if you come along with me."

Her shoulders slumped, unable to deny it.

"All right, I'll be waiting here. Don't listen to anything he says, no matter what. This is his fault. He ruined your marriage, okay?"

I nodded, stepping out of the car and taking reluctant steps until I was inside the house.

Brad was waiting.

But he wasn't alone.

Next to him, pressed to his side like a kitten, was my younger sister Becky. She saw me and gasped dramatically.

"Emily, you look like a ghost." I could always trust my younger sister for a compliment, but right now was not the time to deal with her. Still standing, I looked at Brad.

"I came to discuss with you, not your mistress."

Brad's face clenched with anger.

"How can you call your sister something so vile?"

I almost broke into that odd laughter again, my entire face twitched, and this indescribable urge to clinch my face and swing it at either one of their faces overwhelmed me.

He still had the audacity to get angry, to fume at me for being just fully upset after they both betrayed me. Wasn't he worried that he had shattered my heart? He was still concerned about how I addressed my sister. I thought I was going to throw up. This was beyond sickening.

If there was any hesitation before, it's immediately dissolved as I said; "Brad, I want a divorce."