My Stepfather’s Prey - Chapter 10: Chapter 10
You are reading My Stepfather’s Prey, Chapter 10: Chapter 10. Read more chapters of My Stepfather’s Prey.
Vincent Lowell paced like a caged animal, his face clouded with worry before he clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder.
"Listen," he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Margaret's probably still waiting by the door. How about I ask her to stay with you for a while? Would that help?"
His suggestion hit me like an electric shock.
Of course—Margaret had always been kind to me. She'd even offered me her spare room once before. Back then, Vincent's veiled threats had forced me to decline. But now... now everything made terrible sense.
I practically flew to the front door.
Margaret stood there wringing her hands, her worried expression melting into relief when she saw me. "Good heavens! What on earth happened? You two rushed off like the house was on fire."
"Nothing serious," I lied smoothly. "But... would you stay with me for a few days? I could really use the company."
Her yes came before I'd finished asking.
Overnight, Margaret transformed into a mother hen—cooking lavish meals, fussing over my comfort, treating me like fragile china. Slowly, the raw edges of my pain began to soften as lockdown's end approached.
Then the call came.
My mother's voice was venomous. "I was wrong about you. Never thought you'd sink so low as to chase after my man. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
The phone nearly slipped from my frozen fingers.
In that suspended moment, the truth crystallized—Vincent, denied what he wanted, had spun his web of lies.
Before I could form words, she kept screaming. "And you recorded it? I raised a shameless little slut? You're nothing but a common whore!"
My entire body trembled.
Was this the woman who'd raised me? How could maternal instinct twist into such cruelty?
Her tirade continued but I'd stopped hearing. When the line finally went dead, I tried calling back—once, twice—but she'd blocked me.
That night I cried until my ribs ached, face buried in my pillow. Margaret's gentle hands rubbed circles on my back, but no amount of coaxing could make me speak through the sobs.
Now I understood that ancient truth—the worst pain has no words.
Sleepless, I woke Margaret in the witching hours, our conversation meandering until family came up. Suddenly, silent tears tracked down her wrinkled cheeks.
"I... had a daughter once." Her voice cracked. "My husband left when she was newborn. Things got so bad... I sold her. Later, when life improved, I searched for years. Found her trail eventually but..." She ducked her head. "Couldn't face her."
My breath caught. This sweet woman carried such darkness?
"Do you regret it?"
Her whole body shuddered. When she couldn't answer, I gently wiped her tears away. Exhaustion claimed her soon after, but I lay staring at the ceiling until dawn's first light.
Determined to cheer her, I crept to the kitchen—then froze.
Voices. From Vincent's room.
My mother's distinctive whine carried through the door: "The lockdown's almost over! How have you failed? This isn't the Vincent I know!"
Vincent's reply dripped frustration: "The girl's stubborn as a mule. I nearly had her until that meddling old bat interfered. After that she turned suicidal—what was I supposed to do?"
"You're giving up?" My mother's voice turned shrill. "I invested years and money in that girl! Try one more time!"
Ice water flooded my veins. This was all... her plan?
Then came the words that stopped my heart:
"What a waste. I only kept her because she looked promising. Should've stuck to prostitution—at least then she'd have been useful."
Bought.
The word echoed in my skull as I stumbled back—my heel catching a porcelain dish. It shattered like my world.
"Who's there?!" Vincent roared.
"Listen," he said, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Margaret's probably still waiting by the door. How about I ask her to stay with you for a while? Would that help?"
His suggestion hit me like an electric shock.
Of course—Margaret had always been kind to me. She'd even offered me her spare room once before. Back then, Vincent's veiled threats had forced me to decline. But now... now everything made terrible sense.
I practically flew to the front door.
Margaret stood there wringing her hands, her worried expression melting into relief when she saw me. "Good heavens! What on earth happened? You two rushed off like the house was on fire."
"Nothing serious," I lied smoothly. "But... would you stay with me for a few days? I could really use the company."
Her yes came before I'd finished asking.
Overnight, Margaret transformed into a mother hen—cooking lavish meals, fussing over my comfort, treating me like fragile china. Slowly, the raw edges of my pain began to soften as lockdown's end approached.
Then the call came.
My mother's voice was venomous. "I was wrong about you. Never thought you'd sink so low as to chase after my man. Do you have any idea what you've done?"
The phone nearly slipped from my frozen fingers.
In that suspended moment, the truth crystallized—Vincent, denied what he wanted, had spun his web of lies.
Before I could form words, she kept screaming. "And you recorded it? I raised a shameless little slut? You're nothing but a common whore!"
My entire body trembled.
Was this the woman who'd raised me? How could maternal instinct twist into such cruelty?
Her tirade continued but I'd stopped hearing. When the line finally went dead, I tried calling back—once, twice—but she'd blocked me.
That night I cried until my ribs ached, face buried in my pillow. Margaret's gentle hands rubbed circles on my back, but no amount of coaxing could make me speak through the sobs.
Now I understood that ancient truth—the worst pain has no words.
Sleepless, I woke Margaret in the witching hours, our conversation meandering until family came up. Suddenly, silent tears tracked down her wrinkled cheeks.
"I... had a daughter once." Her voice cracked. "My husband left when she was newborn. Things got so bad... I sold her. Later, when life improved, I searched for years. Found her trail eventually but..." She ducked her head. "Couldn't face her."
My breath caught. This sweet woman carried such darkness?
"Do you regret it?"
Her whole body shuddered. When she couldn't answer, I gently wiped her tears away. Exhaustion claimed her soon after, but I lay staring at the ceiling until dawn's first light.
Determined to cheer her, I crept to the kitchen—then froze.
Voices. From Vincent's room.
My mother's distinctive whine carried through the door: "The lockdown's almost over! How have you failed? This isn't the Vincent I know!"
Vincent's reply dripped frustration: "The girl's stubborn as a mule. I nearly had her until that meddling old bat interfered. After that she turned suicidal—what was I supposed to do?"
"You're giving up?" My mother's voice turned shrill. "I invested years and money in that girl! Try one more time!"
Ice water flooded my veins. This was all... her plan?
Then came the words that stopped my heart:
"What a waste. I only kept her because she looked promising. Should've stuck to prostitution—at least then she'd have been useful."
Bought.
The word echoed in my skull as I stumbled back—my heel catching a porcelain dish. It shattered like my world.
"Who's there?!" Vincent roared.
End of My Stepfather’s Prey Chapter 10. Continue reading Chapter 11 or return to My Stepfather’s Prey book page.