Two weeks left to go until the go-live for Ethan’s prototype that will revolutionize pornography for the human race.

Yeah, sounds a bit over the top, doesn’t it, hun?

In fact, this entire situation seems like something you only find in a movie or the mind of a very mischievous romance novelist.

I mean, look at me? A porn star?

Sure, I used to be famous, if famous is the word. I mean, I used to be on DVD covers and on the Internet. My face used to be plastered on porn sites. Click on me and you’d see me sucking cock. Licking another girl’s pussy. Having a cock pounded into me.

Yeah, I like sex. I liked the role playing I used to do. Pretending to be the stepmom and getting paid for it. Dressing up as the stepdaughter and moaning ‘Daddy’ and calling that work. Driving my Mercedes. Having fancy clothes. Jewelry.

I liked sex. I still like sex.

And now, I have 24 hours. 24 hours to steal the one device that could make me a star again. 24 hours to take from the man I love his greatest accomplishment and give it to his sworn enemy.

Or else, the dark shadow from my past comes back to haunt me.

Right, I keep hinting at Robert, the ex-boyfriend, but you actually have no idea completely what I’m talking about yet, do you?

I know I kept telling you that I’d fill you in but I never have.

I’m sorry about that, hun. I really want to, because you deserve to know, since you’re the reader and all.

It’s just that it’s been so difficult to bring him up. I mean, I want to completely put that part of my life in a box and forget about it.

But, I guess if I can’t tell you, who can I tell?

Well, yeah I know, don’t roll your eyes. I could probably tell Ethan too.

I probably will need to, come to think about it. Because one way or another, I think I’m fucked.

So, let’s see …

What Simon is threatening to do to me is basically tell Robert McIntyre, my ex-boyfriend, who lives in Los Angeles, California where I’m currently at.

Robert McIntyre was the man I dated when I did porn back in the day. He was the ‘modeling agent’ who found me when I was working in an elementary school. He gave me his card and wined and dined me. He fucked me first and then slowly got me used to the idea of porn. First he had me do modeling shots that were sexier and racier. It started with bikinis and underwear. You know, the kind of stuff on Macy’s ads that you see in the newspaper.

Then it became a bit edgier. Topless shoots. Showing my tits.

Then he began getting money for those selling them to magazines. Soon, it was with a guy. And then we were both naked in the pictures. And then soon, we were fucking.

I saw the fancy cars, the clothes, the expensive watches, and the glamor and I fell for it.

I always did modeling on the side even while holding my day job, but eventually you know, you can’t do porn and teach elementary school kids at the same time.

So I quit my job when he convinced me to.

I mean, he wasn’t the cutest guy. But he was all I knew. I hadn’t dated very much till then and I had no idea what to expect from a man in a lot of ways. I wasn’t that experienced in sex like I am now.

But he wasn't the…nicest of men either, hun. He was mean at times.

By mean, I mean he had a temper.

There were plenty of times I applied makeup to cover up something that he did.

Plenty of times that I made excuses for a blemish or a bruise.

He always apologized afterwards, but I couldn't get out. Because any mention of me leaving that relationship would just drive him to get even more upset.

A part of me was scared, for sure. While he never hit me that hard or punched me or threw me down the stairs or anything, the anger and violence was there in his eyes. Plenty of times he punched a hole in the wall or broke something. He once ripped a pair of my panties in anger when I didn’t want to have sex. I don’t want to talk about how I maced him in the eyes immediately afterwards.

Macing him was actually at that stage where I was fighting back. But for over two years I took it.

But who knows, I probably would have stayed in that relationship fighting back longer if I had to, if I hadn't found out he was basically living a double life.

I only found out one day because I found two cell phones in his pocket. I had no idea he had two phones and when I asked him he was evasive.

Something about the whole situation put my mind on edge and two days later, I followed him when he left the house on what he told me was a business trip.

I tailed him all the way from the Hollywood Hills where I was living with him to Malibu. He stopped at a house. He had the keys to the place and spent the entire day and night there. I know, because I watched him from my car.

As I sat there, I researched the address on my phone. And I found out so much about Robert McIntyre that I had never known before.

Turns out he was married. Wife and one kid.

He apparently also had another job at KPMG as an accountant. He was representing me and sending me to do porn to fund what I don't know, but whatever it was, my fees were paying for a double life for him.

I hadn’t put up with a man that had a 5-inch cock for this. I didn't put up with a man with violent tendencies that occasionally slapped me when he got angry for this. Fuck, I didn't put up with a man that pimped me out at porn sets for this.

I could have been a real model. I could have done so much.

I rang the doorbell that night and she answered. I can’t even remember her name but I remember her eyes widened when she saw me.

“You have to leave!” she whispered to me.

“Are you his wife?” I asked. She nodded to me and closed the door.

“You don’t want to confront him, babe,” she told me. “You need to go now!”

But I couldn't just go. I couldn’t just leave her there if she was afraid.

But she shook her head.

“I’ve been married to him since high school,” she told me. “And I know who you are. I know all of his women. He doesn't care to hide them anymore from me. He thinks he has me beaten down.”

If you want to think that I’m sort of slut or sub-human then you’re welcome to hun, but this woman was living with a true sub-human. His wife told me he had half a dozen girls working in porn at any given time. He’d use them until their shelf life expired. Then he’d move on.

“You need to leave and pretend you never came here!” his wife told me.

She went on to tell me that I wasn’t the first person to have discovered her house. There had been one other, a year ago. She had come knocking and had stormed the house during the day.

Robert had slapped her around a couple times, and then dragged her to his car.

When he came back, he hadn’t talked about her and pretended the whole thing had never happened.

“She never acted in porn after that. Just dropped off the face of the earth,” his wife told me. “I think he may have killed her, but I can’t go tell anyone because I have no proof.”

I still wanted to confront him. I could handle my own.

“Then he’ll kill me, so his secret never comes out,” she said.

And I saw desperation in her voice.

“I can take care of myself and my boy if you just leave,” she pleaded to me. “If you pretend that you never saw me. That you know nothing of this house.”

The look in her eyes I think is what convinced me to listen to her, you know?

I remember getting in the car and driving off.

But I didn’t go back home. I just kept driving. Left Los Angeles. Ended up in Vegas that night where I emptied our bank accounts the next morning, and moved all the money into a separate, new account.

I found a guy who changed my last name from White to Roman and made me an entirely new social security number and even gave me a 720 credit score.

Then I drove off.

I kept driving until I reached New York.

It was as far away from Robert as I could go.

And I started Man Chasers LLC. I don't know why I went out hunting for cheaters. Why the sole purpose of my job was to bring misery to men.

But it felt good. It felt damn good.

And now, either I go on the run again, or I sacrifice everything and everyone I’ve come to love to stay standing.

But I can’t just think about me.

I need to think about my baby. His baby.

No, it doesn’t sound right, does it?

I need to think about our baby.

And as soon as that comes into the picture, I know exactly what I need to do.

I know exactly why I can’t keep running anymore.

No.

It’s time to fight back. It’s time to show just how strong I can be.

The whole Brittney that runs away and is too weak—I left her in Los Angeles. The Brittney in New York City? She’s a bad fucking bitch.

But before I do anything, I need to tell Ethan.

The truth.

For real this time.