Chapter 170

Vivian beamed, soaking up the admiration. "Absolutely! Our Vivian is a treasure. Adrian struck gold marrying her." Nearby, Margaret and Bianca stood in icy silence, their expressions pinched with displeasure.

Bianca edged closer to Margaret, her whisper dripping with poison. "Aunt Margaret, you've sacrificed everything for this family, and Beatrice hasn't acknowledged you once. Yet Vivian just flutters her lashes and gets drowned in compliments."

Margaret's lips thinned, but she maintained a composed facade. "I simply fulfill my duties. Praise means nothing to me," she lied, the bitterness in her voice giving her away.

Bianca's eyes glittered with spite. "But Auntie, if Vivian keeps stealing the show, people might start seeing her as the true lady of Blackwood Manor." She couldn't stomach Vivian hogging the spotlight like this.

Margaret's quiet scoff was laced with contempt. "Lady of the house? That title will never be hers. Mark my words, her marriage to Adrian won't last." Bianca smirked and turned back to Beatrice, ready to stir more trouble.

Meanwhile, Vivian had clasped Beatrice's hands warmly, her voice soft yet heartfelt. "Beatrice, I wish you endless happiness and good health for years to come."

Bianca's sharp eyes immediately noticed Vivian's empty hands. "Vivian," she called out with feigned shock, "don't tell me you didn't bring Beatrice a gift?" The surrounding guests turned, their gazes a mix of scorn and barely hidden delight. They were practically salivating at the prospect of Vivian's social blunder. Surely someone from such modest beginnings wouldn't understand proper etiquette?

Ethan swiftly stepped forward, presenting a velvet jewelry box. "Happy birthday, Mrs. Beatrice Blackwood. This is from Mr. Blackwood," he announced politely.

He opened the box to reveal a breathtaking blue diamond ring, the center stone as large as a quail's egg, encircled by smaller white diamonds. The design was both luxurious and refined, its facets catching the light spectacularly.

Vivian carefully slid the ring onto Beatrice's finger, her face radiant. "It suits you perfectly," she said warmly.

A guest well-versed in fine jewelry immediately exclaimed, "That's a custom Bulgari piece commissioned by a private collector! It sold at auction recently for $26.5 million. Must be at least 11 carats!"

"Actually, 11.16 carats," Ethan corrected smoothly.

The crowd erupted in astonished murmurs. These guests—scions of Crestwood's and even Northshire's wealthiest families—couldn't conceal their amazement. Spending such an astronomical sum on a single gift was unheard of at these gatherings.

"The Blackwood fortune is truly staggering," one guest whispered in awe.

The flattery came thick and fast. "Mr. Blackwood is such a devoted grandson!"

"What an extraordinary gesture from Mr. Blackwood!"

"Mrs. Beatrice, you're blessed with such an accomplished grandson."

"You live so comfortably, unlike us constantly bailing out our irresponsible grandson."

The whispers continued, each more sycophantic than the last. Vivian stood quietly, her smile never wavering, while Margaret and Bianca's expressions grew increasingly sour. The game was far from over, and everyone in the glittering ballroom knew it.