Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 191

Chapter 191

Victoria: POV

The water scalded my hands as I scrubbed them under the faucet for the third time in an hour, watching pink-tinged soap suds swirl down the drain.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror looked like a stranger-hollow cheeks, shadows under my eyes deep enough to pool water, lips bitten raw.

Sleep well, Victoria. If you can.

The text message from last night still glowed behind my eyelids every time I blinked. Unknown number. Untraceable, according to my security team. Just like

the seventeen calls before it.

I dried my hands on the monogrammed towel-V.A. embroidered in gold thread-and noticed they were shaking again. Had been shaking for days now.

Weeks, maybe.

Time had become fluid, unreliable. The days bled into nights, and the nights stretched into eternities where every shadow held Catherine’s ghost,

Dead women don’t make phone calls, I told myself firmly, gripping the marble countertop. Dead women don’t text. Dead women don’t-

My phone buzzed.

I lunged for it, nearly knocking over my prescription bottles. Xanax. Ambien. Prozac. All of them prescribed by Dr. Reyes, who looked at me with that careful,

clinical concern that made me want to scream.

The screen showed Malica’s name. My bodyguard. Not an unknown number.

Relief flooded through me so intensely I had to sit down on the closed toilet lid.

“Yes?” My voice came out raspy. When had I last had water?

“Ms. Astor, just confirming-you canceled the Bergdorf meeting this morning, correct?” His tone was professional, neutral. And you still want to proceed with the investor lunch at Le Bernardin?”

Right. I’d canceled Bergdorf yesterday, claimed food poisoning. But the investors-Richard Thomas and his partner-had been the ones to set up today’s

lunch. Three weeks of back-and-forth emails.

Canceling would look suspicious. Weak.

And I can’t afford to look weak. Not now.

J

“Yes, I forced out. I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

I ended the call and stared at my reflection again. The navy Chanel suit hung loose on my frame–I’d lost nearly fifteen pounds in three weeks. My collarbones jutted out sharp enough to cast shadows. Makeup could only do so much to hide the damage.

I finished my face with trembling hands. Red lipstick. Winged eyeliner. The armor of a woman who had everything under control.

The reflection in the mirror almost looked convincing.

1/3

1:30 pm

Chapter 191

PP

The elevator ride down to the lobby felt interminable. Forty-seven floors. I counted every single one, watching the numbers descend, trying to focus on

something concrete. Something real

Malica waited by the car, his hand resting casually on his hip.

I knew he was armed. Had insisted on it after the fifth call, when I’d finally broken down and told my security team I was being “harassed by an unknown

party.

They’d swept my apartment for bugs. Changed all my locks. Installed additional cameras. Traced the phone numbers-all burner cells, purchased with cash

from different states, impossible to track.

Professional, they’d said. Someone who knew what they were doing.

Or a ghost who doesn’t leave fingerprints.

“Ms. Astor.” Malica opened the car door. “Are you feeling alright? You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” The lie came automatically. “Just tired. Bad night.”

Every night was a bad night now. I’d lie awake in my king-size bed, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my phone to ring. Sometimes it did. Sometimes it

didn’t. The not knowing was worse.

The car pulled into traffic, and I watched Manhattan blur past the tinted windows. People going about their normal lives. Shopping. Working. Existing without looking over their shoulders every five seconds.

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