His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! - Chapter 65: Chapter 65

After six months of being stalked by some sick freak, I finally snapped and killed the bastard.
Freaking out, I called my boyfriend for help.
He stayed cool as ice and helped me dump the body.
Three days later, I slipped into my new schoolgirl costume and had hot, steamy sex with my boyfriend right against the window.
But the next morning? I still received new photos from that 'dead' stalker...
My fingers trembled as I opened the anonymous text.
The photo showed me and Derek tangled together by the window, shot from a sneaky angle—looked like it came from the abandoned building across the street.
I forced myself to stay calm and study the image. There was a faint glare in the bottom right corner, matching the signature of that creep's vintage camera perfectly.
"No fucking way... He's dead. I watched Derek check him myself!"
I speed-dialed Derek, my hands shaking.
"Derek, I got another photo... from last night when we were by the window... Same angle, same glare, exactly like before!"
Derek paused for a beat, his voice steady as always.
"Easy, babe. You sure it wasn't someone else? Maybe a neighbor or random passerby?"
My voice came out in a rush.
"Impossible! That building's been empty for months! What if... what if he's not actually dead?"
Derek's voice went all soothing doctor-mode on me.
"Beth, that night he lost over three pints of blood. Dilated pupils, no pulse. I'm a physician—I don't make those kinds of mistakes."
I was losing it, about to break down completely.
"Then how do you explain these photos? Is his ghost haunting me now? Or maybe a family trying to get revenge?"
Derek kept his clinical cool.
"I did a background check on him. Guy was homeless for months, no family, no friends. If someone wanted revenge, why play games? They'd just call the cops."
That made sense, and I felt my panic dial down a notch.
But still... this new photo was real as hell.
Derek's voice softened. "Don't stress about it. I'll come over after my shift... My guess is we were just a little too loud last night and someone got nosy."
After hanging up, I triple-checked every lock and yanked all the curtains shut.
Peeking through the blinds, those dark windows across the street looked like gaping mouths in the shadows. Creepy as fuck.
That evening, Derek came home carrying a black duffel bag.
He unzipped it and pulled out a taser, pepper spray, and door alarms.
"Keep these handy. If someone breaks in, at least you can defend yourself."
Having him there made me feel somewhat human again.
Derek took my hands, looking me dead in the eye.
"Listen, as long as nobody finds out about the body, we're golden. And this new peeping tom? We'll catch the bastard."
I nodded, so grateful to have him.
"Thank you... I seriously don't know what I'd do without you."
Six months ago, this whole nightmare started with a stalker.
This sicko would snap photos of me, then send them along with the creepiest love letters I've ever seen.
Stuff would go missing from my apartment too—half-used lipstick, tissues from my trash, dirty dishes—only to show up at my door a few days later.
When I finally installed a security camera, I caught the freak in action. Some homeless dude with dead eyes, grinning at the camera like a maniac.
"You're so beautiful... I love you," he'd whisper.
I chased him off with a kitchen knife.
"Get the hell away from me! I'm calling the cops!"
But the creep wouldn't quit. More photos, more following me around.
So yeah, I called the police.
But Detective Morgan just gave me the usual runaround—no actual harm done, hands tied, blah blah blah.
Three days ago, he followed me again. This time he got way too close.
"You look so pretty today... hehe, I like it so much."
I was seeing red, fumbling for the tactical baton in my purse.
"Stay back! I'm warning you!"
He kept coming with that sick smile.
"You're even more beautiful when you're angry..."
Pure terror and rage took over. I swung that baton straight at his skull.
The homeless freak stumbled backward, lost his footing on the stairs, and cracked his head against the concrete. Blood everywhere.
I stood there shaking, staring at the growing pool of red, my brain completely frozen.
"Oh my God... I killed him... I actually killed someone..."
Once I pulled myself together and made sure nobody was around, I called Derek.
He rushed over, checked the body, confirmed the guy was dead.
I totally lost it.
"I didn't mean to! He lunged at me, I was just defending myself... But manslaughter's still prison time, right? I can't go to prison!"
Thank God for Derek keeping his head. He cleaned up the blood like a pro, stuffed the body in a suitcase, and we buried that bastard in the woods outside town.
So why the hell were photos showing up again?
Derek pulled me close, his arms solid and warm.
"Hey, I'm not going anywhere. We're in this together."
He set up his phone on the windowsill.
"If this creep wants to play photographer, we'll return the favor. Time to see what we're dealing with."
His confidence was everything. In his arms, I actually felt safe again.
Next morning at 7 AM sharp, my phone buzzed.
Another anonymous message. This photo showed me brushing my hair by the window, my silk nightgown leaving very little to the imagination.
I'd had enough. I grabbed Derek and we stormed across to that abandoned building.
Inside, clear footprints marked the dusty floor. When I measured them, I screamed.
"These... these are his shoe prints! He's not dead?"
Derek crouched down to examine them.
"Relax, could be someone wearing similar shoes..."
But I was already crying, because I'd spotted something in the corner that made my blood run cold.
A cigarette butt. The same cheap brand that homeless freak always smoked.