My Stepfather’s Prey - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading My Stepfather’s Prey, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of My Stepfather’s Prey.
That sneaky bastard must've charmed Mom into handing it over!
God, this guy just doesn't take a hint, does he?
My skin prickled as I scanned the hallway—empty, thank goodness—before darting into my apartment like a startled rabbit.
For fourteen blissful days, Vincent Lowell stayed gone. Landing my dream gig helped bury that awful restaurant memory deep where it belonged.
Then one toothpaste-spitting morning, Mom called.
"Evelyn, honey, I went overboard at the farmer's market. Expect a fruit basket later—it'll go bad otherwise!"
That classic Mom move warmed me right up. Nobody looks out for me like she does.
"What time? Don't cut it too close—my shift starts soon."
Her next words turned my blood to ice.
"Actually... I asked Vincent to bring it. He's probably halfway to your place already."
Vincent? Here?
The restaurant flashback hit me like a bucket of cold water. Letting that snake cross my threshold? No way. But slamming the door in his face would give him ammo to whine to Mom about her "ungrateful daughter."
Then—lightbulb moment.
If I couldn't stop him coming, I'd vanish before he arrived. Quick change, early departure, blame an imaginary work emergency. Too frantic to text—the perfect alibi.
I yanked on clothes like the building was on fire and lunged for the door.
Enjoy your little victory, Vincent. Too bad you'll be delivering fruit to an empty apartment.
I threw the door open—
And nearly screamed.
Vincent stood frozen mid-knock, hand raised. Our faces inches apart.
I recoiled. "You—how—"
His dead-eyed stare cracked into a greasy smile. "Miss me, princess?"
He thrust forward a grocery bag. The sickly sweet stench of overripe fruit wafted up.
Trapped. I took it, mumbling, "Gotta run. Work thing."
Vincent didn't move. His gaze dropped—and turned predatory.
I followed his stare. Oh God.
In my panic, I'd worn my black backless top inside out. The plunging neckline meant for my spine now framed my breasts like some trashy lingerie ad.
No time to process. I shoulder-checked past his slack-jawed leer and bolted to my bedroom.
Inside, I tore off the cursed top, flipped it right, and faced the mirror.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Sure, I'd dealt with admirers since high school—tall, decent face, whatever. But I'd never even had a boyfriend. And I sure as hell didn't flash creeps like Vincent for free.
Shame and rage twisted in my gut. My mistake, his lucky break. Either way, I wasn't spending another second alone with him.
One final mirror check—
Then my blood turned to ice.
My reflection stared back, pupils blown wide with terror.
The bedroom door stood slightly open.
Through the shadowy gap, a single unblinking eye glinted in the darkness.
God, this guy just doesn't take a hint, does he?
My skin prickled as I scanned the hallway—empty, thank goodness—before darting into my apartment like a startled rabbit.
For fourteen blissful days, Vincent Lowell stayed gone. Landing my dream gig helped bury that awful restaurant memory deep where it belonged.
Then one toothpaste-spitting morning, Mom called.
"Evelyn, honey, I went overboard at the farmer's market. Expect a fruit basket later—it'll go bad otherwise!"
That classic Mom move warmed me right up. Nobody looks out for me like she does.
"What time? Don't cut it too close—my shift starts soon."
Her next words turned my blood to ice.
"Actually... I asked Vincent to bring it. He's probably halfway to your place already."
Vincent? Here?
The restaurant flashback hit me like a bucket of cold water. Letting that snake cross my threshold? No way. But slamming the door in his face would give him ammo to whine to Mom about her "ungrateful daughter."
Then—lightbulb moment.
If I couldn't stop him coming, I'd vanish before he arrived. Quick change, early departure, blame an imaginary work emergency. Too frantic to text—the perfect alibi.
I yanked on clothes like the building was on fire and lunged for the door.
Enjoy your little victory, Vincent. Too bad you'll be delivering fruit to an empty apartment.
I threw the door open—
And nearly screamed.
Vincent stood frozen mid-knock, hand raised. Our faces inches apart.
I recoiled. "You—how—"
His dead-eyed stare cracked into a greasy smile. "Miss me, princess?"
He thrust forward a grocery bag. The sickly sweet stench of overripe fruit wafted up.
Trapped. I took it, mumbling, "Gotta run. Work thing."
Vincent didn't move. His gaze dropped—and turned predatory.
I followed his stare. Oh God.
In my panic, I'd worn my black backless top inside out. The plunging neckline meant for my spine now framed my breasts like some trashy lingerie ad.
No time to process. I shoulder-checked past his slack-jawed leer and bolted to my bedroom.
Inside, I tore off the cursed top, flipped it right, and faced the mirror.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Sure, I'd dealt with admirers since high school—tall, decent face, whatever. But I'd never even had a boyfriend. And I sure as hell didn't flash creeps like Vincent for free.
Shame and rage twisted in my gut. My mistake, his lucky break. Either way, I wasn't spending another second alone with him.
One final mirror check—
Then my blood turned to ice.
My reflection stared back, pupils blown wide with terror.
The bedroom door stood slightly open.
Through the shadowy gap, a single unblinking eye glinted in the darkness.
End of My Stepfather’s Prey Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to My Stepfather’s Prey book page.