Chapter 20 Leaked: Exotic Dance Video
Night fell, and the glow from the streetlights outside filtered through the window, casting pale shadows across the cold hospital floor.
Isabella stared at the ceiling, the burns on her skin throbbing with a dull, persistent ache.
The sharp ring of her phone shattered the stillness. She looked at it vibrating on the nightstand, hesitating before picking up.
Thomas's deep voice came through. "Isabella, it's me."
She recognized him immediately, her tone flat. "Mr. Spencer, what is it?"
Thomas paused. "This isn't about business... it's about what happened at the club that night. Someone filmed it. The video's circulating in certain circles. I've managed to suppress it temporarily..."
Her blood ran cold.
That night, William had punished her by forcing her to dance at the club, making her change into a scandalously revealing dress and perform under the lights for hours.
Those humiliating moments had been captured on video.
"Thank you." Her voice came out hoarse, as if someone had their hands around her throat.
Thomas sighed quietly. "Don't thank me. There were too many people there that night. In that kind of crowd, I can only hold it back for so long. I can't guarantee what happens next... you need to be careful."
At least someone was willing to help her.
When the call ended, Isabella's hand trembled around the phone, its screen casting an eerie light on her pale face, making her look hollowed out.
And then, in the dead of night—
The temporarily suppressed videos spread like a brushfire, appearing on social media platforms, shared in private group chats among the elite, accompanied by vile comments.
Dylan discovered it and immediately went to William.
In the office, William held a cigarette between his fingers, listening to the report with casual indifference.
"Mr. Spencer, the videos have gone viral. The talk in our circles is getting ugly. Should we have PR step in..."
"No need." William cut him off. "If she's capable of doing something like that, she shouldn't be afraid of people talking."
He thought of Isabella's recent silence and distance, thought of how she'd burned Juniper's hand in the hospital room—someone with such a vicious heart didn't deserve his concern.
This incident would serve as a perfect lesson, show her what happens when she defies him.
Standing beside him, Juniper's lips curved into a subtle smile. Perfect. Since William wasn't going to intervene, she could amplify the spread, make sure the videos reached every corner, leave Isabella with nowhere to hide.
She returned to her desk and pushed the videos even wider, selecting the most suggestive clips and pairing them with insinuating captions, painting Isabella as a woman anyone could have.
That afternoon, William passed through the office area and caught fragments of conversation.
"Did you see it? Isabella's dance video. Absolutely filthy."
"I've got a few clips where you can almost see her... you know. Gets me going just thinking about it."
"No wonder Mr. Spencer's into her. With that body and those moves, she's a goddamn fantasy."
"Hard to believe she acts so cold normally. Behind closed doors, she's clearly wild. Bet she knows exactly how to please him in bed."
The lewd laughter hit William like blunt force trauma.
He stopped dead in his tracks, the atmosphere around him turning instantly heavy. The chatter died immediately, everyone holding their breath.
William's expression darkened, Isabella's gaunt figure flashing through his mind, the irritation in his chest morphing into something he couldn't quite name.
He swept his cold gaze over them without saying a word, but no one dared meet his eyes.
Turning back to his office, he gave Dylan a low command. "Get me the video."
Dylan handed over the tablet, surprised.
William's fingers gripped the frame tightly, his gaze locked on the screen.
Under dim yellow spotlights, Isabella wore a skintight dress, moving to the music, her movements teetering on the edge of exposure.
Someone was whipping her body, but she didn't stop—she danced harder.
Degrading.
Shameful.
The whistles and jeering laughter in the video nearly burst through the screen. People held up phones trying to capture shots up her dress.
And she looked like a ghost, offering no resistance whatsoever.
The comment section was flooded with obscenities—
[With a body like that taking a whipping, she should be doing porn.]
[Heard she's Mr. Spencer's woman. Wonder when he'll get tired of her.]
[I'd give anything to have one night with a slut like that.]
[Look how desperate she is. I'd love to make her cry and beg.]
Every word felt like it was tearing at William's nerves. He clenched his jaw, his temple pulsing.
It wasn't sympathy—it was a twisted, burning rage.
She'd done this on purpose—deliberately humiliated herself in front of others, deliberately let these comments spread through their circles, all to make him lose face.
If she had any self-respect, she would have smashed her head against a wall that night.
The angrier William got, the more his fury built until he hurled the tablet away. It smashed against the wall, the glass screen shattering into pieces.
Half an hour later, Isabella was brought by bodyguards to a desolate forest on the city's outskirts.
William stood beneath a tree, holding the gold pendant she'd spent three days repairing.
Isabella's face went white—she'd hidden it in the deepest corner of her closet. How had he gotten it?
"Give it back!"
"You want it?" William's voice was cutting as a blade. With a flick of his wrist, the pendant arced through the air and disappeared from sight.
Isabella's pupils contracted violently. She lunged forward like someone possessed, dropping to her knees in the cold, wet earth, frantically pushing aside brush and clawing through dirt.
The soil was mixed with sharp stones that cut into her fingers, blood welling between them and staining her palms.
She didn't care about any of it, just kept searching mechanically.
"My pendant... my pendant..."
The wild grass rose above her shoulders, the earth soft and yielding, the pendant long since lost to who knows where.
William watched with disgust, then turned and got in his car, leaving two bodyguards to watch her.
Isabella crawled on the ground, searching inch by inch.
Blood welled between her fingers, her fingertips going numb, but she seemed to feel nothing, refusing to stop.
She couldn't find it.
How could she not find it...
As darkness fell, Isabella trampled down patch after patch of wild grass, long since losing her bearings, but still searching.
The night wind cut through the treetops with a low, mournful sound, like someone crying in the distance.
She could barely see the ground, could only kneel there, feeling her way forward inch by inch.
Where had it gone?