Chapter 53

Natasha discarded all pretense of politeness, her lips curling into a sneer. "Even the most obscure relatives of the Blackwood family throw extravagant weddings, desperate to showcase their happiness. Yet you—married to the head of the Blackwood empire—have nothing but a legal document to show for it. Meanwhile, Crestwood's elite gush over Serena Whitmore as Adrian's soulmate, while you, the supposed Mrs. Blackwood, might as well be invisible."

Vivian froze mid-step, the barbed words striking deeper than she cared to admit. There was painful truth in Natasha's taunts. Her marriage to Adrian had begun as a cold business transaction, never intended for public consumption. When their original contract expired and her feelings had grown, she'd tentatively broached the subject of a ceremony. At first, Adrian had deflected with talk of his impossible schedule. Then came the brutal honesty—legal vows were sufficient, and anything more would be a frivolous waste of time.

Blinded by devotion, Vivian had swallowed her disappointment, convincing herself that quiet companionship mattered more than public displays. Now, facing Natasha's smirk, she recognized her own naivety. Forcing steel into her spine, Vivian crafted a razor-sharp smile. "A legal document still outranks your fantasies. The Blackwood name grants me privileges you'll never touch. In our world, hierarchy is everything."

She took a deliberate step forward, tilting her head with feline amusement. "Shall I demonstrate? With one word, I could have you exiled from Crestwood's social circles permanently."

Vivian watched with satisfaction as Natasha's confident mask fractured. With theatrical grace, she spread her hands in mock helplessness. "You're quite right about one thing—the Blackwood name does carry weight. A privilege your mother could only achieve in her wildest dreams."

Natasha's hands balled into fists, her manicured nails biting into her palms. "Don't flatter yourself, Vivian. The entire internet is obsessed with Adrian and Serena's reunion. Who exactly are you trying to impress? With her pedigree and charm, how long before Serena replaces you entirely?"

Her voice rose to a shrill pitch. "I may never be Mrs. Blackwood, but tell me this—how much longer will you hold that title?"

A rich baritone voice cut through the tension like a velvet knife. "For eternity."

Vivian whirled to see Adrian approaching, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Ethan trailed behind, cradling an armful of rare Ecuadorian roses that probably cost more than Natasha's monthly allowance.

Natasha's face drained of color, then flooded with angry blotches. "Adrian! I thought you'd left the event."

"I was retrieving flowers for my wife." Adrian's glacial gaze swept past Natasha as if she were invisible. "A concept your family seems to struggle with—loyalty."

The barb landed with precision. Vivian watched realization dawn on Natasha's face—all those tabloid rumors about Adrian's undying love for Serena, the whispers of impending divorce—shattered in this single moment. Here stood the notoriously private Adrian Blackwood, publicly claiming Vivian as his wife without hesitation.

Adrian motioned to Ethan, who presented the roses with a flourish. "Do they please you?" Adrian murmured, his stern features softening in a way Vivian hadn't seen since their argument that morning. The contrast between his earlier coldness and this tender display sent her pulse racing.

Natasha stood frozen, her earlier bravado crumbling. The message was unmistakable—while society might speculate about his affections, Adrian's actions spoke louder than any rumor. And right now, every carefully cultivated rose screamed his devotion to the woman society had written off.

Vivian accepted the bouquet, inhaling the heady fragrance to hide her trembling lips. The thorns pricked her fingers—a perfect metaphor for their marriage. Beautiful, intoxicating, and capable of drawing blood.

Adrian's hand settled possessively at the small of her back. "Shall we?" he asked, his tone leaving no room for Natasha's presence.

As they walked away, Vivian caught Natasha's reflection in a nearby mirror—the perfect image of a woman realizing she'd bet on the wrong horse. The sight sent a thrill through her veins sweeter than any victory speech.