My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap.
He led Benjamin into a small grove near the dorms, then signaled his so-called "brothers" to swarm him. They pinned him down and beat him senseless.
Blood sprayed across the dirt as Benjamin's muffled screams cut through the air—his mouth taped shut, but his agony unmistakable.
His legs looked shattered.
My husband and I watched in horror. We knew those animals wouldn't stop until Benjamin was dead. We had to act.
After a frantic debate, we called the cops and campus security.
A life hung in the balance—we couldn't just let them walk away.
We also secretly filmed the attack and anonymously sent the footage to the authorities.
With undeniable proof, Victor Roland got five years for aggravated assault.
Benjamin barely survived. The hospital saved his life, but his legs were beyond repair—wheelchair-bound for good.
A bright future, destroyed in seconds.
Five years later… and now Victor was free.
Was this revenge?
But why did he look so different?
My husband's voice was low. "Plastic surgery."
That explained how Vincent Lombardi—a hulking thug—suddenly had an artist's touch.
Back in college, he'd dabbled in painting.
We exchanged uneasy glances, the truth hitting us like a punch to the gut. We'd let a monster into our home. My skin crawled.
A bone-deep chill locked me in place.
Then—the doorbell screeched through the silence.
I gripped my husband's hand, my mind spinning through escape plans—all of them ending in blood.
With a shaky breath, I mouthed, "What now?"
His jaw tightened. "Call 911 first," he murmured. Then, quieter: "There's a pocket knife on the dining table. Keep it close. We'll play this by ear."
The doorbell rang again—sharp, impatient, like death knocking.
Hands trembling, I dialed the police before we steadied each other and stood.
My husband called out, "Coming!" then yanked me into a crushing hug, his warmth fading too fast.
"Stay calm."
Those two words grounded me. I took a breath, smoothed my hair, and threw a blanket over my shoulders like armor.
Sure enough, Vincent and Tiffany stood at the door. The second it opened, Vincent's eyes swept the room like a predator.
"Hey, man, everything okay?"
My husband forced a laugh and tugged me closer. "Yeah, just wiped out. Sorry for the drama."
Up close, Vincent's face made my stomach twist. I avoided his gaze, tucking my hair behind my ear and nudging my husband with fake playfulness.
Vincent blew out a theatrical sigh, his concern so fake it was almost insulting.
Disgust churned inside me. I turned to Tiffany instead. "Why'd you guys cut the night short? You should've stayed out."
My husband nodded. "Don't let us kill the vibe."
Tiffany hesitated, glancing at Vincent for cues.
"Come on, it's better with four," Vincent said, flashing a grin as he pulled out a deck of cards. "How about a game? I brought something… special."
Blood sprayed across the dirt as Benjamin's muffled screams cut through the air—his mouth taped shut, but his agony unmistakable.
His legs looked shattered.
My husband and I watched in horror. We knew those animals wouldn't stop until Benjamin was dead. We had to act.
After a frantic debate, we called the cops and campus security.
A life hung in the balance—we couldn't just let them walk away.
We also secretly filmed the attack and anonymously sent the footage to the authorities.
With undeniable proof, Victor Roland got five years for aggravated assault.
Benjamin barely survived. The hospital saved his life, but his legs were beyond repair—wheelchair-bound for good.
A bright future, destroyed in seconds.
Five years later… and now Victor was free.
Was this revenge?
But why did he look so different?
My husband's voice was low. "Plastic surgery."
That explained how Vincent Lombardi—a hulking thug—suddenly had an artist's touch.
Back in college, he'd dabbled in painting.
We exchanged uneasy glances, the truth hitting us like a punch to the gut. We'd let a monster into our home. My skin crawled.
A bone-deep chill locked me in place.
Then—the doorbell screeched through the silence.
I gripped my husband's hand, my mind spinning through escape plans—all of them ending in blood.
With a shaky breath, I mouthed, "What now?"
His jaw tightened. "Call 911 first," he murmured. Then, quieter: "There's a pocket knife on the dining table. Keep it close. We'll play this by ear."
The doorbell rang again—sharp, impatient, like death knocking.
Hands trembling, I dialed the police before we steadied each other and stood.
My husband called out, "Coming!" then yanked me into a crushing hug, his warmth fading too fast.
"Stay calm."
Those two words grounded me. I took a breath, smoothed my hair, and threw a blanket over my shoulders like armor.
Sure enough, Vincent and Tiffany stood at the door. The second it opened, Vincent's eyes swept the room like a predator.
"Hey, man, everything okay?"
My husband forced a laugh and tugged me closer. "Yeah, just wiped out. Sorry for the drama."
Up close, Vincent's face made my stomach twist. I avoided his gaze, tucking my hair behind my ear and nudging my husband with fake playfulness.
Vincent blew out a theatrical sigh, his concern so fake it was almost insulting.
Disgust churned inside me. I turned to Tiffany instead. "Why'd you guys cut the night short? You should've stayed out."
My husband nodded. "Don't let us kill the vibe."
Tiffany hesitated, glancing at Vincent for cues.
"Come on, it's better with four," Vincent said, flashing a grin as he pulled out a deck of cards. "How about a game? I brought something… special."
End of My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Honeymoon Stranger's Trap book page.