My Bestie's Dad Likes Me Wet-Chapter 54 Snake

NOVA POV

Every cell in my body screamed don’t touch her. Don’t let her reel you in. But Lena was watching, Katie too. They saw an escort. They saw a friend. They didn’t see the snake in red.

So I forced my lips into something that resembled a smile, lifted my trembling hand, and slid it into hers.

Her fingers closed tight around mine, too tight.

And just like that, I felt the trap snap shut around me.

The second the hostel doors closed behind us, her grip tightened. Not guiding me but intimidating me this time.

I wanted to pull away. Motherr, I wanted to.

But Lena was still waving from the doorway, oblivious, smiling like she’d just sent me off on prom night. So I let Sandy drag me toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb.

The driver who was an absolute stranger and not Jay— opened the door for us. My stomach knotted tighter.

Sandy slid in first, crossing her legs with the practiced ease of a woman who knew exactly what kind of effect she left in her wake.

The slit of her dress fell open just enough to bare a slice of thigh and the pocketknife strapped to a slim holster against her skin. Not an accident, as she might pretend to be but a warning. One meant for me.

I hesitated at the curb. Just for a second. Just enough to hope the earth would swallow me whole.

"Get in, doll." Her voice was honey-coated, dripping with sugar so thick it made my teeth ache. "We don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?"

My chest seized.

I climbed in.

The door shut with a heavy thunk and instantly the car felt like a coffin. Too dark and the brooding silence was heavy with tension.

The driver’s eyes stayed glued to the road as the engine purred to life.

Sandy leaned back, turning her head toward me slowly, like a predator sizing up prey.

"You clean up well," she said softly. Too softly. "Red would’ve suited you better, though."

I swallowed, forcing my gaze to the window. Streetlights blurred past. My pulse beat too loud in my ears.

"Don’t be shy," she continued, tilting her head. Her smile stretched wider. "Talk to me. I don’t bite. Unless you want me to."

My throat closed. I knew better than to play into her. Silence was safer. Silence was survival.

But Sandy thrived in silence. She fed on it.

"You know what’s funny?" she whispered, leaning closer until her perfume choked me, the smell of roses and something metallic, sharp.

"You and I, we’re not so different. Both outsiders. Both fighting for scraps. Both trying to make him see us."

Her words coiled around me. She was too close. Her lipstick gleamed in the dim light.

The car sped faster, the hum of the road beneath us.

"The difference," she said, voice dropping low, "is that I’ve already had him. Long before you even knew how to spell his name. He’s mine, sweetie. Always has been. Always will be. You? You’re just... dessert."

Something inside me snapped. I turned, meeting her gaze, even though my stomach churned.

"If you’re so secure, Sandy, why are you here? Why are you holding my hand like you’re scared I’ll disappear into him?"

Her smile froze.

Then it cracked wider, too wide, unnatural. She laughed. A sharp, staccato sound that made the driver shift in his seat.

"Oh, doll."

She patted my knee like I was a child.

"You think this is about being scared? No, no, no. I’m here to remind you that games have consequences. That pretty dress you’re wearing? He bought it, yes, but I picked it. I know what looks good on his women."

Her nails grazed my thigh, slow, deliberate.

"Tonight," she whispered, lips brushing my ear, "I’m going to watch the way he looks at you. And then I’ll remind him why he looked at me first."

My skin went cold. My body locked stiff.

The car turned, the city lights thinning as we approached the higher end of town, the towers, the places I didn’t belong.

And all I could think was that maybe this wasn’t dinner. Maybe this was Sandy’s stage.

Maybe I was the sacrifice

The car rolled steady through the city, the hum of the tires undercut by the pounding in my ears. I tried to focus on the blur of lights outside, on the reflection of myself in the tinted glass, on anything that wasn’t the woman sitting inches from me.

But Sandy didn’t believe in silence.

"You’re awfully quiet, doll." She tilted her head, the streetlights strobing across her face as we passed. Each flash lit her smile sharper, crueler.

"Not what I expected. Usually sluts like you brag. Post selfies. Tell their friends every dirty detail."

I flinched at the word. My throat tightened, but I forced myself not to answer.

Her laugh filled the car, soft and mocking. "Ohhh, you think if you don’t speak, I’ll forget you exist? Cute. But I’ve been watching you longer than you realize."

My breath caught. I shifted in my seat, lingerie that was meant to be sexy now suffocating under the velvet dress.

"Scholarship girl," she said suddenly, her tone lilting, like a nursery rhyme. "Little countryside orphan who lucked her way into the big city. Bet you still send prayers to mommy and daddy’s grave every night, don’t you? Hoping they’re proud while you spread your legs for your best friend daddy."

The words landed like knives. I froze, nails digging into my palms. How the hell did she know?

Her eyes gleamed as she leaned closer, clearly savoring the shock written across my face.

"Oh, sweetie. I know everything. Your past, your present... your future if you don’t behave."

I forced air into my lungs. "You don’t know me."

Sandy laughed again, sharp and broken.

"Don’t I? I know the way you shake when you’re lying. I know you’ve never really belonged in that fancy campus. You stick out, even when you try not to. That’s why you let him dress you up, isn’t it? So maybe—just maybe—you’ll look like you belong at his side. Like a doll he can polish."

I pressed back into the seat, nails biting crescents into my palms. My heart pounded so loud I was sure the driver could hear.

Her voice dropped, a hiss just for me. "But you’re not his. You’re never going to be his. You’re just on borrowed time. My time."

Her hand slid up the hem of her red dress, and the pocket knife was now in her hand. My stomach lurched.

She wasn’t threatening me directly, not yet. She just flipped it open, slow, deliberate, tracing the blade over her own thigh like she was caressing herself with danger.

"Relax," she purred, catching my wide eyes. "I wouldn’t ruin your pretty little dress. Not yet."

I wanted to scream. To claw at the window, to demand the driver pull over. But the driver sat stiff, eyes locked on the road, like he’d been paid not to notice.

Sandy leaned close enough that her lips brushed my ear. "Do you want to know the difference between me and you?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

She whispered, low and poisonous, "He chose me. Again and again. You’re a distraction. A shiny toy. A warm body. And when he’s done, you’ll be nothing but a story he doesn’t admit to."

The knife clicked shut. She slipped it into her purse like it was lipstick, a smile returning as if nothing had happened.

The car slowed. I blinked, realizing we weren’t climbing toward the quiet rooftop district. We were pulling up to something far more blinding.

Bright lights and Cameras as well as Paparazzi flashing. Women in gowns. Men in tuxedos. A freaking gala like she threatened.

My breath stuttered. This wasn’t what he’d written. This wasn’t private. This was public.

The car eased to a stop at the foot of a glittering staircase. And waiting at the bottom, leaning casually against a railing, was a tall figure in a sharp black suit.

Not Grant.

Luca.

He spotted me through the tinted glass before the driver even opened the door. His mouth curved slow, predatory. His eyes dragged over me like he already owned me.

Sandy’s hand tightened on mine again.

"Showtime, doll," she whispered.

My whole body turned to ice.

"Sandy, you can’t do this—" My voice cracked, shaking, tears already spilling hot and uncontrollable down my cheeks.

"But I can, baby." Her grin stretched crueler, almost delighted at my unraveling, before she popped the door open and shoved me out. I stumbled, heels scraping against the curb, my legs refusing to find solid ground for what felt like forever.

Through my blurred vision, I caught Sandy and Luca exchanging words without a single sound, just the twitch of an eyebrow, the blink of an eye, the kind of silent understanding that made my stomach flip.

What the hell was going on? Before I could spit my anger into the air, Sandy lifted her phone, and the blinding flash detonated against my face.

"Smile, bitch."

"What are you trying to do?" My voice wavered, equal parts fury and confusion, but before the question even landed, Luca’s arm locked around my waist. His smile was glossy, polished, like this was some red-carpet charade we’d been rehearsing for.

"Smile," Sandy barked again. Her voice cracked like a whip, commanding, mocking. I met her gaze head-on, my face wet with tears, refusing to give her the satisfaction of seeing me curl into a corner.

Her voice dropped, venom wrapped in honey.

"I see. Would you rather your little friend know you’d rather be recreating this picture with her dad?"

The words sliced clean through me. My stomach bottomed out. There was no choice anymore. I dragged up the ugliest, stiffest smile I’d ever worn in my life.

The flash exploded again and again as Luca shifted his grip to one hand at my waist, the other grazing my arm, adjusting me like we were lovebirds posing for a glossy magazine cover.

Inside, I was stone. Frozen. Tears still leaking, my fake grin plastered on while my heart shrieked to run.

"Perfect." Sandy’s verdict was sharp and satisfied, before she slid back into the car, the door slamming shut. The engine purred away, carrying her with it, leaving me with the one man I least wanted to be near.

"Move."

Luca’s voice grated, rough and impatient, as he shoved me aside to stride toward the gala’s glowing entrance, not sparing me a glance.

And just like that, my night twisted into a nightmare I hadn’t imagined even in my worst dreams.