My Stepson's Blackmail Toy - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading My Stepson's Blackmail Toy, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of My Stepson's Blackmail Toy.
The moment that cloying scent hit me, I knew—this wasn't perfume. She'd drugged me.
I reacted fast, twisting her arm and slamming her onto the couch, my hand clamping over her nose until she went limp.
Smart move getting that antidote from Ethan Crawford yesterday after finding those aphosdisiacs in my place. Within minutes, my head cleared. A quick pat-down raled her phone—unlocked with her own fingerprint.
The screen lit up with a recent $3,000 transfer and a damning message:
"Made $3,500 tonight. Took my $500 cut. Don't sweat it—he's as docile as the last mark. Won't go to the cops. And if he does? I'll nail him for rape."
Vanessa Lombardi running a honey trap with an accomplice? Didn't see that coming. But the profile pic gave me pause—I'd seen that face before.
Scrolling through my contacts confirmed it: Sophia Valrose, the front desk girl at my family's inn, The Grandelle. Added her when booking Room 603.
So it wasn't Vanessa who slipped into my room at 1 AM—it was Sophia. Same skintight dress, same masquerade mask. Impossible to tell them apart in the dark.
Vanessa was thorough—her chat history scrubbed clean except for Sophia's unread message. But n pros make mistakes. Her payment records and social posts told me rything I needed.
I marked the message unread, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and glanced at Vanessa sprawled on the couch. Top ripped off, curves on display. Pathetic. She'd dosed herself trying to drug me. Good thing I knocked her out—next stop would've been my father's bedroom.
Tossing a blanket over her, I walked out.
Sophia was the key. The only one who knew Vanessa's secrets. Turn her, and the rest would fall like dominos.
Vanessa had probably already told her I owned The Grandelle. Getting her out would be child's play.
Next morning, Vanessa chirped about breakfast like nothing happened. Zero shame. Failed to roofie me, now playing sweetheart for Dad. Disgusting.
I brushed her off and headed to Starbucks to meet Sophia.
We'd nr met—she'd been off when I checked in—but the vision walking toward me was unmistakable.
Early twenties. Stunning. Makeup flawless. Her skin had that fresh, dewy look Vanessa's Botox couldn't replicate—more innocent, less jaded.
That white bodycon dress left nothing to imagination. And those? Definitely D-cups. Put Vanessa's bolt-ons to shame.
I was still staring when her sugar-and-velvet voice snapped me back:
"Mr. Lowell, what did you want to discuss?"
No wonder ry guy in Room 603 fell for it.
"Skip the formalities. When I booked the room, you went above and beyond—I'd like us to be... closer." I let the implication linger.
She'd catch my drift.
"You flatter me. I'm just staff." She ducked her head, cheeks flushing.
If I hadn't seen those texts, I'd have bought the act. Both of them deserved Oscars.
Her employee file showed she'd just moved from the sticks last month. No education. Perfect mark.
"Call it destiny. When we connected online, I knew you were different. Here—a small token."
I'd grabbed a $200 necklace on the way. For Dad's sake, I'd play along. Women always bit for shiny bait.
Her eyes sparkled, but she demurred: "Too much. I can't accept."
"What if there's strings attached? Would you help me?" I seized her hand—soft as rose petals.
She pulled back, flustered. "If it's something I can do..."
"Then I'll be blunt. The Grandelle might get bulldozed. My family owns urban village land—zoning laws give 500 sq ft per person. Dad's pushing me to marry. So... I'm proposing an arrangement. A baby within two years would solve rything." I held her gaze, selling the con.
Truth? If she weren't tangled in Vanessa's web, Sophia's look was exactly my type. Shame about the baggage.
"R-really?" Voice trembling.
"Dead serious. City's deadline is two years. You've seen my father—lonely widower jumping into remarriage."
She swallowed it whole.
"You don't care that I'm... country?"
She had no clue how breathtaking she was. I took her straight to a hotel to seal the deal.
"If I get pregnant... you'll really marry me?" She bit her lip, those smooth legs shifting under satin sheets.
That shy act was killer. Had to commit now or lose her. I pulled her close. Her waist burned under my hands—couldn't stop myself.
"The second that test turns positive, we're at city hall."
I buried my face between those perfect curves. Control slipping.
She stiffened briefly—then melted into the mattress, arms circling my waist. That breathy gasp in my ear?
Game over.
I yanked her dress down. Milky skin. ry curve sculpted by gods. Blood pounded in my skull.
Time to feast.
I reacted fast, twisting her arm and slamming her onto the couch, my hand clamping over her nose until she went limp.
Smart move getting that antidote from Ethan Crawford yesterday after finding those aphosdisiacs in my place. Within minutes, my head cleared. A quick pat-down raled her phone—unlocked with her own fingerprint.
The screen lit up with a recent $3,000 transfer and a damning message:
"Made $3,500 tonight. Took my $500 cut. Don't sweat it—he's as docile as the last mark. Won't go to the cops. And if he does? I'll nail him for rape."
Vanessa Lombardi running a honey trap with an accomplice? Didn't see that coming. But the profile pic gave me pause—I'd seen that face before.
Scrolling through my contacts confirmed it: Sophia Valrose, the front desk girl at my family's inn, The Grandelle. Added her when booking Room 603.
So it wasn't Vanessa who slipped into my room at 1 AM—it was Sophia. Same skintight dress, same masquerade mask. Impossible to tell them apart in the dark.
Vanessa was thorough—her chat history scrubbed clean except for Sophia's unread message. But n pros make mistakes. Her payment records and social posts told me rything I needed.
I marked the message unread, slipped the phone back into her pocket, and glanced at Vanessa sprawled on the couch. Top ripped off, curves on display. Pathetic. She'd dosed herself trying to drug me. Good thing I knocked her out—next stop would've been my father's bedroom.
Tossing a blanket over her, I walked out.
Sophia was the key. The only one who knew Vanessa's secrets. Turn her, and the rest would fall like dominos.
Vanessa had probably already told her I owned The Grandelle. Getting her out would be child's play.
Next morning, Vanessa chirped about breakfast like nothing happened. Zero shame. Failed to roofie me, now playing sweetheart for Dad. Disgusting.
I brushed her off and headed to Starbucks to meet Sophia.
We'd nr met—she'd been off when I checked in—but the vision walking toward me was unmistakable.
Early twenties. Stunning. Makeup flawless. Her skin had that fresh, dewy look Vanessa's Botox couldn't replicate—more innocent, less jaded.
That white bodycon dress left nothing to imagination. And those? Definitely D-cups. Put Vanessa's bolt-ons to shame.
I was still staring when her sugar-and-velvet voice snapped me back:
"Mr. Lowell, what did you want to discuss?"
No wonder ry guy in Room 603 fell for it.
"Skip the formalities. When I booked the room, you went above and beyond—I'd like us to be... closer." I let the implication linger.
She'd catch my drift.
"You flatter me. I'm just staff." She ducked her head, cheeks flushing.
If I hadn't seen those texts, I'd have bought the act. Both of them deserved Oscars.
Her employee file showed she'd just moved from the sticks last month. No education. Perfect mark.
"Call it destiny. When we connected online, I knew you were different. Here—a small token."
I'd grabbed a $200 necklace on the way. For Dad's sake, I'd play along. Women always bit for shiny bait.
Her eyes sparkled, but she demurred: "Too much. I can't accept."
"What if there's strings attached? Would you help me?" I seized her hand—soft as rose petals.
She pulled back, flustered. "If it's something I can do..."
"Then I'll be blunt. The Grandelle might get bulldozed. My family owns urban village land—zoning laws give 500 sq ft per person. Dad's pushing me to marry. So... I'm proposing an arrangement. A baby within two years would solve rything." I held her gaze, selling the con.
Truth? If she weren't tangled in Vanessa's web, Sophia's look was exactly my type. Shame about the baggage.
"R-really?" Voice trembling.
"Dead serious. City's deadline is two years. You've seen my father—lonely widower jumping into remarriage."
She swallowed it whole.
"You don't care that I'm... country?"
She had no clue how breathtaking she was. I took her straight to a hotel to seal the deal.
"If I get pregnant... you'll really marry me?" She bit her lip, those smooth legs shifting under satin sheets.
That shy act was killer. Had to commit now or lose her. I pulled her close. Her waist burned under my hands—couldn't stop myself.
"The second that test turns positive, we're at city hall."
I buried my face between those perfect curves. Control slipping.
She stiffened briefly—then melted into the mattress, arms circling my waist. That breathy gasp in my ear?
Game over.
I yanked her dress down. Milky skin. ry curve sculpted by gods. Blood pounded in my skull.
Time to feast.
End of My Stepson's Blackmail Toy Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to My Stepson's Blackmail Toy book page.