My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
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"Sweetheart, why aren't you coming to bed?"
Ryan Lowell's voice boomed behind me, making me jump.
Thank God I'd only glanced briefly before settling on the couch, pretending to scroll through my phone. Otherwise, he might've noticed something was off.
I shoved my phone away and followed him to the bedroom—but my heart hammered the entire time.
Ryan lit the aromatherapy candle with practiced ease. In the living room, my husband had the TV blaring.
Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt deliberate—like he'd cranked the volume up on purpose.
The bedroom door clicked shut, and Ryan lunged at me, arms locking around me like a vice!
I shuddered, shoving against him, but he clung like glue—his hands roaming, tearing at my clothes.
Terror turned my limbs to jelly. I collapsed against him, helpless.
With a sickening grin, he yanked a pair of handcuffs from his bag and clamped them around my wrists, securing me to the bedpost.
I'd been cautious, but I was no match for his strength. When I tried to scream, he ripped off his sock and stuffed it into my mouth.
The rancid stench made me gag instantly.
I thrashed, trying to spit it out—so Ryan grabbed a roll of duct tape and sealed my lips shut.
The monster had finally dropped the mask.
His eyes burned with hunger as he stared at me—like I was some twisted masterpiece he'd crafted.
If I'd ever thought Ryan was attractive—
Now, the sight of him made my skin crawl.
He pinned me down, shredding my clothes. The cold air hitting my bare skin sent panic screaming through me.
I wanted to shriek for my husband—but the muffled sounds in the bedroom wouldn't reach him.
Despair coiled in my gut as Ryan tore away the last scraps of fabric.
His grip turned brutal, like he wanted to consume me whole.
He shoved my top up, forcing my legs apart—
Terror choked me. If I'd known this wasn't about a massage, I'd never have stepped into this room.
If I'd just stayed with my husband—
But it was too late.
Just as I braced for the worst—violent pounding shook the front door.
Police stormed in.
I was saved.
They uncuffed my wrists, my skin mottled with bruises. Ryan was tackled to the floor, babbling excuses.
My husband stood frozen, trying to intervene—until my furious shout cut him off.
I wanted Ryan locked away forever.
The moment I'd seen what was in his bag, I'd known—so I'd called the cops.
At the station, I spilled everything in a private room.
All I wanted was justice.
By dawn, I walked out—but my husband was gone.
A female officer gave me a pitying look when I turned back.
"Go home. The suspect still needs questioning."
Suspect?
The word shattered my world.
Turns out, my suffering was part of a sick game—my husband and Ryan had plotted to break me, to force me into signing everything away by framing me as unfaithful.
Ryan Lowell's voice boomed behind me, making me jump.
Thank God I'd only glanced briefly before settling on the couch, pretending to scroll through my phone. Otherwise, he might've noticed something was off.
I shoved my phone away and followed him to the bedroom—but my heart hammered the entire time.
Ryan lit the aromatherapy candle with practiced ease. In the living room, my husband had the TV blaring.
Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt deliberate—like he'd cranked the volume up on purpose.
The bedroom door clicked shut, and Ryan lunged at me, arms locking around me like a vice!
I shuddered, shoving against him, but he clung like glue—his hands roaming, tearing at my clothes.
Terror turned my limbs to jelly. I collapsed against him, helpless.
With a sickening grin, he yanked a pair of handcuffs from his bag and clamped them around my wrists, securing me to the bedpost.
I'd been cautious, but I was no match for his strength. When I tried to scream, he ripped off his sock and stuffed it into my mouth.
The rancid stench made me gag instantly.
I thrashed, trying to spit it out—so Ryan grabbed a roll of duct tape and sealed my lips shut.
The monster had finally dropped the mask.
His eyes burned with hunger as he stared at me—like I was some twisted masterpiece he'd crafted.
If I'd ever thought Ryan was attractive—
Now, the sight of him made my skin crawl.
He pinned me down, shredding my clothes. The cold air hitting my bare skin sent panic screaming through me.
I wanted to shriek for my husband—but the muffled sounds in the bedroom wouldn't reach him.
Despair coiled in my gut as Ryan tore away the last scraps of fabric.
His grip turned brutal, like he wanted to consume me whole.
He shoved my top up, forcing my legs apart—
Terror choked me. If I'd known this wasn't about a massage, I'd never have stepped into this room.
If I'd just stayed with my husband—
But it was too late.
Just as I braced for the worst—violent pounding shook the front door.
Police stormed in.
I was saved.
They uncuffed my wrists, my skin mottled with bruises. Ryan was tackled to the floor, babbling excuses.
My husband stood frozen, trying to intervene—until my furious shout cut him off.
I wanted Ryan locked away forever.
The moment I'd seen what was in his bag, I'd known—so I'd called the cops.
At the station, I spilled everything in a private room.
All I wanted was justice.
By dawn, I walked out—but my husband was gone.
A female officer gave me a pitying look when I turned back.
"Go home. The suspect still needs questioning."
Suspect?
The word shattered my world.
Turns out, my suffering was part of a sick game—my husband and Ryan had plotted to break me, to force me into signing everything away by framing me as unfaithful.
End of My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap Chapter 10. View all chapters or return to My Brother-in-Law’s Postpartum Massage Trap book page.