Chapter 144

Vivian could feel Ethan's warm breath against her skin.

His exhales carried the heavy scent of whiskey. With glassy eyes, he tilted her chin up with his fingers.

"What really happened that night?"

Her brows furrowed in suspicion.

"Are you genuinely clueless, or just avoiding accountability?"

"Enlighten me," Ethan rasped. His tone was teasing yet unreadable. "Maybe your version will jog my memory."

"That night—" Vivian bit back the words. The truth burned on her tongue, but she swallowed it down.

Even when drunk, she always remembered fragments of her actions. Complete blackouts were rare.

Which meant Ethan's claimed amnesia was either a lie... or deliberate.

If he wanted to forget, she wouldn't humiliate herself by reminding him.

"You were feral," she spat. "Like a rabid wolf."

Her beauty was sharp as ice as she sneered, "Know your limits next time. Can't handle liquor? Don't drink. Using intoxication as an excuse for bad behavior is pathetic."

Ethan studied her, baffled. He couldn't pinpoint her anger, but the resentment was palpable.

The irony? She'd publicly humiliated him that evening. He'd let it slide, yet here she was, furious at him.

Were all women this irrational?

As Vivian turned to leave, alcohol loosened his reflexes. He yanked her back against his chest.

"Stay," he murmured into her hair.

Predictable. The same tired line.

But Vivian wasn't that gullible girl anymore. Her heart was a frozen lake—untouched by his warmth.

"Release me." Her voice could frost glass.

Ethan only tightened his grip.

"I said let go, Nathaniel Blackwood!"

"Keep holding me," she warned, "and I won't hesitate to break your arms."

Silence.

Just as Vivian prepared to strike, she heard it—steady breathing.

He'd fallen asleep.

Worse? His arms were steel bands, trapping her.

After futile struggles, fury boiled over.

"Stop pretending!" she hissed. "I know you're awake! Let go or I swear I'll bite you!"

Her teeth hovered over his forearm... then hesitated.

Enter Ethan Young—fashionably inconvenient.

"Oh god, my bad!"

He shielded his eyes dramatically, peeking through his fingers at their compromising position.

"Terrible timing," he stammered. "Mr. Blackwood, Mrs. Lockhart, don't mind me! Carry on!"

"Ethan!" Vivian barked. "Get back here!"

Relief flooded her as he paused. "Thank heavens! Pry your boss off me—NOW!"

She glared. "He passed out standing up. The man's unhinged!"

Ethan inspected them. His boss did seem asleep... yet the death grip suggested otherwise.

Natural actor, indeed.

He made a show of tugging at Ethan's arms. No luck.

"Mrs. Lockhart," he admitted sheepishly, "when drunk, Mr. Blackwood latches onto anything—lampposts, chairs. We call him 'Newport City's Koala.'"

He flashed an apologetic grin. "Mind staying like this while I drive you home?"

"Are you joking?" Vivian's face darkened. "Explain how this position is sustainable for a car ride, Ethan!"

Outrageous. Absolutely outrageous.