Blackmailed Between My Thighs - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading Blackmailed Between My Thighs, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of Blackmailed Between My Thighs.
My heart jumped into my throat as I dashed forward, my fingers brushing against clammy skin.
A bloodcurdling shriek split the air. The nosy landlady—who'd followed without me noticing—stood rooted to the spot, gaping at Isabella's motionless form sprawled across the couch. She suddenly lurched forward, grabbing Isabella's arm like a vise. "Don't you die in my damn house!" she screeched.
Whether it was her cruel words or the shock of seeing Isabella like that, something snapped inside me. I shoved the old bat away with more force than I knew I had. "Get the hell out!"
Muttering curses, the landlady scrambled backward. I didn't have the energy to deal with her. My fingers flew to Isabella's nose, searching for any sign of breath.
Thank God. Shallow, but there.
My knees buckled and I collapsed against the couch.
A small pill bottle came rolling toward me, dislodged during the commotion. I snatched it up, squinting at the label—hangover relief.
Are you kidding me?
A wild mix of irritation and relief made my fingers clench around the bottle. I shook Isabella awake. She blinked up at me with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "The hell are you doing here? I called in sick today."
After gulping down a glass of water, the fog seemed to lift from her expression.
Without her usual makeup armor, she looked almost vulnerable—if not for that trademark smirk creeping across her face. "I've got decades left to ruin my life. Did you really think I'd check out early? You're such a mother hen."
Ignoring her jab, I delivered Daniel's warning. Her smirk vanished instantly. "That explains it..."
"Explains what?"
Isabella let out a long breath. "I barely knew Daniel before. Nathan was the one who properly introduced us."
She recounted Nathan's birthday bash six months back—some swanky bar where the drinks never stopped flowing. Most guests ended up blackout drunk, and things got... messy.
Her forehead creased. "Looking back, Nathan barely touched his drinks. I thought he was just being responsible, but now..." Her voice trailed off as the realization hit us both.
The image of always-polished Nathan deliberately getting everyone wasted sent chills down my spine.
Before we could process this, violent pounding shook the door.
"That battle-axe of a landlady," Isabella groaned. "She probably thinks I wrecked the place. I should—"
I opened the door and got shoulder-checked by two elderly strangers who beelined for Isabella. Their voices cracked with emotion. "Baby girl! If you wanted a divorce, why didn't you talk to us? How could you even think about—"
The woman collapsed onto Isabella, sobbing uncontrollably. The man—clearly her father—stood stiffly, eyes glistening.
Her... parents?
I stood frozen, mouth agape. The father turned to me. "You're Isabella's friend? Thank you for being here."
"Of course, sir," I managed, nodding like a bobblehead.
He glanced at the weeping mother-daughter duo and lowered his voice. "When she first mentioned divorce, I thought it was cold feet. But after today... no matter the reason, it's happening."
I subtly pocketed the hangover pills.
Watching Isabella nuzzle into her mother's embrace, I finally exhaled. Next time I saw that interfering landlady, I might actually thank her.
The chaotic day somehow ended with a surprisingly warm family dinner—worth every second of the earlier madness.
Now there was just Nathan to deal with.
I'd assumed the usually sharp executive would've coughed up that memory card immediately.
Instead, he'd dodged every meeting with increasingly creative excuses. Seeing him schmooze other execs made my skin crawl.
Isabella, weirdly, was zen about the whole thing.
The moment divorce papers were filed, her formerly absent husband came sprinting back. They parted on shockingly good terms—even became weirdly chummy afterward.
Munching on chips, she shrugged. "Why stress about Nathan? I showed Michael the video—you can't even see my face."
Her calm was contagious. Besides, the cameras disappeared within days. Surely nothing incriminating got recorded.
Nathan would've made his move by now if there was anything.
Just as we started relaxing, life dropped a live grenade in both our laps.
A bloodcurdling shriek split the air. The nosy landlady—who'd followed without me noticing—stood rooted to the spot, gaping at Isabella's motionless form sprawled across the couch. She suddenly lurched forward, grabbing Isabella's arm like a vise. "Don't you die in my damn house!" she screeched.
Whether it was her cruel words or the shock of seeing Isabella like that, something snapped inside me. I shoved the old bat away with more force than I knew I had. "Get the hell out!"
Muttering curses, the landlady scrambled backward. I didn't have the energy to deal with her. My fingers flew to Isabella's nose, searching for any sign of breath.
Thank God. Shallow, but there.
My knees buckled and I collapsed against the couch.
A small pill bottle came rolling toward me, dislodged during the commotion. I snatched it up, squinting at the label—hangover relief.
Are you kidding me?
A wild mix of irritation and relief made my fingers clench around the bottle. I shook Isabella awake. She blinked up at me with bleary, bloodshot eyes. "The hell are you doing here? I called in sick today."
After gulping down a glass of water, the fog seemed to lift from her expression.
Without her usual makeup armor, she looked almost vulnerable—if not for that trademark smirk creeping across her face. "I've got decades left to ruin my life. Did you really think I'd check out early? You're such a mother hen."
Ignoring her jab, I delivered Daniel's warning. Her smirk vanished instantly. "That explains it..."
"Explains what?"
Isabella let out a long breath. "I barely knew Daniel before. Nathan was the one who properly introduced us."
She recounted Nathan's birthday bash six months back—some swanky bar where the drinks never stopped flowing. Most guests ended up blackout drunk, and things got... messy.
Her forehead creased. "Looking back, Nathan barely touched his drinks. I thought he was just being responsible, but now..." Her voice trailed off as the realization hit us both.
The image of always-polished Nathan deliberately getting everyone wasted sent chills down my spine.
Before we could process this, violent pounding shook the door.
"That battle-axe of a landlady," Isabella groaned. "She probably thinks I wrecked the place. I should—"
I opened the door and got shoulder-checked by two elderly strangers who beelined for Isabella. Their voices cracked with emotion. "Baby girl! If you wanted a divorce, why didn't you talk to us? How could you even think about—"
The woman collapsed onto Isabella, sobbing uncontrollably. The man—clearly her father—stood stiffly, eyes glistening.
Her... parents?
I stood frozen, mouth agape. The father turned to me. "You're Isabella's friend? Thank you for being here."
"Of course, sir," I managed, nodding like a bobblehead.
He glanced at the weeping mother-daughter duo and lowered his voice. "When she first mentioned divorce, I thought it was cold feet. But after today... no matter the reason, it's happening."
I subtly pocketed the hangover pills.
Watching Isabella nuzzle into her mother's embrace, I finally exhaled. Next time I saw that interfering landlady, I might actually thank her.
The chaotic day somehow ended with a surprisingly warm family dinner—worth every second of the earlier madness.
Now there was just Nathan to deal with.
I'd assumed the usually sharp executive would've coughed up that memory card immediately.
Instead, he'd dodged every meeting with increasingly creative excuses. Seeing him schmooze other execs made my skin crawl.
Isabella, weirdly, was zen about the whole thing.
The moment divorce papers were filed, her formerly absent husband came sprinting back. They parted on shockingly good terms—even became weirdly chummy afterward.
Munching on chips, she shrugged. "Why stress about Nathan? I showed Michael the video—you can't even see my face."
Her calm was contagious. Besides, the cameras disappeared within days. Surely nothing incriminating got recorded.
Nathan would've made his move by now if there was anything.
Just as we started relaxing, life dropped a live grenade in both our laps.
End of Blackmailed Between My Thighs Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to Blackmailed Between My Thighs book page.