Page 607 of Filthy Elites

I hoped to reason with Mom but failed. That’s why I’ve taken matters into my own hands.

Besides, apart from going to college, I want to be in L.A. to support my father when he gets out of prison.

He’ll have to start over, and even though he’ll have a place to work, nothing will ever be the same again because the world knows what he did.

Dad stole millions to buy drugs and gambled the rest away in high-stakes poker games.

The court seized everything he owned in an attempt to repay some of the people he stole from. Because he was reckless, his assets also included my trust fund and everything my grandfather left me. That’s why I have nothing.

He’s the devil to those he hurt, but I’m his daughter. So, I’m bound by some duty to help him.

If I don’t go back, he won’t have anyone there who still loves him.

Now that I’ve decided I’m leaving, what worries me is doing this actual job.

God, who would have thought the daughter of a former billionaire and an A-List Hollywood starlet, would have to sink so low as to sell her body.

Given my past and the way my innocence was stolen from me, I should feel dirty. I do. I’m just at the lowest level of desperate with no other way out.

I’ve thought of other ways to get the money I need but found none as effective and the more time I spend doing nothing the worse it will be for me.

The message from the agency is prompting me to activate my second-tier membership.

I got approval for the first-tier last month after my eighteenth birthday.

The application process was to send in a topless photo of myself, which I did. If the pictures got a certain amount of likes, they’d pay you and

take you on.

After ten thousand likes, my account got approved just before we moved from L.A. That was last week, and it gave me hope.

When three thousand dollars was deposited into my account just for a picture of my face and my tits, I pushed aside any reservations that would persuade me not to do it.

I’m not sleeping with anyone. I was clear about that from the start because they wanted me to.

All I would need to do is a month’s worth of videos, and I’d have the money to pay for my entire college tuition and enough to live on. I’d work too, so I’d be fine.

When I get to my car, I click the link in the message and start filling out the form.

“Nice car,” comes the deep baritone of my monster.

Startled, I jump and nearly drop my phone.

Chad steps out from behind the archway and smiles, revealing dimples that should come with a warning label because they make him look even more ridiculously gorgeous than he already is.

Why are all the villains always so fucking good-looking?

That’s all he is, though—handsome, beautiful even. The devil was beautiful.

This guy carries the same evil beauty that warns you to run away because if it’s too good to be true, it usually is.

“What do you want?” I try to keep my nerves out of my voice. It works to some extent, except guys like him who prey on the weak can always tell when you have to force bravery.

I’m not weak, but the situation with my father has left my mind fragile and vulnerable.

“I’m just wondering how it is I told you not to come back, yet here you are in your fancy car.” Raw menace is laced in his voice. As if he’s already stomped on me and victoriously ended my existence.

“I’m sorry for what my father did to your mother.” I hoped a simple heartfelt apology would be enough. Sometimes all a person wants is someone to say sorry. It seems like a long shot with this guy, but I thought I’d at least try.

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