Chapter 308

Adrian barely stopped himself from blurting out, "Or are you just refusing to acknowledge I'm your husband?" The words tasted dangerously like jealousy on his tongue, so he swallowed them just in time.

Vivian placed her water bottle on the table with deliberate precision, her jaw set. "If I go public about our marriage now—when I'm just establishing myself, working with A-list actors, and dealing with all this backlash—people will assume every opportunity came from your influence."

His brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "Wouldn't that be better than them labeling you as some mistress?"

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "What exactly have you ever given me? Every achievement is mine alone, earned through my own sweat."

Adrian shrugged, completely unbothered. "So you're blaming me for not spoiling you? Fine. If you want lead roles, brand deals, or magazine covers, I'll have Ethan arrange everything by tomorrow."

"Don't bother." She rolled her eyes so hard it nearly hurt. "Just stop, Adrian."

Vivian stood abruptly, the tension making the sofa feel like a bed of nails. But Adrian's fingers closed around her wrist like a manacle before she could escape. His voice turned razor-sharp. "If you've got something to say, say it properly. These half-spoken jabs—is this your idea of entertainment?"

The sudden tug threw her off balance, sending her tumbling into his lap. She recovered instantly, pushing away with enough force to put three feet between them.

This time, she met his gaze head-on. "I'm not asking for handouts, Adrian. I want my work to stand on its own merits. I won't hide behind anyone's shadow just to avoid criticism."

For a heartbeat, Adrian simply stared, momentarily stunned by the steel in her voice. Then, to her shock, he gave a single sharp nod. "Understood."

The sudden concession left Vivian unbalanced. She studied him warily, searching for the catch.

Before she could probe further, his attention shifted to Gwendolyn setting the dining table. "Let's eat," he declared, his tone neutral.

"Fine," Vivian murmured, moving toward the table.

They sat in loaded silence, the clink of silverware the only conversation. Adrian speared a slice of beef and deposited it on Vivian's plate with unexpected gentleness. "If you need Ethan's help with anything, just say the word. You're not alone in this fight, Vivian. No begging required."

Vivian stared at the offering, the simple gesture carrying unexpected weight. For the first time, she wondered—when their arrangement ended, could they remain in each other's lives? Not as husband and wife, but perhaps... as allies?

The meal passed with fragile civility. When Adrian left for his office afterward, Vivian seized the unexpected free afternoon for reinvention.

In her walk-in closet, she selected armor for her next battle: a dove-gray silk blouse, knife-pleated trousers, and stilettos that could double as weapons. She twisted her hair into a severe ponytail and painted her lips the color of dried blood—the perfect mask of unshakable confidence.

Descending the stairs with her designer bag swinging like a pendulum, she nearly collided with Gwendolyn. The housekeeper's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Mrs. Blackwood, where might you be headed?"

Something about the probing tone set Vivian's teeth on edge. "Just some retail therapy," she lied smoothly.