Chapter 3 · Stalked By The Mom Next Door

"At least you know it's a Porsche. Not a garbage truck," I scoffed.

Celeste's face turned beet red with rage.

"Alright, Rebecca. Real bold of you. Just wait. You'll see," she shot back.

She slammed the door and stormed out.

Back home, I pulled the dashcam card and loaded it onto my laptop.

The video was crystal clear.

For a full minute before the crash, the guy in the leather jacket wasn't even following close behind.

It wasn't until Celeste started frantically texting in the passenger seat that his car suddenly sped up and closed the gap.

And when the impact came, Celeste grabbed the handle instinctively, her whole body tensing.

She was bracing herself for impact.

That was all the proof I needed. This was a setup from the very beginning.

The whole point was to let Felix conveniently barge into my life.

I opened that forum thread on my computer.

The latest reply was just half an hour ago.

Let It Be: [This woman's spicy. Gonna cost extra. But the hotter they are, the sweeter the victory, right?]

Someone hyped it up in the comments: [OP, when are you streaming the next part?]

Let It Be: [Relax. Plan B's already set. She's going down this Friday.]

Friday?

It was already Wednesday.

I glanced at the calendar. Friday was the kindergarten's parent–child event.

Usually both parents were expected to be there, but with my husband abroad, it'd just be me.

Celeste wanted to make her move at the school?

I clicked out of the forum and grabbed my phone to make a call.

It was Seth Waverly, my old high school classmate. He was now running his own detective agency.

"Seth, I need a background check. Plate number AC864, name Felix Mooreland. Everything you can dig up. Fast," I said.

Pros handled things differently.

That same night, he sent over a full report.

Felix Mooreland. 31. Jobless.

Record: theft, fraud, did two years.

No house, no car. The black Hyundai was a rental.

Best part? His debt: over 70 grand owed to online loan sharks, collectors hounding him day and night.

And the connection between Celeste and Felix? That got dug up too.

They were distant cousins.

They had been calling each other nonstop lately, and there were a bunch of small transfers between them, all labeled "cigarette money."

I exhaled slowly.

One was a hopeless gambling loser, and the other was a jealous schemer with a snake's heart.

They thought I was just a cash cow waiting to be slaughtered. But they had no idea the tables could turn in an instant, and the hunter could become the hunted before they even realized it.

On Thursday, when I picked up my kid, Celeste didn't ask for a ride.

She just smirked at me at the school gate, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Well, if it isn't the gorgeous Rebecca. All alone, huh?

"Tomorrow's family day. Every kid's got their daddy coming. Poor Serena."

I gave her a cool, indifferent look. "Serena's fine with me. Unlike some people who spend all their energy plotting against others.

"Better hope karma doesn't hit your kid instead."

Her expression darkened, but she bit back her retort at the last second.

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a low, almost threatening whisper. "Rebecca, don't kid yourself.

"Without a man to back you up, a woman's just falling apart. Tomorrow, you'll learn that the hard way."

With that, she gave me a knowing smile and turned to walk away.

When I got home, I saw a new friend request pop up on Instagram.

The profile photo was a mirror selfie, abs flexed like he was auditioning for a fitness commercial. It was Felix.

His message read: [Mrs. Beckford, about the repair money… I want to talk in person. I'm ready to pay every penny. No brokers, no extra cuts.]

I stared at the screen for a moment, then tapped Accept.

He messaged instantly. A voice memo came through, and he was trying way too hard to sound deep and seductive, like some late night podcast host.

"Mrs. Beckford, meet me at Peninsula Café tomorrow at ten. It's not just the money. I know something about your friend Celeste. Something you should hear."

So this was their Plan B?

Lure me in with a so-called secret. Adorable.

I typed a single word: [Sure.]

I set my phone down and walked into my dressing room.

Hidden behind rows of designer bags was a small, plain box.

My husband bought it before he flew overseas: a little self-defense kit.A lipstick-shaped stun gun, and a tiny button camera.

Chapter 3

"At least you know it's a Porsche. Not a garbage truck," I scoffed.

Celeste's face turned beet red with rage.

"Alright, Rebecca. Real bold of you. Just wait. You'll see," she shot back.

She slammed the door and stormed out.

Back home, I pulled the dashcam card and loaded it onto my laptop.

The video was crystal clear.

For a full minute before the crash, the guy in the leather jacket wasn't even following close behind.

It wasn't until Celeste started frantically texting in the passenger seat that his car suddenly sped up and closed the gap.

And when the impact came, Celeste grabbed the handle instinctively, her whole body tensing.

She was bracing herself for impact.

That was all the proof I needed. This was a setup from the very beginning.

The whole point was to let Felix conveniently barge into my life.

I opened that forum thread on my computer.

The latest reply was just half an hour ago.

Let It Be: [This woman's spicy. Gonna cost extra. But the hotter they are, the sweeter the victory, right?]

Someone hyped it up in the comments: [OP, when are you streaming the next part?]

Let It Be: [Relax. Plan B's already set. She's going down this Friday.]

Friday?

It was already Wednesday.

I glanced at the calendar. Friday was the kindergarten's parent–child event.

Usually both parents were expected to be there, but with my husband abroad, it'd just be me.

Celeste wanted to make her move at the school?

I clicked out of the forum and grabbed my phone to make a call.

It was Seth Waverly, my old high school classmate. He was now running his own detective agency.

"Seth, I need a background check. Plate number AC864, name Felix Mooreland. Everything you can dig up. Fast," I said.

Pros handled things differently.

That same night, he sent over a full report.

Felix Mooreland. 31. Jobless.

Record: theft, fraud, did two years.

No house, no car. The black Hyundai was a rental.

Best part? His debt: over 70 grand owed to online loan sharks, collectors hounding him day and night.

And the connection between Celeste and Felix? That got dug up too.

They were distant cousins.

They had been calling each other nonstop lately, and there were a bunch of small transfers between them, all labeled "cigarette money."

I exhaled slowly.

One was a hopeless gambling loser, and the other was a jealous schemer with a snake's heart.

They thought I was just a cash cow waiting to be slaughtered. But they had no idea the tables could turn in an instant, and the hunter could become the hunted before they even realized it.

On Thursday, when I picked up my kid, Celeste didn't ask for a ride.

She just smirked at me at the school gate, voice dripping with fake sweetness. "Well, if it isn't the gorgeous Rebecca. All alone, huh?

"Tomorrow's family day. Every kid's got their daddy coming. Poor Serena."

I gave her a cool, indifferent look. "Serena's fine with me. Unlike some people who spend all their energy plotting against others.

"Better hope karma doesn't hit your kid instead."

Her expression darkened, but she bit back her retort at the last second.

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a low, almost threatening whisper. "Rebecca, don't kid yourself.

"Without a man to back you up, a woman's just falling apart. Tomorrow, you'll learn that the hard way."

With that, she gave me a knowing smile and turned to walk away.

When I got home, I saw a new friend request pop up on Instagram.

The profile photo was a mirror selfie, abs flexed like he was auditioning for a fitness commercial. It was Felix.

His message read: [Mrs. Beckford, about the repair money… I want to talk in person. I'm ready to pay every penny. No brokers, no extra cuts.]

I stared at the screen for a moment, then tapped Accept.

He messaged instantly. A voice memo came through, and he was trying way too hard to sound deep and seductive, like some late night podcast host.

"Mrs. Beckford, meet me at Peninsula Café tomorrow at ten. It's not just the money. I know something about your friend Celeste. Something you should hear."

So this was their Plan B?

Lure me in with a so-called secret. Adorable.

I typed a single word: [Sure.]

I set my phone down and walked into my dressing room.

Hidden behind rows of designer bags was a small, plain box.

My husband bought it before he flew overseas: a little self-defense kit.A lipstick-shaped stun gun, and a tiny button camera.