My Stepfather’s Prey - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading My Stepfather’s Prey, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of My Stepfather’s Prey.
He crept up beside me without a sound, those piercing eyes locking onto me like a predator sizing up its prey.
Before I could even gasp, his hand slammed over my mouth, cutting off any scream.
What fresh hell did this monster have in store for me?
A sharp, chemical stench burned my nose as terror surged through my veins. My limbs grew heavy, my vision blurred—until everything faded into black.
When I came to, I was in a hospital bed, two police officers standing watch.
"What... happened?" My voice was raw, barely a whisper.
The officers exchanged glances with the nurse as she checked my vitals before one finally spoke.
Their words unraveled the nightmare.
Vincent had cornered me, drugged me—intending to assault me. But in his rush, he'd knocked over a potted plant. The crash had drawn Margaret's attention. She'd fought him like a wildcat, managing to call 911 in the chaos.
"How is Margaret?" I asked, my throat tight.
The officer gave a reassuring smile. "Non-life threatening. She'll recover."
Then his expression darkened. "Actually, thanks to her, we caught someone else too..."
They shared a loaded look.
"Someone else?"
The truth struck like a lightning bolt.
The second criminal was my adoptive mother.
She hadn't just been a businesswoman—she'd been a trafficker, selling girls for years before shifting careers when the heat got too intense. That's how she'd met Vincent—through underground smuggling rings.
Knowing his sick appetites, she'd supplied him with women—for a price.
All those so-called "business trips"? Just hunting expeditions for Vincent's next victims.
And me? I was part of the deal—adopted from a desperate woman too young to remember.
She'd promised Vincent I'd "blossom into something special."
He'd promised her financial security in return.
This nightmare had been twenty years in the making.
"The woman who sold me... was it...?"
The officer's grim nod confirmed it. "Margaret."
Memories of her kindness flashed through my mind, leaving me hollow.
No wonder she'd always hovered over me.
Guilt had kept her silent.
Maybe this was her twisted way of making amends.
After a year of therapy, the darkness began to loosen its grip.
I clawed my way back into my career through sheer will.
Found love with a man who saw me—not prey.
Finally, my life steadied.
I still send Margaret care packages sometimes—not forgiveness, but acknowledgment. She saved me, even if she couldn't save herself.
The past still lingers, a ghost in the corner of my mind.
But every woman learns this lesson eventually:
We don't bow to monsters.
We fight.
And then—we take back our lives.
Before I could even gasp, his hand slammed over my mouth, cutting off any scream.
What fresh hell did this monster have in store for me?
A sharp, chemical stench burned my nose as terror surged through my veins. My limbs grew heavy, my vision blurred—until everything faded into black.
When I came to, I was in a hospital bed, two police officers standing watch.
"What... happened?" My voice was raw, barely a whisper.
The officers exchanged glances with the nurse as she checked my vitals before one finally spoke.
Their words unraveled the nightmare.
Vincent had cornered me, drugged me—intending to assault me. But in his rush, he'd knocked over a potted plant. The crash had drawn Margaret's attention. She'd fought him like a wildcat, managing to call 911 in the chaos.
"How is Margaret?" I asked, my throat tight.
The officer gave a reassuring smile. "Non-life threatening. She'll recover."
Then his expression darkened. "Actually, thanks to her, we caught someone else too..."
They shared a loaded look.
"Someone else?"
The truth struck like a lightning bolt.
The second criminal was my adoptive mother.
She hadn't just been a businesswoman—she'd been a trafficker, selling girls for years before shifting careers when the heat got too intense. That's how she'd met Vincent—through underground smuggling rings.
Knowing his sick appetites, she'd supplied him with women—for a price.
All those so-called "business trips"? Just hunting expeditions for Vincent's next victims.
And me? I was part of the deal—adopted from a desperate woman too young to remember.
She'd promised Vincent I'd "blossom into something special."
He'd promised her financial security in return.
This nightmare had been twenty years in the making.
"The woman who sold me... was it...?"
The officer's grim nod confirmed it. "Margaret."
Memories of her kindness flashed through my mind, leaving me hollow.
No wonder she'd always hovered over me.
Guilt had kept her silent.
Maybe this was her twisted way of making amends.
After a year of therapy, the darkness began to loosen its grip.
I clawed my way back into my career through sheer will.
Found love with a man who saw me—not prey.
Finally, my life steadied.
I still send Margaret care packages sometimes—not forgiveness, but acknowledgment. She saved me, even if she couldn't save herself.
The past still lingers, a ghost in the corner of my mind.
But every woman learns this lesson eventually:
We don't bow to monsters.
We fight.
And then—we take back our lives.
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