CHAPTER 12: “Perfect Family”
By the time I reached home—or the massive mansion I have no choice but to reluctantly call home—I was mentally rehearsing how I would bring up Ethan to Mom. How do you casually tell your mother that her fiancé’s son is lowkey a psycho. That he had been stalking you and has this intense stare like he’s trying to read your soul? Yeah, not exactly dinner table conversation.
I dragged myself up the driveway, the ornate iron gates behind me clicking shut like they were sealing me into some kind of luxurious prison. As much as this house screamed “perfect family,” it always felt… off. Maybe it was the way the chandeliers sparkled too much or how the marble floors seemed too pristine, like no one actually lived here.
The front door creaked open as I stepped inside, the faint scent of Mom’s favorite vanilla candles wafting toward me. Before I could even kick off my shoes, Mom came barreling toward me like she was on a mission.
“Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, her eyes practically glowing with excitement. She was holding her phone like it was a winning lottery ticket. “I’ve been waiting for you to get back!”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, hey? What’s up?”
Before I could get another word out, she shoved her phone in my face. “Look at this! Isn’t it stunning?”
I squinted at the screen, trying to process what I was seeing. It was a picture of a wedding dress—lacey, extravagant, and definitely expensive.
“Oh,” I said, unsure how to respond. “It’s… nice?”
“Nice?” Mom gasped, clutching her chest like I had insulted her. “This is the dress, Camila! It’s perfect, don’t you think? The beading, the train, the neckline! Oh, I can already picture myself walking down the aisle in this.”
She started swiping through more pictures, talking a mile a minute about fabric swatches, flower arrangements, and something about matching napkin holders.
“Mom,” I tried to interject, but she was on a roll.
“And the boutique said they could customize it however I want! Isn’t that just amazing?” she gushed. “Oh, and Greg thinks—”
“Mom!” I said, a little louder this time.
She paused, finally looking at me. “Sorry,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m just so excited. It’s been a while since I’ve had something to look forward to, you know? Anyway, what did you want to say?”
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. How was I supposed to bring up Ethan now, when she was practically glowing with happiness? She looked so… alive, like the weight of the past few years had finally lifted off her shoulders.
“Uh…” I started, then trailed off. “It’s nothing. Forget it.”
Her brows furrowed. “Are you sure? You looked like you had something on your mind.”
“It’s really nothing,” I insisted, forcing a smile. “I just had a long day at school. You know how it is.”
Mom gave me a concerned look but didn’t push. Instead, she reached out and squeezed my hand. “Well, if you ever want to talk, you know I’m here, right?”
“Yeah,” I said softly. “I know.”
She gave me one last smile before turning her attention back to her phone, completely engrossed in wedding plans again.
I headed upstairs, feeling a weird mix of relief and guilt. On one hand, I didn’t want to ruin her excitement by bringing up Ethan. But on the other hand… wasn’t this something she needed to know?
Collapsing onto my bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning. Maybe I was overthinking this whole Ethan situation. Maybe he wasn’t actually staring at me all the time. Maybe he wasn’t deliberately showing up wherever I was.
Yeah, right. And maybe pigs could fly.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. My brain was already in overdrive, and I didn’t have the energy to sort through it all.
Pulling out my phone, I opened Tess’s messages, debating whether or not to tell her what was going on. But as I typed and deleted a dozen different ways to explain it, I realized I couldn’t even put it into words.
So instead, I tossed my phone onto the nightstand and flopped back onto my pillow. Maybe things would look clearer in the morning.
Or maybe they would just get weirder. Knowing my luck, it was probably the latter.
CHAPTER 13: The Unhinged Psycho Himself
I woke to the shrill blare of my alarm, a sound so piercing it could’ve been ripped straight from the climax of a horror movie. Fitting, really, considering my life had taken a hard left into nightmare territory since moving in with Greg and his deranged son—a bona fide psycho and, to top it off, a goddamn stalker.
Groaning, I smacked the snooze button and rolled over, burying my face into my pillow. Five more minutes, I promised myself, which was clearly a lie because five minutes always turned into twenty. But nope, not today. I couldn’t risk being late again, not with Mom already giving me the talk about “responsibility” and how I needed to “set a good example” to others like I actually give a fuck.
Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled toward the bathroom. The cold tiles sent a shiver up my spine, jolting me awake. I turned on the shower, waited for the water to heat up, and stepped under the spray, letting the warmth wash away the grogginess. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash—the usual routine. The smell of vanilla and citrus filled the bathroom, making me feel a little more human.
Once I was out, I wrapped myself in a towel and wiped the steam off the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, disheveled and half-asleep. Great. Just great. I ran a comb through my hair, wincing at the knots. Why did my hair always decide to have a meltdown on school mornings?
After what felt like an eternity, I finally got it under control, letting it fall into loose waves. A dab of lip oil, a spritz of perfume—okay, maybe a bit too much perfume—and I was good to go. Or so I thought. My favorite jeans had somehow gone missing, leaving me with a pair that was just a tad too snug. Fantastic. I paired it with a simple white top and a flannel shirt, hoping I looked effortlessly casual instead of trying too hard to be effortless.
Satisfied—or as satisfied as I could be—I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. I opened the door, my hand still on the doorknob when I froze.
There he was.
Ethan. The unhinged psycho himself.
Standing right outside my door like he owned the entire damn house.
Okay, fine—technically, he sort of did, but that wasn’t the point.
“What the actual—” I started, but he cut me off before I could finish.
“Camila,” he said, his voice calm and unbothered, “breakfast is ready.”
I blinked. Once. Twice. “Excuse me?”
“Breakfast. Downstairs.”
I stared at him, my brain stumbling over itself trying to make sense of the situation. Did I hear that right?
Was he seriously trying to play mommy dearest right now? Or was this some kind of bizarre power move I hadn’t signed up for?
“What do you expect me to say to that?” I asked, incredulous. “Okay, Mum?”
He didn’t even flinch. His face stayed perfectly blank, like this was a completely normal interaction.
Spoiler alert: it wasn’t. Not even close.
A “normal” interaction with him usually involved standing a few feet away, lurking in silence, and staring into my soul like he was trying to decode the secrets of the universe—or plan my murder. Probably both.
“I’m just passing on the message,” he said with a shrug. “Greg said to make sure you’re eating before school.”
Oh, so now he was Greg’s messenger boy? What’s next? A carrier pigeon?
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I muttered, stepping past him and refusing to make eye contact. The last thing I wanted was to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d rattled me.
The kitchen was already buzzing with activity when I got there. Mom was setting the table, humming a tune that I vaguely recognized. Greg was sipping his coffee, looking like he had stepped straight out of a magazine ad for “cool stepdads.”
“Good morning, sweetheart!” Mom chirped, planting a kiss on my cheek.
“Morning,” I mumbled, sliding into a chair.
Ethan strolled in a few seconds later, sitting across from me. He didn’t say anything, just grabbed a piece of toast and started buttering it like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“So,” Mom began, her eyes sparkling, “are you excited for school today?”
“Thrilled,” I deadpanned, reaching for the orange juice.
Greg chuckled. “Teenagers.”
Teenager?! I’m eighteen! That’s pratically an adult.
Ethan smirked, and I shot him a glare. What was his deal? First, he shows up outside my room like some kind of ghost, and now he’s acting like we’re old pals?
Breakfast was a blur of small talk and awkward silences, most of which involved me trying to avoid Ethan’s gaze. By the time I was done, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
“I’ll take the bus,” I said quickly, grabbing my bag and heading for the door.
“You sure?” Mom called after me. “I can drive you.”
“Nope, all good!” I replied, already halfway out.
As I stepped outside, the crisp morning air hit me, clearing my head. The bus stop wasn’t far, and honestly, the walk would do me some good. I needed time to process… whatever the hell that interaction was.
And to figure out how I was going to survive the rest of the day without losing my mind.
