Chapter 205

Lydia's pulse quickened. "Fans—" The memory of that suspicious group loitering outside the building when she arrived flashed through her mind. They'd scattered the moment her car pulled up.

Though she hadn't witnessed anything overtly alarming, her instincts screamed danger.

A cold dread gripped Lydia's chest. "This isn't right. I need to review the security tapes—Vivian could be in trouble."

The vehicle skidded to a stop at a derelict pier, its rotting planks nearly swallowed by overgrown sea grass. A corroded surveillance camera dangled precariously from its mount, its lens completely obscured by layers of spiderwebs and bird nests. The decaying dock made the gleaming white yacht moored alongside appear almost surreal in its pristine condition.

Vivian was dragged from the car, her captors hauling her aboard the vessel.

Compared to the Blackwood family's extravagant custom yachts, this was practically a dinghy—modest in size, purely functional, probably worth less than a mid-range sports car. It could sleep eight at most, lacking all the luxurious amenities she'd grown accustomed to.

One possibility had already been eliminated—this wasn't retaliation from the remnants of the Emberglow County gang.

As the engines roared to life and the yacht pulled away from shore, Vivian watched the coastline shrink into the horizon. The vast expanse of open water stretched endlessly in every direction.

Would anyone even know where to look for her? Her abductors had planned this meticulously. Out here, rescue seemed like a fantasy.

They shoved her into the main salon where Maxwell Sterling lounged arrogantly on an oversized leather couch. His garish Hawaiian shirt clashed violently with the polished gentleman's persona he'd once maintained.

Maxwell's lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk. "Vivian. What an unexpected pleasure."

Her face remained an impassive mask, eyes like tempered steel.

Undeterred by her silence, he rose and prowled toward her. "No reaction? You're sharper than I gave you credit for."

His gaze traveled insolently down her sleeveless dress, lingering too long on exposed skin. "Then again," he murmured, tracing a finger along her bare arm, "you'd need to be clever to infiltrate the Blackwood family."

Vivian suppressed a shudder, bile rising in her throat.

Noticing the faint rope marks on her wrists, Maxwell chuckled darkly. "So fragile. Even silk leaves its mark on you."

He dug his fingers into the tender flesh, clearly enjoying the way her skin reddened beneath his touch.

Vivian didn't struggle. Against her captors' iron grip, resistance was pointless. Instead, she fixed him with a glacial stare, her silence more cutting than any insult.

Maxwell tilted his head, amused. "Ah yes—the famous Hartley composure." He ripped the gag from her mouth, letting it fall to the teak flooring.

Leaning uncomfortably close, he dragged his thumb across her chapped lips. "Such a perfect little mouth. I wonder what else—"

Vivian jerked her head away, her glare sharp enough to draw blood.