Chapter 256

The evening air carried the scent of blooming jasmine as Vivian neared the iron-wrought gates of her childhood neighborhood. Beneath the sprawling oak trees, clusters of familiar faces gathered in their usual spots, their voices weaving through the twilight like threads of memory.

A plump matriarch with silver-streaked hair fanned herself lazily. "Seems all our old neighbors have moved away," she lamented. "These new young couples only drag themselves home after dark, too exhausted for proper conversation. Soon our evenings will be silent as tombs."

"Then why stay?" snapped a middle-aged woman slapping at mosquitoes. "Your son bought you that lovely condo in Crestwood. Yet here you remain, sweltering like the rest of us."

The older woman's fan stilled. "Roots grow deep with age, child. Young saplings may bend with every wind, but old oaks need familiar soil."

A gaunt woman leaning on a cane nodded. "Remember Eleanor from 3B? Strong as an ox until she moved to Crestwood with that granddaughter of hers. Last I heard, she's in the hospital." Her voice dropped. "Haven't spoken in months. I do worry..."

Vivian froze mid-step. Eleanor Sutton was her grandmother.

The mosquito-slapping woman lowered her voice conspiratorially. "It's not the climate. Crestwood's barely an hour away." She let the implication hang before continuing. "Her daughter died right after marriage - husband was unfaithful, they say. Raised that granddaughter alone. Now the girl married into wealth but always visits the cemetery solo. Ever seen her husband? Two generations of misfortune - enough to break any woman's spirit."

Vivian's fingers tightened around her purse straps. The last time Adrian had accompanied her to visit her mother's grave, they'd deliberately avoided staying at her childhood home to evade prying eyes.

Murmurs rippled through the group.

"Never seen hide nor hair of that husband."

"Money changes men. Small-town girls can't handle city wolves."

"Maybe they're already divorced."

"Like father, like son-in-law - probably keeps mistresses too."

"Or maybe he's some hideous troll too rich to care about looks."

"Probably looks like a bulldog chewing a wasp."

Vivian's lips twitched despite herself. Their imaginations had run wild - though they'd guessed right about everything except Adrian's devastating good looks.

"Planning to stand out here all night?" A familiar baritone cut through the gossip.

Adrian Blackwood emerged from the shadows, his tailored suit clinging to his broad shoulders like liquid midnight. The neighborhood women gasped collectively as moonlight caught his chiseled features - the very antithesis of their imagined "bulldog."

Vivian watched realization dawn across their faces as Adrian slid an arm around her waist. His touch burned through the thin fabric of her dress as he pressed a kiss to her temple. "Grandmother's waiting," he murmured, his breath warm against her skin.

The gossiping circle had gone utterly silent, their mouths hanging open like stranded fish. Vivian allowed herself a small, satisfied smile as Adrian guided her through the gates, his presence radiating quiet dominance.

Behind them, the fan clattered to the pavement.