Chapter 163

The moment Vivian saw Beatrice's expression, she knew the housekeeper remembered exactly where she'd left the suitcase with the quilt at Skyview Retreat.

"Tell me where my belongings are." Vivian's voice was ice.

Beatrice hesitated. After scanning the empty hallway, she confessed, "I won't lie to you, Mrs. Lockhart. That woman had everything cleared out. We don't know where she sent them. She's been causing chaos—demanding your room be redecorated, ripping out all the plants you cultivated in the garden. She won't tolerate a single trace of you here. Impossible woman!"

Just then, Cassandra strutted in, her pregnant belly thrust forward, and slapped Beatrice across the face.

"Traitor! Who gave you permission to gossip?"

Beatrice paled, immediately bowing her head in silence.

Vivian almost laughed at the irony. This was the same woman who had once tormented her with such arrogance.

There was always a bigger predator.

She had no time for this. Locking eyes with Cassandra, she demanded, "Return my things."

"What things? I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'll count to three. If you don’t hand them over, don’t blame me for what happens next."

"Stop bluffing. You think I'm scared of you?" Cassandra crossed her arms, smirking. "Let’s say I did take your things. What can you do if I refuse to give them back?"

She was carrying the Blackwood heir. Nothing could touch her now.

"One."

"Two."

Vivian's glare sharpened.

All she wanted was her belongings. But if Cassandra wanted a fight, she wouldn’t hold back.

"Three!"

Cassandra didn’t flinch.

"Empty her room. Now." Vivian turned to Beatrice, her patience gone.

"Don’t you dare!" Cassandra shrieked.

Beatrice froze, trapped between two storms.

Then Vivian said quietly, "I'll pay you a hundred fifty thousand."

Beatrice's eyes lit up. She faced Cassandra. "My apologies, Miss Delacroix. I resign effective immediately."

Cassandra's face flushed with rage. "You fool! Think carefully—who will rule this house soon? Do you really think Nathaniel will let this slide?"

"If you become mistress here, leaving now might save my life." Beatrice snapped, finally unleashing her pent-up fury.

Money beat suffering under a tyrant.

She began hurling Cassandra's possessions onto the driveway—designer handbags, diamond jewelry, even intimate apparel—all crushed under passing tires.

"Stop! Traitor! STOP!"

Cassandra screamed, her hair wild, her dignity in tatters.

The scene was eerily familiar, only the roles had reversed. Vivian watched, coldly amused.

"Last chance. Where are my things?" She seized Cassandra by the collar.

Cassandra laughed hysterically. "I'll never tell. Go ahead—hit me. Nathaniel will destroy you!"

Slap! Slap!

Two sharp strikes echoed.

Both women gaped.

No one expected Vivian to actually do it.

"You'll pay for this!" Cassandra yanked out her phone and dialed Nathaniel. "Come home NOW! Your ex-wife is trying to kill me!"

Vivian, stone-faced, pulled out her own phone.

And dialed 911.