Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 200

Victoria: POV

The message was clinical, devoid of emotion

This wasn’t the Julian who used to look at me with guilt and obligation, who’d flown to Paris a dozen times to check on my ‘treatment,’ who’d promised to marry me as soon as his contract with Elena expired.

This was Julian Sterling, CEO of Sterling Conglomerate, and I was just another problem to be dealt with.

I typed out a response with my good hand, deleting and rewriting it three times before finally sending: [I’ll be there.]

His reply came instantly: [Good. Adrian will be present. So will my attorneys. We’re recording everything. Don’t bother lying-we already have all the

evidence we need.]

The clock read 8:07 AM.

Fifty-three minutes.

I forced myself to move, gathering what I needed-wallet, keys, phone.

My purse felt impossibly heavy as I slung it over my shoulder, the weight pulling at my injured ribs.

I caught another glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror and almost laughed at the absurdity.

Here I was, dressed like I was heading to a business meeting, when in reality I was walking toward my own destruction.

The elevator ride down felt like descending into hell.

Each floor that passed brought me closer to the moment when I’d have to step outside, get into a car, drive to Sterling Fashion HQ, and face the man whose life I’d tried to control for so long.

The man whose wife I’d tormented, whose child I’d—

*No. Don’t think about planning that attack on the rooftop of New York Presbyterian Hospital. Ron’t think about the baby. Don’t think about Elena in that hospital bed, crying over the child she’d lost.

Don’t think about the fact that you put those men up to it, that you told Catherine exactly how to make it look like an accident, that you-”

The elevator doors opened.

The lobby was empty except for the doorman, who gave me a strange look as I passed.

Did he know?

Had the news already spread through the building’s staff network?

Victoria Astor, the famous designer, is actually a criminal. Pass it on.

1/3

1:31 pm

Chapter 200

PPM.

Cuts, the morning air was crisp and cold.

Manhattan was just waking up, early commuters hurrying past with coffee cups and briefcases, completely oblivious to the personal apocalypse happening in

their midst.

I stood on the sidewalk, momentarily paralyzed by the weight of what was about to happen.

My phone buzzed.

Catherine again.

[I can see you from here. You look like shit. 🙂 -C]

I spun around, searching the street, the windows across the way, the parked cars.

Where was she?

Was she really watching, or was this just another mind game designed to keep me off-balance?

Another text: [Relax. I’m not actually there. But I bet that got your heart racing, didn’t it? Now get moving. Julian’s waiting. -C]

I wanted to scream.

Wanted to throw my phone into traffic and watch it shatter.

Wanted to run back upstairs, pack whatever I could carry, and disappear before anyone could stop me.

But my frozen accounts meant no plane tickets, no hotel rooms, no way to survive on the run.

And Julian’s threat about the FBI meant I’d be arrested within hours if I tried.

I’m trapped. Completely, utterly trapped.

A black car pulled up to the curb.

Not a taxi-too sleek, too expensive.

The back window rolled down, revealing a man in a dark suit with an earpiece.

Security.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify