Chapter 156

Adrian reached to unbutton her blouse but froze, casting a sharp glance over his shoulder. "If you'll excuse us, my wife needs privacy to change," he murmured, the words meant for Maxwell. Yet his stormy gaze, filled with a tenderness that made Vivian's chest ache, remained locked on her face.

Maxwell's lips twisted into that polished society smile, but his eyes gleamed like honed steel. His voice dripped with poisoned honey as he broke the charged silence. "Mr. Blackwood, you never fail to impress. Even while standing on the precipice of divorce, you perform the devoted husband so convincingly."

Adrian's fingers moved with deliberate care as he brushed a damp curl from Vivian's forehead. "Darling," he murmured, voice low and intimate, "when exactly did we discuss divorce?"

Battling the tempest inside, Vivian forced a brittle smile toward Maxwell. "Mr. Sterling," she said evenly, "you shouldn't believe everything you hear." Despite her controlled tone, the pallor of her skin betrayed her.

Sweat-slicked strands clung to her temples, and her usually vibrant eyes shimmered with quiet despair. Against his will, Maxwell remembered her vulnerability—her whispered pleas, the tremble of her soft lips, her futile struggles. Heat crawled up his neck, and he tugged at his collar with restless fingers.

"So it's just idle gossip then," he remarked, tone carefully neutral. "I'll take my leave." His gaze lingered on Vivian, heavy with unspoken hunger. He'd been too hasty before, his impatience driving her straight into Adrian's arms. But two years had only deepened his obsession, sharpening his need to claim her. This time, he could be patient.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away, his exit leaving the room thick with unvoiced threats.

The moment Maxwell disappeared, the fragile warmth drained from Vivian's expression, replaced by glacial detachment. Adrian misread the shift, his attention snapping to the angry mark on her cheek. His eyes darkened, tenderness giving way to smoldering rage. Her porcelain skin, meant to be cherished, bore the imprint of violence that should never have touched her.

When news of the attack reached him, he'd ordered a ruthless investigation, uncovering every crime those street rats had ever committed. He'd ensured they'd rot behind bars for at least a decade. Yet even that couldn't quench the firestorm inside him. The image of their filthy hands on her made his vision swim with crimson fury.

His frustration erupted as he thrust fresh clothes into her arms. "You're not a child, Vivian," he snapped, voice edged with steel. "Yet you behave like one, running off in a tantrum without thought for consequences. If something worse had happened—" He cut himself off, the unspoken possibilities hanging between them like a guillotine.

Vivian's eyes widened, disbelief warring with fresh pain. Tears threatened, but she swallowed them back.

When she'd stood at the edge of that abyss, staring into true horror, Adrian hadn't been there. Now that danger had passed, he returned not to comfort but to chastise. His words crushed something fragile inside her. She wanted to scream, to shatter, but exhaustion—of body and soul—left her hollow.

Turning her face away, her voice emerged cold and quiet. "If something worse had happened, I'd simply be dead." The words fell like stones, exposing the yawning loneliness beneath.

The room's atmosphere turned arctic. Nearby officers and nurses exchanged uneasy glances, struggling to reconcile the couple's earlier show of affection with this sudden hostility.