My Boyfriend’s Dad Sent Me A Horrifying Message — And Now I Have To Expose His Secret
Part 2
I spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, turning that terrifying question over in my head.
The sun began to peek through the blinds, casting long gray shadows across the bedroom floor.
Tyler finally stirred next to me, stretching his arms and letting out a deep yawn.
He rolled over and pulled me against his chest, completely unaware of the tension radiating from my muscles.
“Morning,” he mumbled, pressing his face into the back of my neck.
I didn’t answer right away, my throat tightening around the words I needed to say.
I carefully untangled myself from his grip and sat on the edge of the mattress.
I reached for my phone, my fingers brushing against the cold metal casing.
“Tyler, we need to talk,” I said, my voice barely above a frantic whisper.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and frowning at my rigid posture.
I opened the screenshot folder and handed the device over to him.
I watched his face closely, holding my breath as his eyes scanned the illuminated screen.
At first, a confused crease appeared between his eyebrows.
Then, the confusion morphed into a hard, unreadable mask of anger.
He read the first message, his jaw clenching so tight I could hear his teeth grinding together.
He swiped to the second screenshot, the one where Craig told me to keep this a sick secret.
The silence in the room stretched out until it felt physically suffocating.
I waited for him to say it was a misunderstanding, or that I must have somehow provoked it.
Instead, Tyler handed the phone back to me with an eerie, calculated calmness.
He didn’t yell, he didn’t throw anything, he just stood up and walked over to the closet.
He pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain gray t-shirt without saying a single word.
“Tyler?”
I asked, my voice trembling slightly as I stood up to follow him.
He finally looked at me, and the cold fury in his eyes made me take a half-step back.
“Get dressed,” he said, grabbing his car keys off the wooden dresser.
“Where are we going?”
I asked, my heart hammering painfully against my ribs.
He opened the bedroom door, his knuckles white around the metal key ring.
“We are going back to my parents’ house,” he replied, his tone entirely devoid of emotion.
He walked out to the living room, leaving me standing alone in the quiet bedroom.
I quickly threw on a thick sweater and followed him out to the freezing car.
The drive back to the suburbs felt ten times longer than it had the night before.
Tyler kept his eyes fixed on the road, his grip on the steering wheel completely unrelenting.
He parked forcefully in the driveway and marched straight up to the heavy oak front door.
He didn’t bother knocking before he pushed it open and stepped inside the foyer.
Craig was sitting at the kitchen island, drinking coffee and reading the Sunday paper.
He looked up and smiled, completely unfazed by our sudden, aggressive appearance.
“Well, look who decided to come back,” Craig chuckled, lowering his newspaper.
Tyler walked directly up to his father and slammed his hand flat onto the marble counter.
“Give me your phone,” Tyler demanded, his voice echoing sharply off the high ceilings.
Craig’s smug expression finally faltered, replaced by a brief flicker of genuine alarm.
“Excuse me?”
Craig asked defensively, gripping the edge of his expensive coffee mug.
Tyler didn’t repeat himself, he just reached across the island and snatched the device right out of Craig’s hand.
He bypassed the lock screen easily, knowing the passcode his father had used for a decade.
Craig stood up abruptly, his wooden chair scraping loudly against the expensive tile floor.
Tyler started scrolling through the messages, his face draining of all remaining color.
He stopped on a specific text thread, his eyes widening in pure, unfiltered horror.
What exactly did he find on that phone?
