My ex-husband’s nightmare (Lydia and Mason) novel Chapter 187

187 /187

**Worst Fear 187**

**Victoria**

*Two hours before the meeting*

I delicately swept the brush across my cheeks, feeling the soft bristles caress my skin. With a sense of satisfaction, I set the brush down on the table and turned my body from side to side, scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror. Perfection radiated back at me. The makeup concealed the scars I had desperately wanted to hide from the world, those marks that told stories I was no longer willing to share.

A warm glow enveloped the room, bathing everything in a golden hue, while the curtains fluttered gently, as if dancing to a melody only they could hear. I hummed softly to myself, tapping my feet lightly against the floor, trying to drown out the haunting memories of the previous night. Each moment felt like a weight pressing down on my chest, making it increasingly difficult to forget.

The pink lipstick I had chosen was infused with a sweet strawberry scent. I pressed my lips together, savoring the fragrance before my phone chimed, breaking the momentary peace. My heart raced as I reached for it, my hands trembling slightly as I opened the message.

Hope surged within me, only to crash violently as I realized the message was from Michael, not Bridget. I had been anxiously awaiting updates from Bridget throughout the day, and my anticipation quickly turned to frustration when I found nothing.

I attempted to call her, but her number was unreachable, just like the doctor’s. Disappointment gnawed at me, but I forced myself to focus on Michael’s message, reading each line with growing dread. The sickening feeling in my stomach intensified, and I straightened my posture, dialing his number with urgency. The call connected on the fifth ring, and I wasted no time. “What do you mean?” I demanded, my voice sharp. “Who met who?”

Michael and I shared a bond that spanned over twenty-five years. His loyalty and diligence were the reasons I kept him close, despite years of silence between us. I knew that, no matter the distance, he would always be there for me when I needed him.

“Megan was approached by someone,” he replied, his tone steady. “I think it’s about Irene.” His straightforwardness was one of the traits I appreciated most about him.

My brows knitted together in confusion and anger. “I thought we had silenced her years ago?” I shot back, incredulous. Everyone involved in that fateful night had been eliminated—so how was it possible that she was still alive?

“We didn’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You said to keep her alive.” His words sent a jolt through me, and I began to sift through my memories, searching for clarity.

“Why would I do that…” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. But Michael, ever perceptive, picked up on my uncertainty. “She begged you to spare her life and promised to remain quiet forever,” he added, his voice firm.

Frustration bubbled within me as I ran a hand through my hair, rising to pace the room. “That’s not a good enough reason to keep her alive,” I muttered, gnawing on my fingers in agitation.

What had I been thinking at that moment? Why had she suddenly resurfaced? Everything felt as though it was spiraling out of control, and with every passing minute, the weight of my anxiety threatened to crush me.

“Who reached out to her? What do we know?” I pressed, my mind racing. It was never too late to silence her.

“We have nothing on the person,” he replied, his voice tinged with frustration. I halted mid-step, aware of Michael’s reputation for being thorough and astute; nothing ever slipped past him. “But I’ll keep looking. I’ll keep you posted,” he assured me before the line went dead.

10:41 Thu, Nov 27 G…

**Chapter 187**

The news, combined with the absence of any updates from Bridget, left me on edge. My nails found their way to my lips as the car glided through the streets, my head resting heavily against the headrest.

I was grateful for the dinner I had arranged with Gloria. Engaging in light conversation over a meal would hopefully provide a distraction from the turmoil swirling within me.

*Present*

My head fell to the side, and a sharp pain radiated through my cheek. I pressed my palm against my face, slowly lifting my head, a surge of anger coursing through my veins.

“What is the mea—” I began, but my words were abruptly cut off by the resounding crack of a slap echoing through the room for the third time that evening. A part of me was relieved that our table was secluded from the prying eyes of others; at least I wouldn’t have to endure the humiliation of an audience.

The third slap awakened something dormant within me. In an instant, my hand shot up, poised to return the favor, but just as my palm neared her face, she deftly caught my wrist and twisted it painfully.

A low cry escaped my lips, but she remained unfazed. Instead, she twisted my arm further, forcing me down before shoving me away with a brutal shove.

A sharp pain shot through my hand, and a torrent of emotions surged within me—pain, anger, hatred—all swelling and threatening to overflow.

I extended my hand, trying to regain composure as I glared at her. “Are you out of your mind? After making me wait for hours, this is how you greet me? With a slap?” My voice was sharp, reverberating with indignation.