CHAPTER 7

"What! What do you mean she's not there anymore?" Williams barked over the phone.

He had just been informed that Lydia had left Rachael's house. Clara, who had been sitting across from him, suddenly sat up straight and closed the magazine she was reading.

"What happened?" she asked when he ended the call.

Williams tossed his phone onto the coffee table, his expression darkening. "Lydia left Rachael's apartment."

"Where did she go?"

"Apparently, someone came to pick her up."

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Someone?"

"A black Bugatti." He reached for his glass of water, taking a sip before adding, "The registration number is 12998."

Clara stared at him. "A Bugatti?"

"That's what I was told."

"Do you know who owns it?"

"No. And that's what I intend to find out."

Williams placed his glass down with a little more force than necessary. He couldn't understand where Lydia had suddenly found such an extravagant means of transportation. Rachael certainly couldn't afford a Bugatti, and he doubted any of Lydia's old acquaintances would go to such lengths for her.

Unless there was someone else.

His jaw tightened. The thought of another man driving up to collect Lydia, especially when she was still legally his wife, irritated him. He had expected her to spend a few days nursing her wounded pride before eventually realising that she had nowhere to go. He certainly hadn't expected her to disappear in a luxury car.

Whoever the man was, he was getting too comfortable.

"Perhaps it's a friend," Clara suggested, watching his expression.

Williams gave a humourless laugh. "What kind of friend sends a Bugatti to pick up a woman who has just left her husband?"

Clara shrugged. "You tell me."

He shot her a displeased look.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" she continued. "You're the one who said she would eventually come around. Now she's gone, and apparently, someone is making sure she's comfortable."

Williams leaned back against the sofa, his eyes narrowing. "We need to find out who owns that car."

"You're making it sound as though you care where she goes."

"I don't." His response came without hesitation. "But I won't have her parading around with another man and making a fool of me."

Clara studied him for a moment before looking away. "Then perhaps you should be more concerned about what she's planning to do next. If she's found someone willing to help her, she might also find the courage to make trouble for us."

"She has no evidence."

"Are you certain about that?"

Williams's expression turned cold. "I know what I did and what I didn't do. She can make whatever accusations she likes, but she won't get anywhere without proof."

Clara tapped her fingers against the closed magazine, thinking for a moment. The last thing she wanted was Lydia returning with questions, especially when there were still things she needed to keep buried. Williams might be convinced that the matter was settled, but she wasn't foolish enough to underestimate a woman who had just been humiliated.

"I have a plan," she said eventually.

Williams turned towards her. "What plan?"

The Lambert mansion's dining room looked particularly inviting that afternoon. Fresh flowers decorated the centre of the long dining table, while the aroma of roasted chicken, creamy mashed potatoes and freshly baked pastries filled the room.

Lydia sat opposite her grandmother, dressed in a beautiful fitted T-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts. Her hair had been gathered into a neat bun, leaving a few soft strands framing her face. After a refreshing shower and a little rest, she had finally begun to feel like herself again.

Her grandmother, however, seemed determined to make up for all the meals Lydia had missed over the years.

"Have some more," she insisted, placing another piece of chicken on Lydia's plate.

Lydia laughed. "Grandma, are you trying to make me finish everything in the kitchen?"

"Don't be ridiculous. You haven't even touched half of what's in front of you."

"I've eaten enough."

"That's exactly what you said when you were twelve, and I remember you sneaking downstairs at midnight to finish the food you claimed you couldn't eat."

Lydia burst into laughter. "You still remember that?"

"Of course I do. You nearly knocked over the entire fruit basket trying to sneak back into your room."

For a moment, Lydia forgot the heaviness in her heart. She smiled as her grandmother recounted another childhood mischief, occasionally interrupting to defend herself against the exaggerated details.

She had missed this woman. She had missed the warmth of this house, the familiar voices and the little things she had once taken for granted.

But beneath her smile, a painful truth remained.

Her grandmother knew nothing about the pregnancy. She didn't know Lydia had spent nine months carrying a child under circumstances she had never knowingly agreed to. She didn't know that after enduring labour and finally giving birth, Lydia had been told that the baby belonged to another woman.

Lydia lowered her eyes to her plate.

She wasn't ready to tell her grandmother. Not when she had only just returned home.

"What's wrong?" her grandmother asked.

Lydia looked up. "Nothing, Grandma."

"Don't give me that. You've been smiling one moment and staring into space the next. Is there something bothering you?"

Lydia forced a small smile. "I'm just tired."

Her grandmother studied her face, clearly unconvinced, but decided not to press her immediately. Instead, she reached for her glass and took a sip of water.

"Well, you can rest as much as you want. But there's something we need to discuss."

Lydia's fingers paused around her fork.

"What is it?"

"Your disappearance, for starters. You left this family without giving me a proper explanation, and I spent years wondering what had happened to you. Then you suddenly returned, looking as though life had dealt you a terrible hand." Her grandmother placed her glass down. "I want to know where you've been, who you've been with and why you stayed away for so long."

Lydia's smile slowly faded.

"Grandma..."

"No, sweetheart. I've allowed you to settle in, and I've fed you until you can barely move. Now I want some answers." Her voice softened. "Were you happy during all those years?"

Lydia stared at her grandmother. For a moment, she struggled to find the right words. How could she explain seven years of a marriage that had slowly turned into a prison? How could she describe the humiliation of discovering that the man she trusted had been willing to sacrifice her dignity for another woman's happiness?

She drew a shaky breath.

"I thought I was, Grandma."

Her grandmother reached across the table and covered her hand.

"What happened, Lydia?"

A tear slipped down Lydia's cheek. She quickly wiped it away, but another followed.

"I loved him so much. I honestly believed he loved me too. I gave him everything, Grandma. My trust, my loyalty, my entire life. I thought I had finally found someone who would love me the way I loved him."

Her voice trembled as she looked at the woman across from her.

"But I was wrong. I thought I saw love, Grandma, but what I saw was hatred coated in rainbows."