Chapter 322

The drive from Blackwood Manor to Seabreeze Villa was brief, with the sleek car gliding through the gated entrance before Vivian could fully wake from her doze. Ethan stepped out first, the crisp evening air rushing in as he opened the rear door.

Adrian caught his assistant's eye with a subtle shake of his head - a silent command to remain quiet.

Vivian stirred as Adrian lifted her, the plush velvet blanket slipping slightly. Her sudden movement nearly sent them both tumbling onto the gravel driveway.

"Easy," Adrian murmured, adjusting his grip. The blanket - an imported Azurevale wool worth fifteen thousand Sterlings - threatened to brush the ground. "Unless you want to explain stains to the dry cleaners?"

Vivian stilled, though her voice carried the rasp of exhaustion. "I'm awake. Put me down."

Gwendolyn stood waiting at the double doors, her practiced smile faltering slightly. In her months as Seabreeze Villa's head housekeeper, she'd witnessed Vivian's fiery temper and sharp tongue. Yet tonight, the woman lay docile in Adrian's arms, wrapped in luxury like some treasured possession.

Ethan extended a discreet package toward Gwendolyn. "Mrs. Harrington's special blend," he explained at her questioning look. "To be served warm before bed. Not during..." He trailed off meaningfully.

Adrian's voice cut through the night. "Make sure she drinks it every evening." His tone left no room for negotiation.

Inside the grand foyer, Vivian squirmed again. "Really, I can walk."

Adrian ignored her protests, carrying her up the sweeping staircase. Only when they reached the master suite did he finally set her on the tufted bench at the foot of their bed. His hands moved to the delicate straps of her heels.

Vivian jerked her feet away. "What are you doing?"

"Removing your shoes." Adrian's fingers paused midair. "Is this another small-town custom I should know about? Refusing basic courtesy?"

Vivian rolled her eyes, the motion sending her dark curls tumbling. "Basic courtesy? From the great Adrian Blackwood? Next you'll tell me you're tucking me in with a bedtime story."

A ghost of amusement crossed Adrian's features as he finally freed her from the designer heels. "Would you prefer Shakespeare or Brontë?"

The blanket pooled around Vivian like liquid silver as she stood, suddenly aware of Gwendolyn hovering in the doorway with the mysterious package. The housekeeper's gaze darted between them, calculating.

Vivian squared her shoulders. Small-town girl or not, she wouldn't be coddled like some fragile doll in front of the staff. Not when every whisper in this gilded cage carried straight to Serena Whitmore's eager ears.

"I'll take that," Vivian said, snatching the package from Gwendolyn's hands. The scent of exotic herbs wafted through the paper. "And I believe we're done for the evening?"

Gwendolyn's curtsey was picture-perfect. "Of course, Mrs. Blackwood."

The door clicked shut, leaving Vivian alone with the man who'd turned her life upside down - and the bitter tonic of a marriage neither had wanted.