Chapter 3 Visiting My Boyfriend's Home

Stephanie's POV

I looked up and saw Lorenzo standing in front of Martin and me, hands shoved in his pockets, his expression dark.

"Since your boyfriend's here, I'll leave you two alone." Martin stood up tactfully.

"Okay, see you later." I kept my tone polite.

After Martin left, Lorenzo's face softened back to its usual gentleness. "Sorry, honey. Something came up at lunch. Have you eaten? If not, my treat."

"Already ate." My voice came out flat.

"Then... want to take a walk?" he suggested, hesitant.

I paused, then finally nodded.

We barely spoke the whole way. He kept trying to start conversations while I stayed distracted, only offering the occasional brief response.

"By the way, I called my mom this afternoon," he said suddenly.

I frowned and looked at him, not sure where this was going.

"I told her I have a girlfriend." He took my hand, his voice gentle. "She wants you to come over for dinner this weekend."

I froze, unsure how to respond.

"You know, I've never brought a girl home before." His expression turned serious, his tone careful and sincere. "You're the first girl I've wanted to bring home, so my mom's really looking forward to meeting you."

I stayed quiet for a long time.

I'd mentioned wanting to visit his house before, and he'd always found excuses to put it off.

I could tell this time he meant it.

Logically, I should've been happy about this.

"Saturday or Sunday?" My voice stayed flat.

"Saturday." He opened his arms and pulled me into a gentle hug, his voice soft. "I'll pick you up at noon."

I leaned into his chest and nodded obediently. "Okay."

Over the next few days, I stopped obsessing over Lorenzo and poured all my energy back into training.

"Beautiful jump!"

Deborah stood in front of the mirror, clapping for me, satisfaction written across her face.

"This is the Stephanie I know." She walked over, took the whistle from around her neck, and placed it around mine. "For the championship in three weeks, you need to keep this up."

By giving me the whistle, she was officially naming me cheer captain.

"Thank you. I will."

I held the whistle against my chest, excitement bubbling up inside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Jessica standing at the far edge of the group, her face twisted with contempt.

Practice ended right at noon.

I was the last one out of the training hall. I shut off the sound system, cracked open the windows to air the place out, and picked up the scattered water bottles to toss in the trash.

I pushed open the door and saw Lorenzo's car parked outside, waiting.

The drive took about forty minutes. The car finally stopped in front of a gray stone villa.

Lorenzo's mom was standing under the front portico, waiting for us.

She wore a beige linen blazer, her hair swept into a low bun. When she saw me, she walked down the steps, took both my hands in hers, and smiled warmly. "Stephanie, finally! You're even more beautiful than I imagined. Come in, come in."

Scarlett Lewis led me inside, and I immediately noticed a family portrait hanging on the living room wall.

In the photo, Lorenzo looked about seven or eight, missing a front tooth but grinning without a care in the world. Joshua Smith and Scarlett stood on either side of him, all three wearing easy, natural smiles.

But on the far right of the photo, there was someone else.

That person wasn't smiling.

He only showed half his face, dressed in a dark gray suit, standing at an angle on the edge of the frame. Yet his presence commanded more attention than anyone else in the picture.

"That's Lorenzo's uncle." Scarlett noticed my gaze and explained softly, then quickly changed the subject. "Come on, the dining room's this way. I made everything myself today. If there's anything you don't like, just let me know."

The atmosphere during the meal was much more relaxed than I'd expected.

Scarlett kept telling stories about Lorenzo's embarrassing childhood moments.

He tried to cover her mouth while laughing at the same time, and the whole table erupted in laughter. The mood was genuinely warm.

Just as I was starting to relax completely, a car horn sounded outside.

The atmosphere in the dining room shifted instantly. Everyone's expressions tightened.

Before I could process what was happening, the front door swung open.

A man in a black suit walked in.

He looked to be in his mid-thirties, very tall—half a head taller than Lorenzo—with broad shoulders and a trim waist. Under his black suit jacket, he wore a white turtleneck. A few strands of hair fell across his forehead. He carried himself with a quiet, commanding presence that filled the room.

Scarlett was the first to stand, keeping her tone light. "Christopher, you're back. We thought you'd be later."

"Meeting ended early." When Christopher Lewis spoke, his voice was low and rough, like gravel.

He set his car keys on the side table, then began removing his jacket, moving with deliberate, unhurried precision, as if following some ingrained routine.

That's when I saw the gun holstered at his waist.

The black grip pressed against his side, secured by his belt. The gun wasn't particularly large, but it was enough to make my mind go blank.

I'd grown up in Harborcrest and had seen hunting rifles and guns on police officers' belts, but I'd never seen someone carry a weapon so casually into a family dining room.

The others at the table didn't seem fazed.

Scarlett barely glanced at it before looking away.

Lorenzo just let out a quiet sigh and squeezed my hand under the table, as if reminding me to stay calm.

Christopher walked to the dining table, his gaze sweeping slowly over everyone before finally landing on me.

The moment our eyes met, every muscle in my back went rigid.

His face showed almost no expression, his tone even. "A guest?"

Lorenzo immediately stood, his voice noticeably more deferential. "Uncle, this is Stephanie. My girlfriend."

I froze when I heard the word "uncle."

Uncle?

Lorenzo had never mentioned he had an uncle who looked this young.

"Stephanie." Christopher repeated my name, his voice barely above a murmur, as if testing the weight of it.

Then he said nothing. Just kept looking at me.

A cold sweat broke out across my back.

I didn't fully understand why I was so on edge, but the pressure radiating off him was overwhelming. I had to consciously control my breathing.

I swallowed hard and forced myself to stand.

"Hello." I put on a polite smile. "Nice to meet you."

I extended my hand.

He glanced down at my outstretched hand but didn't take it right away. Instead, he said flatly, his voice still low, "Is the food at school really that bad?"