Page 95 of Filthy Rich Temptation
I can never get enough of making Sadie come.
Having her cry out my name is like being trusted with something rare, something holy – the way she lets go with me, the way she lets herself feel.
Especially when I compare it to the haunted look on her face just minutes ago…
‘That’s better,’ I say, wrapping my arm around her and drawing her into my side.
‘Better?’
‘You looked so serious when I came out, I was worried you were…’ I don’t need to say it for her to understand – I thought she was thinking about him.
‘No, not at all. I was working.’
She’s been working a lot, I’ve noticed. On her phone, on her laptop – every spare moment, she’s checking something. I figured it was a habit. Always needing to be plugged it. And yeah, I get that. This is me, after all. But we’re supposed to be taking a break.
‘What about being on holiday?’
‘This kind of work doesn’t really sleep.’
I frown, something in the way she says it making me sit up and take notice. ‘What kind of work?’
She bites her lip and my neck prickles.
‘Sadie?’
She glances at her laptop, now asleep, and swipes a finger across the trackpad. ‘This.’
I glance at the screen as it lights up, and my eyes widen. She’s on a forum about domestic abuse. Stories. Resources. Comments. Support threads. Danny’s still haunting her – even now, even here. My gut rolls.
‘You’re reaching out for help…’
‘No.’ Her voice is steady. ‘I’m giving it. This is my site, Theo. All of it. No one knows it’s me. It’s been my secret… until now.’
Something within me unravels, a light turning on somewhere deep. ‘You went from vlogging about cosmetics to blogging about abuse?’
‘In a nutshell, yeah.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
She gives a soft, shaky breath. ‘I don’t know. I was so used to keeping it secret in the early days for obvious reasons. And then, even after I got away, I still couldn’t shake the shame. Or the blame. I carried it around like a shadow. Hiding behind a screen let me be honest in a way I couldn’t be out loud.’
It guts me to hear her talk like that: the shame, the blame. Even with those feelings behind her, I can’t stop thinking about the scars they’ve left behind. And I hate that I can’t take them from her. Can’t erase them. Can’t make her whole without them.
But then… she wouldn’t have created this.
I scroll through the site – post after post, pages of thoughtful resources, personal essays, guides, interviews. The comment sections full of gratitude, of people saying,This helped me, I thought I was alone, you gave me hope.
‘Sadie… this is huge.’
She nods slowly. ‘Bigger than I ever imagined.’
I turn to look at her, and it’s like seeing her all over again. The strength. The heart. The quiet determination to take something that broke her and use it to build something that might save someone else.
‘You are incredible.’
She gives a breathy laugh. ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘To come out of all you’ve been through and give back like this?’ I shake my head, full of something way deeper than pure admiration. ‘You don’t even see it, do you? You didn’t just survive – you’re changing lives.’
