Chapter 161

Vivian's pulse quickened. She instinctively placed a hand over her stomach before forcing a careless laugh. "God, I wish I were pregnant. Then I could finally marry into the Osborne dynasty properly. But no such luck—I've been indulging too much since the divorce. All those late-night desserts finally caught up with me."

She tilted her chin up defiantly. "Still, I appreciate the concern, Mr. Blackwood. You're right—I should watch my figure. Liam's so young and energetic. If I let myself go, who knows when some scheming temptress might snatch him away? And where would that leave me?"

Ethan's expression darkened instantly. His gaze turned glacial, sharp enough to flay skin.

"Best of luck with that."

The words were clipped. He shoved his hands into his pockets and strode away without a backward glance.

Vivian stood frozen long after he'd disappeared. Had she gone too far? The way his jaw had clenched...

But why would he care? He didn't want her. Never had.

Men were incomprehensible creatures.

Shaking off the thought, she resumed searching for the missing quilt. After turning the apartment upside down, one realization struck—it must still be at Blackwood Estate.

She'd left in such a hurry after Cassandra's arrival that half her belongings remained there.

That damned quilt was definitely among them.

Gritting her teeth, she hailed a cab.

——

Noon sunlight scorched the manicured lawns of Blackwood Estate.

Under a striped parasol, Cassandra lounged like royalty while barking orders. "Must I watch you slackers all day? Rip out every last plant that woman put in and replace them with my roses! Fail to finish by lunchtime, and you'll go hungry!"

Servants toiled under the blistering sun, backs bent, faces dripping with sweat. One elderly gardener swayed dangerously.

"This new mistress has no heart," muttered a maid hacking at rose bushes. "Treats us like pack mules."

"Remember how kind Mrs. Blackwood was?" another whispered. "Brought us lemonade on hot days. Even helped polish silverware once."

A third sighed. "If only we'd—"

"Having fun?"

Cassandra's voice sliced through their chatter. They spun to find her looming behind them, lips curled in a venomous smile.

"Since you're so energetic, let's make it interesting. A hundred laps around the east garden. Now."

The color drained from their faces.

Beatrice, the head housekeeper, stepped forward. "Miss Delacroix, please—the heat is unbearable, and Mrs. Whitmore's tulip beds—"

"Did I ask for opinions?" Cassandra's manicured finger jabbed toward the gravel path. "Run. Or pack your bags."

Trembling, the servants began their torturous circuit. Within minutes, two collapsed.

Cassandra watched impassively. "Useless trash. Maybe your precious Mrs. Blackwood will take you in."

"Actually..."

A familiar voice cut through the tension.

Vivian strolled into view, sunglasses glinting. "Didn't realize the Blackwoods started hosting boot camps, Cassandra. Though I must say—" Her gaze swept over the gasping servants. "Your training methods seem... medieval."

Beatrice lunged forward, grasping Vivian's wrist. "Ma'am! Please, help us!"