My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom.
My body gave an involuntary shudder as I stealthily slid my hand into the leather bag beside the bed, fingers closing around the hidden fruit knife.
A quiet whimper escaped my lips.
"My stomach... God, why now?" I muttered under my breath, clutching my abdomen for effect.
Perfect. This was my chance.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to make a sound. But the second my feet hit the floor, my stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
From where he sat, he had a clear view of my ankles—and right now, they were trembling like leaves in a storm.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. No turning back now.
Moving quickly, I padded toward the door, hand outstretched for the knob. My fingers barely grazed the cool metal when—
"Emily."
His voice cut through the darkness like ice.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Fear coiled in my gut, icy tendrils creeping through my veins.
Vincent Lowell's footsteps thudded behind me, slow and deliberate. My muscles locked—I couldn't turn, couldn't breathe.
Then his fingers brushed my spine.
I screamed, bolting for the door.
A sharp yank on my hair sent me crashing backward. I thrashed, nails scraping at his arms, but he dragged me into the bathroom like dead weight.
The tile bit into my skin as he pinned me down. His palm cracked against my cheek—once, twice—the sting blooming hot across my face.
Gritting my teeth, I fumbled for the fruit knife hidden in my sleeve.
He was faster. His grip crushed my wrist, sending the blade skittering across the floor.
The ceiling light glared down, harsh and unforgiving.
Vincent loomed over me, lips curling into something monstrous.
"Luna Valentine," he slurred, breath reeking of whiskey and smoke. "You've been begging for this, haven't you?"
My mind blanked.
"Answer me, goddammit!" Spittle flew from his mouth. "You knew what you were doing when you moved in here!"
His words twisted into venom—slut, whore, liar—as he bent closer, his tongue slithering up my neck. The stench made my stomach heave.
I was trapped. Every limb locked in place.
Except one.
My right hand.
I hammered at his back, useless. Then—the knife. Still glinting in the corner.
I stretched, fingertips brushing cold steel—
A boot slammed down on my hand. Bones crunched. White-hot pain ripped through me as he kicked the blade away.
He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at what he pulled from his pocket.
My missing lingerie.
The lace bra and panties I'd torn my room apart searching for.
He inhaled deeply, then wound them around his head like a sick crown. "All this effort to tease me?" His fingers dug into my waist. "Wearing shit like this?"
Fabric tore. Buttons pinged off the tiles.
Then—my fingers snagged the shower curtain.
No time to think.
I yanked hard.
The rod groaned, bending.
Rip—his hands shredded my shirt.
Rip—the curtain tore free, collapsing over him like a ghost.
He roared, tangled in plastic.
I didn't hesitate.
Grabbing his legs, I shoved. His skull cracked against the tile.
He bucked, fists slamming into my ribs, but I twisted the curtain around his throat and pulled.
His growls turned to gurgles.
I held on.
Tighter.
Tighter.
Even if it meant dragging us both to hell.
A quiet whimper escaped my lips.
"My stomach... God, why now?" I muttered under my breath, clutching my abdomen for effect.
Perfect. This was my chance.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, careful not to make a sound. But the second my feet hit the floor, my stomach dropped.
No. No, no, no.
From where he sat, he had a clear view of my ankles—and right now, they were trembling like leaves in a storm.
I swallowed the lump in my throat. No turning back now.
Moving quickly, I padded toward the door, hand outstretched for the knob. My fingers barely grazed the cool metal when—
"Emily."
His voice cut through the darkness like ice.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Fear coiled in my gut, icy tendrils creeping through my veins.
Vincent Lowell's footsteps thudded behind me, slow and deliberate. My muscles locked—I couldn't turn, couldn't breathe.
Then his fingers brushed my spine.
I screamed, bolting for the door.
A sharp yank on my hair sent me crashing backward. I thrashed, nails scraping at his arms, but he dragged me into the bathroom like dead weight.
The tile bit into my skin as he pinned me down. His palm cracked against my cheek—once, twice—the sting blooming hot across my face.
Gritting my teeth, I fumbled for the fruit knife hidden in my sleeve.
He was faster. His grip crushed my wrist, sending the blade skittering across the floor.
The ceiling light glared down, harsh and unforgiving.
Vincent loomed over me, lips curling into something monstrous.
"Luna Valentine," he slurred, breath reeking of whiskey and smoke. "You've been begging for this, haven't you?"
My mind blanked.
"Answer me, goddammit!" Spittle flew from his mouth. "You knew what you were doing when you moved in here!"
His words twisted into venom—slut, whore, liar—as he bent closer, his tongue slithering up my neck. The stench made my stomach heave.
I was trapped. Every limb locked in place.
Except one.
My right hand.
I hammered at his back, useless. Then—the knife. Still glinting in the corner.
I stretched, fingertips brushing cold steel—
A boot slammed down on my hand. Bones crunched. White-hot pain ripped through me as he kicked the blade away.
He grabbed my face, forcing me to look at what he pulled from his pocket.
My missing lingerie.
The lace bra and panties I'd torn my room apart searching for.
He inhaled deeply, then wound them around his head like a sick crown. "All this effort to tease me?" His fingers dug into my waist. "Wearing shit like this?"
Fabric tore. Buttons pinged off the tiles.
Then—my fingers snagged the shower curtain.
No time to think.
I yanked hard.
The rod groaned, bending.
Rip—his hands shredded my shirt.
Rip—the curtain tore free, collapsing over him like a ghost.
He roared, tangled in plastic.
I didn't hesitate.
Grabbing his legs, I shoved. His skull cracked against the tile.
He bucked, fists slamming into my ribs, but I twisted the curtain around his throat and pulled.
His growls turned to gurgles.
I held on.
Tighter.
Tighter.
Even if it meant dragging us both to hell.
End of My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to My Landlord’s Hidden Camera in Our Bathroom book page.