Chapter 225

Lydia emerged from the kitchen balancing a steaming porcelain mug, its rich aroma filling the air as she handed it to Vivian before collapsing into the oversized beanbag opposite her.

Her hazel eyes locked onto Vivian's with unusual intensity. "Audrey's absolutely right. This burden isn't yours to carry alone."

"I know, I messed up," Vivian conceded, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic. The heat traveled through her chilled fingers, bringing temporary comfort.

Audrey stood abruptly, her ballet flats padding across the hardwood as she retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom cabinet.

She produced the special salve Beatrice had personally delivered for Vivian's injuries.

When Audrey saw the angry crimson marks crisscrossing Vivian's delicate skin, her vision blurred with unshed tears. "That monster Maxwell!" she spat, fingers trembling as she unscrewed the ointment lid. "He'll rot in hell for this."

Lydia tapped her manicured nails against her knee, exhaling a thin stream of smoke. "Perhaps I should speak with Damien about arranging some leave for you?"

"Absolutely not."

Vivian shook her head firmly. "We're already behind schedule after the location changes. The doctor cleared me - these bruises will fade with the medicated cream." She offered a weak smile. "Besides, the police have Maxwell's description now. I'll be fine."

Crossing her toned legs, Lydia took another drag, the cigarette's glow illuminating her pensive expression. "Given what we've uncovered, those Emberglow County thugs and the social media storm weren't Maxwell's doing. The attack was random, but the media circus? That was calculated."

Their gazes met in sudden understanding.

"Serena!" they exclaimed simultaneously.

Meanwhile, in a penthouse suite at the Harbor Grand, Maxwell Sterling paced like a caged animal, his insomnia-fueled frenzy evident in the destruction surrounding him - shattered glass, crushed cigarette butts, and half-empty liquor bottles.

Vivian's face haunted him. Two years of obsessive longing, now reduced to bitter ashes. She would become just another scar in his twisted collection.

As dawn's first light crept through the blackout curtains, his phone shrieked to life.

Maxwell glanced at the screen - Natasha.

Undoubtedly calling for updates on their failed scheme.

Natasha had masterminded the entire kidnapping plot with chilling precision, her mind sharper than any weapon.

His thumb hovered over the decline button when his head bodyguard cleared his throat meaningfully.

"Sir," the guard murmured, "considering she's Vivian's sister, wouldn't she make an excellent... alternative? And without those troublesome Blackwood connections."

Maxwell's eyes gleamed with sudden understanding, his lips curling into a predatory smile as he answered. "It's done. She's finished."

His voice dripped with false warmth. "As a token of my appreciation, I've acquired that limited-edition Valentino you coveted. Join me for dinner tonight - we'll celebrate properly."