Chapter 167

The director stammered, his desperate gaze darting toward Vivian like a man grasping at straws.

Serena's lips twisted into a smug smirk. "Why don't we summon Adrian here? Since he's paying for this, let him decide who deserves this dress more - me or her."

The air grew heavy with unspoken tension.

Then Vivian's gentle voice cut through the silence. "If she wants it, let her have it. I'll pick another."

The director exhaled as if granted a last-minute reprieve. "Thank you," he gushed, flashing Vivian a relieved smile before snapping his fingers at an assistant. "Wrap this up immediately for Ms. Whitmore."

Serena shot Vivian a lingering, victorious glance, her satisfaction as obvious as a peacock displaying its feathers.

Even Ethan couldn't suppress his indignation on Vivian's behalf.

He turned toward her, voice hushed with concern. "Mrs. Blackwood—" But when he looked, Vivian had already drifted away. He found her across the room, calmly examining the collection of gowns with the serenity of undisturbed waters. For a moment, Ethan wasn't sure whether to feel reassured or troubled. It appeared she'd truly moved beyond caring about Mr. Blackwood's opinions.

Vivian ultimately chose two dresses: an emerald-hued modern Victorian design and a sleek silver number adorned with tiny pearls. With Serena gone to her private dressing room and only the director and Ethan remaining, Vivian held up her selections. "Which do you think suits me better?"

"The left one," they answered in unison, pointing to the silver gown. The director elaborated, "This one radiates sophistication and grace, perfect for Mrs. Beatrice Blackwood's birthday gala."

Vivian's slight frown hinted at disagreement. She understood the older generation's conservative tastes, but since she liked both options, the choice mattered little. "Very well," she nodded, handing the silver dress to the director.

Two hours later, Vivian emerged transformed. The silver gown clung to her curves like liquid moonlight. Her natural beauty, enhanced by subtle makeup, made her complexion glow like morning dew on rose petals. Soft curls framed her face, lending an ethereal quality that contrasted with her usual composed demeanor. The pearls scattered across the dress caught the light with every movement, creating a mesmerizing dance of reflections.

Serena appeared around the same time, but the comparison proved unflattering. Despite her towering heels, the dress still pooled awkwardly at her feet like melted wax. The strapless design emphasized her slender frame unflatteringly, while her heavy makeup only accentuated her sharp features. Her eyes darted around the room, catching every subtle reaction - each one a silent verdict.

The makeup artist attempted damage control with forced enthusiasm. "This gown costs over a million! Ms. Whitmore will undoubtedly be the belle of tonight's ball." Serena forced a thin smile. "Naturally," she said airily, dismissing the tension. "Though it's not exactly my preferred style."

Her gaze locked onto Vivian, her smile turning predatory. "But when I want something, I take it. Wouldn't you agree, Ms. Hartley?"

"At least the title of Mrs. Blackwood was never yours before, isn't yours now, and unless I choose otherwise, never will be." Vivian turned fully to face Serena, a faint smile playing on her lips. The chandelier's glow reflected in her eyes, making them sparkle with quiet confidence. Her voice remained measured, yet every word carried undeniable weight, reaching every corner of the room.

Moments earlier, she'd allowed Serena to claim the dress without protest, letting everyone assume she'd conceded defeat. Now, her words cut through the tension with surgical precision - grounded in unshakable certainty rather than Serena's hollow posturing.