My Stepfather’s Prey - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Just as I was steeling myself for another miserable day, the neighborhood loudspeakers crackled to life with that all-too-familiar static.
"Attention, residents. By order of the authorities, this community will enter a strict lockdown in ten minutes. All households must remain indoors. Violators will face legal consequences."
My eye twitched. Seriously? Now? A cold wave of dread crashed over me.
I was screwed. Two whole weeks—trapped under the same roof as Vincent Lowell.
I stormed into my bedroom, slammed the door, and collapsed onto the bed like a puppet with its strings cut.
Why does the universe hate me?
Just as the first hot tears threatened to spill, my phone buzzed—Mom's name flashing on the screen.
A flicker of hope sparked in my chest.
Had she heard about the lockdown? Was she calling to tell me she'd found a way to get Vincent out of here?
I snatched the phone.
"Mom, they're locking us down. Uncle Vincent can't stay here. Can't you—"
She cut me off, her voice tight with frustration.
"Evelyn, I already tried. My neighborhood just got locked down too. He'll have to stay with you for now." A forced lightness crept into her tone. "Don't worry—Vincent's a good man. He's always said he'd treat you like his own—"
Her words dissolved into static in my ears. My grip on the phone went slack.
Trapped. With him.
Hours later, I jerked upright in bed, heart pounding.
One thought burned through the fog of panic:
I need to put as much distance between us as possible.
But how?
And even if I laid down the rules, would he listen?
The memory of his hollow-cheeked smirk sent a shudder down my spine.
Then it hit me—I still had his number.
Maybe testing the waters over the phone was safer.
Hands shaking, I dialed.
His voice was casual, too casual—so close I could hear its raspy echo from just beyond my door.
"Evelyn, why call when we're under the same roof?"
Because I'd rather chew glass than share air with you.
"You know why," I said, forcing my voice steady. "New rule: You stay out of my room. Knock first if you need anything."
He cut in, impatience sharpening his tone.
"Fine. Whatever."
His instant agreement threw me. I'd braced for a fight.
Still, I didn't relax until I watched him sign the agreement I'd drafted—though the ink might as well have been water for all the good it did.
Days blurred into a tense stalemate, me barricaded in my room like a prisoner in my own home.
Then—knocking.
"Evelyn, I washed some fruit for you. Your mom insisted you eat more."
The mention of Mom made my guard slip. I cracked the door open—only to freeze.
His hands were empty.
I tried to slam the door, but he wedged his arm in, shoving his way inside.
"You liar!" I spat, fury boiling up.
Vincent ignored me, scanning my room with a slow, creeping grin.
"You must be bored in here all alone. Since your mom entrusted you to me, I should keep you company."
Despite his lean frame, his height loomed over me, his presence suffocating.
I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to shove him out—but fear of retaliation held me back.
"I don't need a babysitter," I gritted out.
Instead of leaving, he sank onto my bed like he owned it.
Rage overrode sense.
"Get. Out. Or I'll make you."
His smirk widened. "Oh? Do your worst."
He stood, advancing on me.
I stumbled back until the wall bit into my spine.
"One more step, and I'm calling the police!"
He paused—but didn't retreat.
We stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills.
After what felt like an eternity, he sighed and lit a cigarette, perching on the edge of my bed like some grotesque parody of a guest.
"Evelyn, you ever wonder why your mom's with me?"
I stayed silent.
He leaned in, voice slick as oil.
"She thinks I'm just some decent guy. Doesn't know about my assets." His eyes gleamed. "Serve me well, and I'll spoil her rotten. You'll both live comfortably—with a hefty payout."
He made sure to stress this was our little secret.
Then he waited, watching me like a cat with a cornered mouse.
A life of comfort.
The offer tugged at me—not for myself, but for Mom. She'd given up so much.
If enduring this meant her happiness… maybe it was worth it.
Seeing my hesitation, Vincent closed the distance, his hands reaching—
Then the memories hit like a freight train:
His fingers "accidentally" brushing my thigh at the restaurant.
His shadow lingering outside my door.
His broken promises wrapped in honeyed lies.
I recoiled, slapping his hand away.
"Get out!"
His face darkened. "Defy me, and your mother suffers. She can't survive without me now."
Mom's face filled my mind—her tired smile, the way she always put me first.
I didn't know if he was bluffing, but she'd always been loyal to a fault.
If I refused, he'd break her heart.
And I'd sworn never to hurt her.
A tear of humiliation slid down my cheek.
Then—knocking at the front door.