Chapter 318

Margaret Whitmore arched a perfectly sculpted brow, setting down her wineglass with deliberate slowness. "In that case, I'll be blunt. I came to Edinburgh for one purpose—to take my daughter-in-law home."

The air in the room thickened instantly. Every Baldwin at the table stiffened, their expressions darkening like storm clouds.

"Vivian grew up in Newport City," Margaret continued, her voice dripping with condescension. "A thriving metropolis with endless opportunities. Edinburgh, on the other hand, is a backwater with crumbling infrastructure and third-world transportation. I won't stand by while she wastes her life here."

The Blackwoods' collective glare could have melted steel. Silence stretched taut between them, charged with unspoken threats.

Vivian's fingers tightened around Margaret's sleeve. "Mrs. Whitmore, please stop," she hissed. "You're insulting their home."

Margaret scoffed. "Facts aren't insults. Check any global wealth ranking—Newport dominates while Edinburgh scrapes the bottom. Should I pretend otherwise?" She seized Vivian's wrist and stood. "Enough history. Nathaniel still loves you. Come home, and you can rebuild your future together!"

"I said no." Vivian wrenched free, her voice sharp as shattered glass. "Didn't Nathaniel tell you? At the airport, I chose Julian. That's why I returned to Edinburgh with him. It's over. Stop harassing me."

"Lies!" Margaret's shrill protest echoed through the dining hall. "You adored Nathaniel for years! This is just petty revenge because the Blackwoods mistreated you. But the Baldwins?" Her laugh was brittle. "They're wolves in silk suits. Marry into this family, and you'll regret it forever."

Eleanor Kingsley slammed her palms on the table. "Enough!" She snapped her fingers toward the door. "This lunatic just slandered the Blackwood name in our own home. Confinement room. Now."

Two armed guards materialized, seizing Margaret's arms.

Vivian lunged forward. "Wait! There's no need for—"

Eleanor's smile was venomous. "Darling, don't interfere. Our rules apply to everyone in Edinburgh. Letting her go would make the Blackwoods appear weak."

Vivian's gaze darted to Frederick and William, who sipped wine with detached amusement. The puppeteers letting Eleanor play executioner.

Just like the rumors said—the Blackwoods ruled Edinburgh like monarchs, their power more absolute than she'd ever imagined.

Julian's hand settled on her shoulder. "Relax. She needs this humbling. No permanent harm done."

"Precisely." Frederick dabbed his lips with a napkin. "Consider it dinner theater. Don't let it spoil your appetite."

Vivian forced herself to finish the meal, each bite ash in her mouth.

She'd walked into the lion's den willingly.

Now the claws were out.