His Regret Arrived Three Days Late novel Chapter 190

The grandest, most dazzling villa in the seaside district stood with imposing splendor. The doorbell rang.

Then the door opened, and Annika stepped inside without hesitation.

The woman inside—Lydia—went from surprised to composed as she recognized her visitor. She raised an eyebrow. "Can I help you?"

Lydia clearly knew who Annika was. Perhaps she had been expecting this visit, which would explain her calm, unruffled demeanor.

Annika glanced around the living room and saw no one else. She cut straight to the chase. "I'm sure you know who I am, Ms. Sutton, and why I'm here. This villa is my father's property. I'll have to ask you to move out immediately."

Lydia shot her a look and sneered. "You certainly don't waste any time. I assume you already know about my relationship with your father. He left this villa to me before he died. Why should I move out?"

Annika's eyes narrowed. "I've met shameless people before, but never anyone quite like you."

She clapped her hands twice, and two shadowy figures entered from outside. Without a word, they began grabbing things from the villa and throwing them out. The sound of heavy objects crashing echoed one after another.

Seeing this, Lydia rushed forward to stop them, but the men were too strong for her. She could only turn and scream at Annika, "What right do you have to do this to me?"

Annika seemed to ignore her, standing in the entryway with her arms crossed.

Annika squeezed her phone, forcing back the moisture in her eyes. She turned to Lydia, her voice firm. "Even so, what does that change? What kind of person are you, Lydia? You're nothing but a common prostitute. My father was gravely ill and not in his right mind. You manipulated him, which is why this will even exists."

Lydia let out a tinkling laugh, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Annika, do you know what your father once told me?" she purred. "He said your mother was a rotten woman he hated, and that if there was a next life, he would never want to be with her. Of course, I know he still loved her deep down. He just couldn't have her. Now, look at me."

Lydia pointed to her own face. "Look closely. Don't I look a little like your mother?"

Annika stared at Lydia's youthful face. At her prompting, Annika suddenly saw it—a certain quality in the woman's eyes that truly did resemble her mother's. Memories of her father's doting affection for her mother, their inseparable closeness, flashed before her eyes. When her mother died, her father had guarded her coffin for a day and a night without moving. Everyone had been touched by his profound love. And yet, it was all a lie.