My Ex-Husband Begged Me to Take Him Back - Chapter 341

Chapter 341: The faceless woman from the nightmare.

Chapter 341: The faceless woman from the nightmare.

Another month had slipped by, yet Erica remained elusive.

There was no lead about her.

Dylan had done everything in his power to provoke Erica into action-tightening his grip around Mr.

Blair’s business, squeezing it until it was on the brink of collapse.

One final push, and Mr.

Blair had no choice but to sell everything and leave the city in disgrace.

But there was still no sign of Erica €“ no retaliation.

It was as if she had vanished from the world.

“I don’t think she is coming back,” Justin said.

“Maybe she has abandoned the idea of revenge.” Dylan, however, refused to believe it.

His jaw tightened.

“That’s not possible.

She won’t forget her mother’s death that easily.

She will come.” He was certain in his heart that Erica would stop at nothing.

She was out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“She is watching us,” he continued.

“Maybe she is closer than we think-observing, planning.

Don’t let your guard down.

Keep looking.” With a nod, Justin turned and exited the room.

Later that day€¦ By the time Dylan stepped into the mansion, the clock had already crept past nine.

Loosening his tie with a sigh, he shrugged off his coat and carelessly dropped his briefcase onto the sofa.

“Martha, bring me a glass of water,” he muttered, sinking into the plush cushions.

Weariness clung to him, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

His phone buzzed with an incoming message, but he barely spared it a glance.

Footsteps echoed softly across the room, but Dylan remained sprawled, eyes shut.

“Just put it on the table,” he murmured, not bothering to move.

A faint clink followed as the glass was placed down, but something felt…

off.

It was unlike Martha to be this silent.

She didn’t ask him if she should serve the food like she used to do.

He opened his eyes, his brows knitting together.

Was she upset about something?

With a slow inhale, he pushed himself upright, intending to call for her-only for his phone to ring.

The moment he saw the number flashing on the screen, his expression turned serious.

He answered swiftly.

“Hello€¦” A beat of silence.

Then, his jaw tensed, his fingers gripping the phone tighter as he listened.

“I get it,” he said curtly, rising to his feet.

Ending the call, he grabbed his briefcase and strode toward his study.

But just before stepping inside, he paused.

His gaze flickered toward the kitchen.

Martha wasn’t there.

The counters were spotless, as if no dinner had been prepared at all.

A strange unease crept into his chest.

“Martha,” he called out, his tone thick and serious.

“I won’t be eating tonight.

You can go rest early.” Silence.

With a solemn look in his face, he stepped into his study, closing the door behind him.

Only then did he pull out his phone, his eyes narrowing as he opened the message he had ignored earlier.

Knock €“ Knock€¦ Dylan’s head tilted slightly, his sharp gaze flickering toward the door.

“Come in.” He walked over to the chair behind his desk and eased into it, his attention fixed on the entrance.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and a young woman, barely eighteen or nineteen, stepped inside.

Dylan’s eyes narrowed as he studied her, his instincts immediately on high alert.

“Are you new here?” he asked solemnly.

She nodded politely.

“Martha had to return to her hometown for some family matters.

She asked me to fill in until she returns.

Don’t worry, sir.

I won’t give you a reason to complain.” She stepped forward, placing a cup of coffee on his desk.

A small, polite smile graced her lips.

“You haven’t had dinner.

I thought you might need this.” Dylan’s gaze dropped to the cup.

Something sparked inside him.

He had a feeling that he had lived this moment.

It was just like the nightmare €“ as if the scenes from his nightmare had come alive.

The air around him thickened, and his heartbeat drummed a little harder in his chest.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to meet hers, scrutinizing her every feature.

She wasn’t the woman from his dream.

And yet€¦Something in her eyes made his skin prickle.

Those dark, piercing irises-far too intense, far too knowing for someone her age.

They held secrets, concealed something beneath their depths.

“What’s your name?” he asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“Lisa,” she replied shortly, her gaze never leaving his.

Dylan leaned back slightly, watching her.

“Lisa, it’s late.

You should get some rest.” Her smile widened.

“You look exhausted.

If you want, I can give you a massage.” She took a slow step toward him.

“There is no need.” His tone dropped to an icy edge, stopping her in her tracks.

“Leave.

Now.” The smile on her face vanished.

“Okay.

I’m leaving.

Don’t forget to drink the coffee.” She cast a lingering glance at the cup of coffee before retreating toward the door.

Dylan remained still, watching as she slipped out of the room.

Only when the door clicked shut behind her did he shift his gaze back to the cup sitting on his desk.

He sighed and reached for his laptop, pushing aside the unease prickling at the edges of his mind.

Minutes passed.

The glare of the screen burned his eyes, his temples throbbing.

A dull ache settled in his head.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned back in his chair.

His eyelids felt heavier than usual.

“My head hurts,” he mumbled.

Outside the room, footsteps approached and stopped just beyond the door.

A soft creak followed as the door eased open, revealing Lisa’s cautious figure peering inside.

Her gaze landed on Dylan, slumped back in his chair, his face slack with fatigue.

Satisfied, she pulled the door shut as quietly as she had opened it and hurried away.

A shadow approached her.

Lisa instinctively lowered her head, her fingers trembling slightly.

“He might have drunk the coffee,” she murmured, unease threading through her words.

“Can I go now?” The shadowed figure made a swift, dismissive gesture.

Lisa wasted no time, scurrying down the hall, disappearing into the servants’ quarters.

But the figure did not leave.

Instead, it glided toward the study, stepping through the room.

Dylan was still seated on his chair, his brow pinching and his hand resting on his chest.

“How are you feeling, Dylan?” Dylan’s eyelids fluttered open, his vision swimming as he lifted his head.

A figure loomed in the doorway, their form partially obscured by the dim light.

His breath hitched.

He couldn’t make out the face, but something about the presence sent a jolt of unease through him.

It reminded him of the faceless woman in his nightmare.

A shiver crawled down his spine, cold sweat gathering at his brow.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

A scene ripped straight from the depths of his subconscious, playing out before him in terrifying clarity.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

His fingers dug into his chest as if trying to steady his breathing.

He recalled how he had died in his past life.

It was the same setting.

It seemed as if the history was repeating itself.

‘No.

This can’t be happening.’ Panic coiled tightly around him.

His throat burned as he forced out a question, “Who are you?”