From His Invisible Wife to the World's Icon novel Chapter 169

"I just wanted to ask... could I attend the funeral?"

She immediately remembered the news broadcast. It was strictly private.

"I'm sorry, I overstepped," she whispered, her heart sinking. "I won't bother you anymore."

She began to lower the phone.

"Lydia, be at the cemetery at nine tomorrow," his grim, commanding voice ordered through the speaker.

Her eyelashes fluttered, a flicker of genuine relief in her eyes. "I'll be there on time."

The line went dead immediately.

He was still freezing her out. Clearly, her presence wasn't entirely welcome.

But for Eleanor's sake, she was willing to brave it to pay her respects.

A cold breeze swept past. Pulling her robe tighter, she stepped back inside to pick out her outfit. Little did she know, her silhouette was perfectly reflected in the dark eyes of the man sitting in the black Lincoln parked just outside the estate.

A weathered file on a two-year-old car crash lay open on Xavier's lap. Two fresh surveillance photos were clipped to the yellowed pages: one showing a bloodied woman cradled in the arms of a man in a sharp suit inside an ambulance, and the other capturing that same woman clinging to the man's hand in a hospital bed, weeping uncontrollably.

In both photos, the man—Frederick—was completely unscathed.

Xavier slammed the file shut. His gaze drifted to the crumpled white bridal gown beside him, his expression deadly calm.

The Lincoln purred to life, sliding away into the night.

Hearing an engine revving below, Lydia ignored it, fully focused on the closet.

Funerals demanded dark colors.

She reached for a black twinset.

"Mrs. Foster, the lawyers said you need something brighter to appear soft and gentle on camera," Gable reminded her.

"What time is the interview?"

"Nine o'clock," Gable replied.

Lydia frowned, opening a map app to check the distance to the cemetery.

It was a one-hour round trip.

She'd have to leave by seven-thirty. Not wanting to disturb Xavier with a call, she shot him a quick text instead.

"I'll wear this." Defying the lawyers, Lydia pulled out a sleek black tweed dress and a pair of dark heels.

Gable bit her tongue and said nothing.

That night, checking her phone repeatedly for a reply that never came, she eventually fell asleep, completely ignoring Sierra's shrieking down the hall.

First thing the next morning.

She grabbed a cab and sped to the cemetery.

Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he checked the screen before leveling a stare at her. "Next time, don't just show up unconfirmed."

"Follow me." He turned on his heel, his long legs eating up the distance back to the gravesite.

Lydia looked up at his broad back.

Next time?

There wouldn't be a next time.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, and she quickly scurried after him.

The cemetery was cast in heavy, mournful shadows.

She followed him to a freshly dug grave. Looking at the porcelain photo set into the headstone, she gently laid the bouquet of tulips she had brought down as a floral tribute.

Remembering Eleanor's tender affection, a lump formed in her throat.

Fighting back the tears, she paid her final respects. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was already eight-twenty. "Thank you for letting me come, Mr. Ford."

She turned to leave.

At that exact moment, Wesley ran up the path, handing Xavier a manila folder.

"Wait." Xavier's voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned around and saw the file.

Realizing it was the crash investigation report, Lydia practically snatched it from his hand, desperately flipping it open.