All Chapters of SEVEN NIGHTS WITH MY STEPFATHER: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

The next morning came too fast. I dragged myself out of bed at eleven, head fuzzy from broken sleep, stomach already growling. The motel mirror showed dark circles under my eyes and hair that refused to behave. I pulled it into a messy ponytail, splashed water on my face, and changed into the store uniform—black polo, khaki pants, name tag that still felt like it belonged to someone else. “Ivy” in neat white letters. The walk to the convenience store took seven minutes. Same route every day: past the gas station, past the empty basketball court, past the faded “For Rent” sign in the window of what used to be a hair salon. The air smelled like diesel and wet asphalt. I kept my head down, earbuds in, playlist on shuffle. Anything to block out the world for a little longer.The bell above the door jingled when I stepped inside. Mr. Chen, the owner, was already behind the register counting change. He gave me a quick nod—no smile, no small talk. That was fine. I liked the quiet.I spe

Days slipped by in the motel like pages in a book I wasn’t sure I wanted to finish. Work at the convenience store stayed steady—same shifts, same faces, same small talk about the weather or the price of gas. The routine helped. It kept my mind occupied, kept the memories from crowding in too close. And somewhere in the middle of all that quiet, David started becoming part of it.At first it was just small things.A nod when we passed each other in the hallway.A quick “Morning” if we both stepped out at the same time.A shared eye-roll when the ice machine jammed again.I didn’t plan it. I didn’t even want it. But he was always there—quiet, steady, never pushing. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t pry. Didn’t look at me like he knew anything about the videos or Cassian or the way I still woke up some nights with my heart racing. He just… existed nearby. And slowly, without meaning to, I started responding.One evening he knocked and asked if I had a screwdriver. His closet door was l

I slammed the door shut behind me and twisted the lock immediately, my fingers fumbling for a second in the dim light. The chain slid into place with a sharp click. I leaned my back against the wood, breathing fast, my heart pounding so loud it echoed in my ears. The room felt smaller suddenly, walls closing in, air thick and hard to pull in. Sarah’s message burned in my mind. Cassian knew. Cassian had found a way. And David—his timing, his smiles, his questions—felt too perfect. Too close. What if my gut was right? What if he was the one Cassian mentioned?I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and hit Sarah’s name. It rang twice before she picked up.“Ivy?” Her voice was tense, edged with concern. “Are you okay? I’ve been waiting for you to call.”I slid down the door until I sat on the floor, knees pulled to my chest. “Sarah, what did you do? You gave him my address?”She let out a shaky breath. “I’m so sorry. He wouldn’t stop calling. He sounded desperate. Scared. He kept

I was breathing hard, chest rising and falling like I’d run miles. He stood there, eyes locked on mine, blood still drying on his lip from the slap earlier. Neither of us moved. The only sound was the low hum of the mini-fridge and my own ragged breathing.Then the doorbell rang.Sharp. Twice.Both our heads snapped toward the door.My heart lurched into my throat.Cassian’s hand shot out and clamped over my mouth before I could make a sound. His other arm hooked around my waist and yanked me against his chest. My back hit his front, his palm warm and firm across my lips, fingers pressing my jaw shut.“Shhh,” he breathed against my ear. “Don’t answer it.”I froze.His heartbeat hammered against my spine—fast, unsteady, matching mine. His cologne wrapped around me, the same woody scent that used to make me feel safe. Now it made my stomach churn. I wanted to shove him. Scream. But his grip was tight—not hurting, just unyielding—and fear kept me still. Outside, David’s voice cam

I called Mr. Chen at seven in the morning and told him I couldn’t come in. My voice sounded thin even to me—flat, tired, like someone else was speaking through my mouth. He asked if I was sick. I said yes. He told me to rest and call if I needed more days. I thanked him and hung up before he could hear the crack in my breathing.The phone felt heavy when I set it down.Everything felt heavy.Cassian was already awake. He sat at the small round table by the window, still in yesterday’s jeans, shirtless, stirring coffee in a chipped motel mug. The spoon clinked against the glass over and over—slow, rhythmic, maddening. Each tiny metallic tap drilled into my skull. I sat on the couch with my knees pulled up, remote in my hand, pretending to watch the morning drama on the tiny TV. Some woman was crying in a hospital hallway. I couldn’t follow the plot. The spoon kept ringing.Clink. Clink. Clink.I pressed my lips together. Tried to focus on the subtitles. Tried to breathe through