The air in Lydia's townhouse feels heavier now, suffocating in its silence. My thoughts race as I stare at the black screen of my phone, the video's sinister echo still ringing in my ears. Michael's smirk. Victoria's cold assurance.
"By the time this is over, Emma won't just lose her baby. She'll lose everything."
My hand trembles as I set the phone down, the words replaying in my mind like a haunting melody I can't escape.
Why does this new footage seem so perfectly timed? And why does it match the earlier video Michael provided?
My chest tightens as the realization sinks in. He's not just playing both sides—he's controlling the narrative. Giving me enough rope to believe I'm winning, while ensuring Victoria stays one step ahead.
I lean back, my hand instinctively cradling my belly. My baby. The thought of losing this child to Victoria makes my stomach churn.
Victoria isn't just after custody. She's after my entire existence.
