After My Mafia Stepfather Turned Me Down in Bed: I Left for Africa to Teach

Not long after I submitted the paperwork, the director of the volunteer teaching program called me into his office. “Ella, we all know what happened to your parents. You want to go somewhere that dangerous. Does Mr. Miller know?”

At the mention of Vincent, pain stabbed through my chest on instinct. After a beat of silence, I straightened my back and said firmly, “Sir, I’m an adult. I have the right to make my own decisions.”

“Besides, he’s busy preparing for his wedding. Me leaving just means one less problem for him.”

The director took a sip of tea and sighed as he looked at me.

“Ella, I know you’re mad at him. But Africa isn’t just harsh living conditions, some areas have armed conflict. Though being upset, you can’t afford to gamble with your life. Take your materials back. I’ll pretend I never saw them today.”

I frowned and refused to take the file. “I’m not doing this out of protest. I’m serious. My parents left their lives on the road of volunteer teaching. I want to walk the rest of that road for them.”

I insisted on going. The director stared at me and asked three times whether I meant it.

Each time, my answer came out more certain than the last.

In the end, he put my application materials away, and his eyes reddened in an instant. “Good kid. I know you’ve got your great dream. Go back and pack. Get ready to say goodbye to Mr. Miller.”

I nodded and turned to leave.

The house was so empty that if a needle dropped, you could hear the echo.

I went back to my room and looked around.

I’d lived here for ten years; almost everywhere and every corner were carved with traces and secret crush of me.

One cup was blue, one was pink. The keychains and toothbrushes were the same style too, just different colors.

Even now, seeing those little things, I could remember exactly what I’d been thinking when I bought them, half hoping he’d notice, half terrified that he would.

“Ella, why are you staring at a cup?”

I snapped back to myself and turned my head. Vincent was standing in the doorway, holding Isabella’s hand.

Isabella narrowed her eyes when she saw the cup in my hand. “Vincent, why does Ella’s cup look exactly like the one you use in your office?”

Vincent’s gaze followed hers.

For some reason, the cup suddenly felt scalding hot in my hand, like it was burning my fingertips.

My hand trembled. The pink cup slipped and smashed on the floor, shattering into pieces. A sharp shard grazed my calf, leaving a thin line of blood.

Vincent’s brows drew together as he looked at my bleeding leg.

“Ella, how old are you? Someone looks at you and you can’t even hold onto a cup? What, you’re getting more childish the older you get?”

I shot back without thinking, “I just didn’t hold it firmly.”

Isabella patted Vincent lightly, scolding him in a coquettish tone. “She’s injured and you’re still talking like that. What kind of guardian are you?”

Vincent looked at Isabella, warmth rippling in his eyes. “It’s fine. It’s just a small cut. That kind of thing doesn’t even count as an injury.”

Hearing him say that, my tears nearly spilled over.

Back then, even if it was just a scratch, he would panic and dig through the medicine cabinet.

When I told him not to worry so much, he’d grin at me and say, “Our little kid can’t be hurt. Not even a little.”

I forced a smile that felt stiff enough to crack. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of it myself.”

Vincent’s expression sharpened. He frowned and started scolding me. “It’s a tiny cut. What’s the big deal? Don’t be so delicate.”

“Isabella came to visit our home. You’re the host here, and you didn’t even offer water or say hello. What kind of manner is that? Is this what I taught you?”

I pressed my lips together, went to the water dispenser, and poured two cups of iced water, setting them in front of Vincent and Isabella.

Under Isabella’s provocative gaze, I spoke softly, “Mr. Miller, Ms. Isabella, please have some water.”

Vincent looked slightly surprised.

It was the first time I’d been willing to address him as “Mr. Miller.”

Only after they took a couple sips did I speak again. “Mr. Miller, is there anything else? If not, I’m going back to rest.”

“Wait. There is something.”

“Isabella and I decided to set the wedding in seven days. Isabella wants you to be her bridesmaid.”

Isabella nodded rapidly and added, “And I want you to help me pick everything out with me, the dress, the jewelry, all of it.”

My fingers trembled.

Those were the things I used to dream about most.

Vincent knew exactly how much that would hurt and still, without hesitation, he chose to hurt me for Isabella.

I nodded numbly. Only then did Vincent wave his hand, dismissing me to go rest.