Substitute With His Nightmare

Chapter 4

Bruce

The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air long after I had left Antonella at home. It was subtle, soft, and annoyingly persistent—just like her. I found myself gripping my pen harder than necessary, staring at the blank page in front of me.

What work could a blind man do?

This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. She wasn’t supposed to matter.

But she did.

Her voice echoed in my head, hesitant and unsure. There was something about her too delicate for her own good, yet trying so hard to stand her ground that made her difficult to ignore.

I leaned back in my chair, rubbing the bridge of my nose. Work wasn’t happening today, not with her scent still clinging to the corners of my mind. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t drown her out.

It didn’t help that I’d noticed more than I wanted to admit. The way her soft hands brushed past mine during the ceremony, the warmth radiating from her as we stood at the altar, her breath catching slightly when I spoke. It was all too vivid, too present, and it was driving me mad.

“Get a grip,” I muttered under my breath, slamming the pen onto the desk.

The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts. “Bruce, you brooding bastard,” a familiar voice called out.

I sighed. “Not in the mood, Michael.”

Michael Montgomery strolled in like he owned the place, which wasn’t entirely surprising given he was my best friend and had a knack for ignoring boundaries. His easy grin faltered as he took in my expression.

“You look worse than usual,” he remarked, flopping onto the leather chair across from me.

“Thanks for the insight,” I replied dryly.

“Let me guess,” he said, gesturing dramatically. “The new Mrs. Pritchard is driving you up the wall already?”

I didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Michael let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think she’d get under your skin this fast.”

“She hasn’t,” I snapped, too quickly to sound convincing.

He laughed, leaning back in the chair. “Sure, sure. So why do you look like you’re about to punch something?”

Because I can’t stop thinking about her. Because she’s too soft, too... everything I didn’t expect.

I didn’t say any of that, of course. Instead, I shifted the topic to safer ground. “I’m thinking about Dani.”

Michael’s grin disappeared. “Ah, the bastard. What’s he done this time?”

“Existing is enough,” I said coldly.

We’d both hated Dani for as long as I could remember. He was ruthless, selfish, and everything I despised in a man. He’d wronged my family in ways that could never be forgiven, and marrying Antonella—his daughter—was the perfect way to hit back.

Michael leaned forward, his expression serious now. “You’re sure about this, Bruce? Using her to get to him?”

“It’s not about her,” I said sharply. “It’s about making Dani pay.”

“And if she gets caught in the crossfire?”

I didn’t have an answer for that. I didn’t want to think about it. Antonella wasn’t supposed to matter. She was just a means to an end, a pawn in a game much bigger than either of us.

But the memory of her soft voice, her hesitant smile, her lavender scent... it all lingered, unwanted and unshakable.

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. Dani deserves whatever’s coming to him. But don’t lose yourself in the process.”

“I’m not losing anything,” I said firmly.

He gave me a long, skeptical look before standing. “Just... don’t let this revenge plot turn into something you regret.”

As he walked out, I stared at the door, his words ringing in my ears.

The sharp buzz of my phone broke the silence. I grabbed it, expecting another work-related distraction. Instead, the message on the screen made my blood run cold.

Unknown Number: You think you’re the only one with secrets, Bruce? Watch your back.

My grip tightened on the phone as I read the message again. The game had just gotten more dangerous, and whoever sent this knew more than they should.

“Antonella,” I muttered under my breath.

Whatever this was, it wasn’t just about revenge anymore.

THE AUTHOR’s POV

The private club reeked of excess, its dim lighting casting long shadows over the lavish leather seats and polished wood fixtures. It wasn’t Bruce’s first time here, and it likely wouldn’t be his last.

Seated at the bar, his fingers toyed with the rim of his untouched glass of whiskey. He wasn’t here for the drink. He wasn’t even sure why he was here at all—except that the gnawing frustration inside him needed an outlet, and this place had always offered one.

The bartender nodded discreetly, recognizing him without the need for words. A slim, dark-haired hostess approached, her heels clicking softly against the hardwood floor. “Mr. Montgomery,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced. “What can we do for you tonight?”

Bruce hesitated, his fingers tightening around the glass. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be doing this. But the thoughts swirling in his head wouldn’t quiet—the scent of lavender haunting him, Antonella’s soft voice echoing in his mind, the way her presence chipped away at his defenses.

“I want someone,” he said flatly, his voice low but firm. “Someone... who doesn’t ask questions.”

The hostess nodded, her professional demeanor never faltering. “Of course. I’ll have someone ready for you in just a moment.”

As she disappeared into the shadows, Bruce exhaled sharply, leaning back against the bar.

Antonella’s face flashed in his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. She didn’t deserve this—he knew that. But the walls he’d built to keep people out were cracking, and he didn’t know how to handle the vulnerability she brought out in him.

Minutes later, a young woman approached, her lips painted crimson and her smile deliberate. She extended a hand, and Bruce took it, following her to a private suite.

Whatever guilt lingered, he pushed it aside. Tonight, he needed to forget.