Chapter 193

"Mr. Blackwood, your appetite is truly remarkable. Just finished dining at the estate and already hunting for your next meal? Be warned—some delicacies might prove too rich for your stomach."

Her voice lashed out like a silver dagger, each syllable honed to perfection.

Adrian's expression darkened, but he refused to take the bait. "That's hardly your concern," he countered icily, pressing the accelerator and leaving Vivian standing in swirling dust.

As the sleek car vanished down the boulevard, realization struck Vivian like a slap—Beatrice's precious health supplements still sat abandoned in the backseat.

Snatching her phone, she dialed Adrian with trembling fingers. "My supplements are still in your car."

His mocking laughter crackled through the receiver. "So eager to storm out empty-handed, yet clinging to those trivial gifts now?"

"They're none of your business," she hissed. "Beatrice gave them to me personally. Return them immediately."

"Not my priority," Adrian dismissed before the line went dead.

Vivian exhaled sharply, kicking a stray pebble with unnecessary force. That infuriating man would be the death of her!

A smooth, amused voice interrupted her fuming. "Who dares trouble such a vision of beauty?"

She whirled to find Maxwell Sterling leaning against a lamppost, casually swirling a bottle of sparkling water. The neon glow of the 24-hour convenience store painted his sharp features in artificial light.

"Mr. Sterling," she greeted, smoothing her expression into practiced serenity. "Just an inconsiderate driver with terrible manners. Nearly ran me over without a second glance."

Her smile bloomed like a hothouse rose—perfectly cultivated yet devoid of genuine warmth. The icy glint in her eyes betrayed none of her inner turmoil.

Maxwell played along with theatrical concern. "Road manners have certainly deteriorated these days."

"Indeed." Vivian's response was clipped. "What brings you to this neighborhood, Mr. Sterling?"

Two coincidental meetings in as many days? Her instincts screamed warning. Was this deliberate?

"Pure serendipity," he lied effortlessly, shaking his water bottle. "Craving a late supper but can't decide where. Thought I'd hydrate while contemplating my options."

Though he maintained the charade of chance, Maxwell had lingered long enough to catch Vivian's heated exchange with Adrian. The puzzle pieces clicked into place—their picture-perfect marriage displayed during the Emberglow County gala had been pure theater.

Vivian's palpable distrust confirmed his suspicions. No devoted husband would abandon his wife alone on dimly lit streets. Perhaps those divorce rumors Natasha had whispered held more truth than fiction.

Before she could formulate an excuse, Maxwell advanced with polished charm. "Since fate keeps throwing us together, might I tempt you to join me for dinner, my elusive muse?"

Vivian took a subtle step back, widening the space between them. "I've just come from dinner at Blackwood Estate," she declined, emphasizing the location like armor.

"Blackwood Estate?" Maxwell's gaze swept the urban surroundings with exaggerated confusion. "This is at least twelve miles from the estate grounds. Did you walk here alone? Where is your devoted husband?"