My ex-husband’s nightmare (Lydia and Mason) novel Chapter 182

**Chapter 182**

**Victoria**

The cold water cascaded down my skin, mingling with the remnants of last night’s chaos. My fingers clawed at my arms, leaving angry red lines as I scrubbed and scrubbed, desperate to rid myself of the filth that clung to me—not just the dirt, but the memories that haunted me like a ghost. Each splash against my dress felt like a reminder of my turmoil, a reminder I couldn’t escape.

I stood there, caught in the relentless flow of water, my mind spiraling back to the moment that had shattered everything. The faucet was my anchor, and I leaned against it, trying to steady the storm brewing inside me. The image of my reflection stared back, dark eyes wide and haunted, as a scene flickered in my mind like a broken film reel.

When I had confided in Julia about my plan to rid ourselves of Lydia once and for all, I had envisioned her joy, her excitement at the prospect of Mason being free from Lydia’s grasp. I had thought that finally, we would reclaim our lives. But instead, Julia had thrown a wrench into my carefully laid plans.

Her sudden desire for peace and reconciliation had thrown me off balance. “It’s not too late to right our wrongs,” she had said, her voice laced with sincerity, but all I felt was disbelief.

I had laughed, though it was devoid of humor. “Your jokes get worse by the day,” I had replied, waiting for her to join in the laughter, to reveal that she was merely teasing. But the silence that followed was deafening, her expression unyielding, a stark contrast to the playful banter we once shared.

“I don’t want to manipulate the public anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears. She couldn’t even meet my gaze.

“What did you just say?” My surprise quickly morphed into a simmering anger. My throat felt raw, a fire igniting within me, but I swallowed it down. Not yet.

Had Lydia wormed her way back into Julia’s heart? The questions swirled in my mind like a tempest, each one more maddening than the last.

“Let’s stop. We have done enough harm to Lydia and Mason; she hasn’t done anything to deserve it.”

“She took Mason away from us!” I reminded her, my voice rising, as if that simple truth would rekindle her resolve. Julia inhaled sharply, her conviction wavering. “She took your fiancé and my son,” I pressed on, desperation creeping into my tone.

“Mason was never mine. He’s not yours either. You are his mother, but he has the right to choose who he wants in his life. He chose her, and I think we should respect that,” she countered, her gaze finally locking onto mine, a flicker of defiance sparking in her eyes.

I clenched my fist, my lips quivering with suppressed rage. “You said you would do anything.” The weight of her betrayal hung heavy in the air between us.

She lowered her gaze, her fingers nervously tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I know, and I’m sorry,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I sound like a spoiled, ungrateful brat right now, but I’m sorry. Let’s drop everything and apologize…”

“Apologies?” I echoed, disbelief coloring my tone. She nodded, and I felt my resolve waver, my anger battling with a strange sense of loss. She thought this was all about her, that her guilt could wash away everything we had done.

I reached for my glass, twirling it between my fingers, the liquid swirling as my mind raced. How dare she presume that one word could absolve her of our shared sins?

“I know you will understand; I have been—”

“Leave.” My voice sliced through the air, cold and unyielding. I raised the glass to my lips, taking a deliberate sip, savoring the bitter taste while ignoring the shocked gasp that escaped Julia’s lips.

“You want me to—”

I nodded, my expression unchanging. The glass was empty now, just like the bottles scattered around the room, and I craved more.

“Get out, right now!” The gravity of my tone finally registered with her, and she scrambled to gather her things, her purse clutched tightly in her hands.

But I wasn’t done.

She stood at the door, her expression a mix of defiance and fear. “I see you’ve been deluding yourself and overestimating your importance. You don’t get to tell me when to act or stop acting. If I say the girl dies, she dies!”

Her words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a warning.

“Do not hurt Lydia.” The tone she used was unlike any I had ever heard from her, laced with an authority that sparked amusement within me.

“Are you afraid you’ll have blood on your hands and be branded a murderer?” I taunted, relishing the shift in our dynamics.

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