Chapter 325

Vivian hesitated before answering. "Your estate is stunning, so I wanted to explore."

She bit her lip. "But during my walk...nature called." The lie burned her tongue, but she had to maintain Julian's trust.

"Is that so?" Julian's lips curled into that infuriating smirk. "I should've joined you earlier."

"You're impossible!" Heat flooded Vivian's cheeks. The guilt made her lash out. "One more word and I'm leaving tomorrow. This arrangement ends."

"My apologies." Julian held up his hands in surrender. His gaze traveled over her maid's uniform. "Though I must ask...why the disguise? And that makeup..."

Vivian's hand flew to her bare face. "This is my natural look. Are you calling me ugly?" She plucked at the borrowed blouse. "And I found this in the closet. It's comfortable. What, do I look like staff to you?"

"That's not—" Julian faltered.

"Save it. I'm exhausted." Vivian spun on her heel before he could see through her lies.

As she stormed away, she felt Julian's amused gaze burning into her back.

The audacity of that man! She'd turned the tables beautifully, yet her pulse still raced with guilt.

Back in her guest suite, Vivian scrubbed off the theatrical makeup and changed into silk pajamas. The four-poster bed beckoned like a cloud.

Sleep claimed her instantly.

Then the nightmares began.

Nathaniel stood over her, a riding crop in hand. "Brave little wife," he purred, securing her wrists to the chair. "Marrying another man? You'll pay for this betrayal."

The crop cracked against marble. Then came the hiss of heated metal nearing her skin—

"No! I'll come home!" Vivian thrashed, limbs tangling in satin sheets.

"Shhh, it's alright." Cool fingers brushed her damp forehead. Eleanor's soothing voice pierced the terror. "You're safe here, darling."

Vivian blinked awake to find Eleanor perched on her bedside. In her groggy state, the older woman's kind eyes reminded her of long-lost maternal comfort.

"Mother..." Vivian clung to Eleanor's robe. "Stay with me. Please."

The facade of the unshakable heiress crumbled. At twenty-three, beneath the boardroom armor, she remained as fragile as hothouse orchids—only showing vulnerability to trusted souls.

"Such terrible dreams." Eleanor smoothed Vivian's hair. "The Blackwoods protect our own. No one will harm you here."

Reality crashed back. Vivian sat bolt upright. "Aunt Eleanor, forgive me."

Their quiet conversation lasted until a ringing phone shattered the moment.