Chapter 316

"Who has the audacity to make such a demand?" Frederick slammed his fist on the table, glaring at the waiter. "Fine, let them in. It's been too long since someone dared challenge the Blackwoods in Edinburgh!"

Vivian's gaze flicked to the entrance, intrigued by this bold stranger. The Blackwoods ruled Edinburgh with an iron fist—who would be reckless enough to provoke them?

The banquet hall doors swung open. A woman in a silk gown that cost more than most cars glided in, a limited-edition Hermès Birkin dangling from her wrist.

"Uncle Baldwin," she purred, placing her designer bag on the table like a declaration of war. "I flew all the way from Newport City just to see you. Won't you indulge me with dinner?"

Gasps rippled through the room. This was Eleanor Whitmore—Vivian's former mother-in-law.

Vivian's grip tightened around her wineglass. "Mrs. Whitmore," she said carefully, "this is Edinburgh." The unspoken warning hung heavy: You're in enemy territory.

Eleanor's eyes lit up with faux surprise. "Vivian, darling! What a delightful coincidence!" She clasped her hands dramatically. "Did I hear you call me 'Mom' earlier? Do say it again!"

Vivian barely suppressed an eye-roll. They'd literally had lunch yesterday.

Across the table, Eleanor Kingsley shot to her feet. "Enough!" she snarled, pointing at the door. "That divorce was public. Vivian is marrying into the Blackwood family. Get out!"

Eleanor Whitmore merely poured herself a glass of Bordeaux, swirling the crimson liquid with a smirk. "So hostile, Eleanor. Weren't we inseparable as girls? We even shared tastes in... everything." Her gaze turned razor-sharp. "Including men."

The wine bottle trembled in Eleanor Kingsley's grip. "Shut your mouth!"

"Oh, but it's such a nostalgic story!" Eleanor Whitmore continued, blissfully oblivious to the murderous glares. "Remember how we both loved Nathaniel's father? I nearly let you have him—until he begged to marry me instead." She sighed wistfully. "Twenty years, and you're still bitter?"

"You disgraceful—"

"Mom." Vivian cut in sharply before blood could be shed.

Eleanor Whitmore clinked her glass against Vivian's with a wink. "See, darling? Our generation's love stories put yours to shame."