Chapter 370

The morning light filtered through the silk curtains as Vivian stretched lazily in bed. The other side was already cold - Adrian had left hours ago.

"Mr. Blackwood has gone to the office," Gwendolyn informed her when she came downstairs, her tone carefully neutral.

Vivian's silk nightgown clung to her curves as she descended the staircase. She caught Gwendolyn's muttered insult - "hussy" - as the housekeeper turned away. The memory of last night flashed through her mind - Adrian nearly breaking her son's wrist when he'd gotten too handsy. Gwendolyn clearly blamed her for the incident.

Checking her phone, Vivian saw it was only 10 AM. With no filming scheduled, an idea struck her. She'd surprise Adrian with lunch at his office - something she'd never dared do before.

When their marriage had been secret, she'd feared showing up unannounced would seem like she was forcing her status as Mrs. Blackwood. But now, after his very public declaration on national television, things were different.

A giddy thrill ran through her. "Don't prepare lunch for me today," she told Gwendolyn. "I won't be home."

"Mrs. Blackwood, where are you going?" Gwendolyn asked quickly.

Vivian arched an eyebrow. "Do I need your permission to leave my own house?"

Gwendolyn forced a smile. "Of course not. I only ask in case Mr. Blackwood inquires about your whereabouts."

Vivian's laugh was sharp. "I'm his wife, not his property. Whether I tell him my plans is between us - not your concern."

Gwendolyn's mouth opened and closed like a fish. The woman's disdain was palpable, but Vivian had no time for her petty jealousy.

Back in her room, Vivian found a message from Adrian: "Handling business at the office. Sleep in if you want." Attached was a photo of his desk. Her heart fluttered - this casual sharing was new, intimate. Burying her face in his pillow, she inhaled his lingering scent, smiling like a schoolgirl with a crush.

An hour later, Vivian stood in the Blackwood Group lobby, thermos in hand, heading straight for the private elevator. As she reached for the button, a perfectly manicured hand blocked her path - the kind of manicure that cost more than most people's weekly groceries.

"This is the CEO's private elevator," a cold voice stated. "Unauthorized access is prohibited."

Vivian looked up to see a receptionist with immaculate makeup eyeing her with open disdain.

"I'm Adrian Blackwood's wife," Vivian said, lifting the thermos. "Bringing him lunch."

The receptionist crossed her arms. "Funny how everyone claims connection to the Blackwoods today. First some girl saying she's Mr. Sinclair's girlfriend, now you?" Her gaze raked over Vivian's outfit. "That entire ensemble wouldn't cover one of Mrs. Blackwood's shoes. I suggest you leave before security escorts you out."