His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! - Chapter 68: Chapter 68
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The security footage showed a long bamboo pole extending from the first-floor window, hooking my black lace bra right off the clothesline.
But the bastard kept his face out of frame.
I zoomed in, my skin crawling. "So that's how he's been doing it... But the first floor is just some elderly couple in their seventies. No way it's them."
To get answers, Derek and I went downstairs and knocked.
An old woman shuffled to the door while her husband sat hunched in a wheelchair behind her.
When we mentioned the theft, they both looked genuinely confused.
"We were napping until after three," the woman said. "Didn't see anyone suspicious."
We trudged back upstairs, more frustrated than ever.
The second I unlocked my door, my phone buzzed with a new photo: my black bra, now wrinkled and stained with five distinct white handprints.
"That sick fuck!" I screamed, yanking at my hair. "I can't take this anymore!"
Days of constant terror had left me looking like a ghost—dark circles under my eyes, ten pounds lighter, hair falling out in clumps.
This psycho was going to drive me completely insane.
Derek poured me a glass of water, his voice gentle. "Breathe, Beth. Look at you—you're literally falling apart. We need to catch this bastard, but we also need to keep you alive. Maybe it's time to call the cops."
The word "cops" sent me into a panic. I grabbed his arm.
"No! No police... They'll find out about the murder..."
My voice turned feral, hysterical. "It's him or me now. One of us has to die."
Derek's jaw tightened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he pulled me close again.
"What if we moved? Somewhere he can't reach?"
I stared at him with bloodshot eyes, my voice breaking. "Move where? He knows we buried that freak! He'll follow us anywhere!"
Derek gripped my shoulders firmly. "The penthouse. Thirtieth floor. Nothing around it tall enough to spy from—unless this creep can fly."
I gulped down the water, trying to think straight. He had a point. How could anyone stalk me from thirty stories up?
A week later, I was living in the penthouse apartment, alone on the top floor with nothing but a massive terrace outside.
Derek stayed with me the first two nights, but then he had to go back to his overnight shifts at the hospital.
That first night alone, I was just drifting off when someone knocked on my door.
I grabbed my taser and peered through the peephole. Nobody there.
A package sat on my doormat. Inside was the perfume I'd ordered yesterday, but now the bottle was shattered, the liquid mixed with something that smelled absolutely vile.
He'd been in my home again.
Rage exploded through me. I stormed onto the terrace with my taser.
"Come out, you coward! I know you're watching!"
"Show your face! You love spying on me so much—why hide now?"
"You sick piece of shit! You're going straight to hell! Hiding in the shadows like the worthless garbage you are!"
I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one appeared.
I broke down sobbing, my emotions a chaotic storm.
If he was going to expose the murder anyway, what was the point of living?
Why suffer through this torture when I could just end it?
I climbed onto the terrace railing, thirty floors of empty air beneath me, my nightgown whipping in the wind.
"You win! Are you happy now? Will killing myself finally make you leave me alone?"
"You better pray I actually jump, because if I don't, I'll find you and make you die slower than that homeless freak!"
My voice cracked with desperate laughter.
How pathetic—driven to suicide by some faceless coward who wouldn't even show himself.
Derek was right. I should have called the police from the beginning... but now it was too late. I was a murderer. No one would help me.
I killed someone, and now it was my turn. Karma, right?
Standing on the edge, my toes barely touching the railing, one gust of wind away from falling...
The night air suddenly turned icy, like a bucket of cold water to my face. My head cleared just enough to notice movement in the distance.
In the shadows of the fire escape on the twenty-sixth floor of the neighboring building, a figure was adjusting a tripod.
Every hair on my body stood up.
That silhouette... I knew exactly who it was!
But the bastard kept his face out of frame.
I zoomed in, my skin crawling. "So that's how he's been doing it... But the first floor is just some elderly couple in their seventies. No way it's them."
To get answers, Derek and I went downstairs and knocked.
An old woman shuffled to the door while her husband sat hunched in a wheelchair behind her.
When we mentioned the theft, they both looked genuinely confused.
"We were napping until after three," the woman said. "Didn't see anyone suspicious."
We trudged back upstairs, more frustrated than ever.
The second I unlocked my door, my phone buzzed with a new photo: my black bra, now wrinkled and stained with five distinct white handprints.
"That sick fuck!" I screamed, yanking at my hair. "I can't take this anymore!"
Days of constant terror had left me looking like a ghost—dark circles under my eyes, ten pounds lighter, hair falling out in clumps.
This psycho was going to drive me completely insane.
Derek poured me a glass of water, his voice gentle. "Breathe, Beth. Look at you—you're literally falling apart. We need to catch this bastard, but we also need to keep you alive. Maybe it's time to call the cops."
The word "cops" sent me into a panic. I grabbed his arm.
"No! No police... They'll find out about the murder..."
My voice turned feral, hysterical. "It's him or me now. One of us has to die."
Derek's jaw tightened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes before he pulled me close again.
"What if we moved? Somewhere he can't reach?"
I stared at him with bloodshot eyes, my voice breaking. "Move where? He knows we buried that freak! He'll follow us anywhere!"
Derek gripped my shoulders firmly. "The penthouse. Thirtieth floor. Nothing around it tall enough to spy from—unless this creep can fly."
I gulped down the water, trying to think straight. He had a point. How could anyone stalk me from thirty stories up?
A week later, I was living in the penthouse apartment, alone on the top floor with nothing but a massive terrace outside.
Derek stayed with me the first two nights, but then he had to go back to his overnight shifts at the hospital.
That first night alone, I was just drifting off when someone knocked on my door.
I grabbed my taser and peered through the peephole. Nobody there.
A package sat on my doormat. Inside was the perfume I'd ordered yesterday, but now the bottle was shattered, the liquid mixed with something that smelled absolutely vile.
He'd been in my home again.
Rage exploded through me. I stormed onto the terrace with my taser.
"Come out, you coward! I know you're watching!"
"Show your face! You love spying on me so much—why hide now?"
"You sick piece of shit! You're going straight to hell! Hiding in the shadows like the worthless garbage you are!"
I screamed until my throat was raw, but no one appeared.
I broke down sobbing, my emotions a chaotic storm.
If he was going to expose the murder anyway, what was the point of living?
Why suffer through this torture when I could just end it?
I climbed onto the terrace railing, thirty floors of empty air beneath me, my nightgown whipping in the wind.
"You win! Are you happy now? Will killing myself finally make you leave me alone?"
"You better pray I actually jump, because if I don't, I'll find you and make you die slower than that homeless freak!"
My voice cracked with desperate laughter.
How pathetic—driven to suicide by some faceless coward who wouldn't even show himself.
Derek was right. I should have called the police from the beginning... but now it was too late. I was a murderer. No one would help me.
I killed someone, and now it was my turn. Karma, right?
Standing on the edge, my toes barely touching the railing, one gust of wind away from falling...
The night air suddenly turned icy, like a bucket of cold water to my face. My head cleared just enough to notice movement in the distance.
In the shadows of the fire escape on the twenty-sixth floor of the neighboring building, a figure was adjusting a tripod.
Every hair on my body stood up.
That silhouette... I knew exactly who it was!
End of His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! Chapter 68. Continue reading Chapter 69 or return to His Side Chick Made Him Dump Me… 100 Times! Now Watch Him Beg! book page.