$300K Blackmail Lesson of My Bestie's Father - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
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I never saw the scent trap coming—but Ryan Royston certainly didn't expect me to fall for it either.
When escape became impossible, Ryan took me to a private room and gave me the antidote. That's how I woke up completely clear-headed.
Turns out Ryan had been playing 4D chess this whole time. Knowing his father Vincent would never let me walk away, he staged that intimate scene to lower the old man's guard—even timed the smoke bomb perfectly for our escape.
As we fled, Ryan dropped another bombshell: the villa was just a rental—Vincent's favorite spot for shady business deals.
My mind reeled, but one question burned louder than the rest: "Why risk helping me?" Vincent was his father, after all.
Ryan's gaze turned molten, locking onto mine.
"Because I'm crazy about you," he said, his voice rough with sincerity. "I knew about your boyfriend, so I kept my distance. Watching over you was all I could do. That party invitation? Just an excuse to see you."
Suddenly everything made sense—his immediate notice when I went missing, those lingering looks I'd brushed off. Compared to my clueless, emotionally absent boyfriend, Ryan's quiet devotion felt achingly real.
After coming clean, Ryan handed back my phone and called me a cab. He waited until my Uber disappeared around the bend before returning to the villa.
Back on campus, safety did nothing to calm my nerves. That "antique" vase I'd smashed meant Vincent would come collecting—$300,000 or my surrender, with photo evidence as leverage.
Morning found me sleepless and desperate. I went to my boyfriend for advice... only to catch him cozying up to some girl from our PoliSci class.
White-hot rage exploded through me. No call when I'd vanished overnight, but he had time to flirt over iced lattes?
I texted him three words: "We're done."
His reply? A single "K." That icy dismissal hurt worse than any shouting match.
But heartbreak would have to wait—I had a $300K crisis. With nowhere else to turn, I sought out Ryan.
"Your father's vase..." I swallowed hard. "He wants $300,000. Any chance you could negotiate installments...?"
Ryan surprised me with a rich, warm laugh.
"Emily, breathe. Those 'antiques' are fakes—worth maybe $200 tops."
My jaw dropped. Of course—no one keeps Ming dynasty treasures in a rental.
"It's his signature move," Ryan explained. "Fake debts, real leverage... until girls 'pay' his preferred way."
When escape became impossible, Ryan took me to a private room and gave me the antidote. That's how I woke up completely clear-headed.
Turns out Ryan had been playing 4D chess this whole time. Knowing his father Vincent would never let me walk away, he staged that intimate scene to lower the old man's guard—even timed the smoke bomb perfectly for our escape.
As we fled, Ryan dropped another bombshell: the villa was just a rental—Vincent's favorite spot for shady business deals.
My mind reeled, but one question burned louder than the rest: "Why risk helping me?" Vincent was his father, after all.
Ryan's gaze turned molten, locking onto mine.
"Because I'm crazy about you," he said, his voice rough with sincerity. "I knew about your boyfriend, so I kept my distance. Watching over you was all I could do. That party invitation? Just an excuse to see you."
Suddenly everything made sense—his immediate notice when I went missing, those lingering looks I'd brushed off. Compared to my clueless, emotionally absent boyfriend, Ryan's quiet devotion felt achingly real.
After coming clean, Ryan handed back my phone and called me a cab. He waited until my Uber disappeared around the bend before returning to the villa.
Back on campus, safety did nothing to calm my nerves. That "antique" vase I'd smashed meant Vincent would come collecting—$300,000 or my surrender, with photo evidence as leverage.
Morning found me sleepless and desperate. I went to my boyfriend for advice... only to catch him cozying up to some girl from our PoliSci class.
White-hot rage exploded through me. No call when I'd vanished overnight, but he had time to flirt over iced lattes?
I texted him three words: "We're done."
His reply? A single "K." That icy dismissal hurt worse than any shouting match.
But heartbreak would have to wait—I had a $300K crisis. With nowhere else to turn, I sought out Ryan.
"Your father's vase..." I swallowed hard. "He wants $300,000. Any chance you could negotiate installments...?"
Ryan surprised me with a rich, warm laugh.
"Emily, breathe. Those 'antiques' are fakes—worth maybe $200 tops."
My jaw dropped. Of course—no one keeps Ming dynasty treasures in a rental.
"It's his signature move," Ryan explained. "Fake debts, real leverage... until girls 'pay' his preferred way."
End of $300K Blackmail Lesson of My Bestie's Father Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to $300K Blackmail Lesson of My Bestie's Father book page.