Chapter 362

Three months later, on a private island in Southeast Paris.

Vivian Lockhart lounged on a white hammock, savoring a slice of chilled watermelon while scrolling through short videos on her phone.

Her due date was two months away, and her belly had grown noticeably rounder.

Since leaving Newport City, she had settled on this secluded paradise. Every day, she strolled in the ocean breeze, indulged in gourmet meals, sipped tropical drinks, and lost herself in novels. She also managed Lockhart Enterprises and her law firm remotely.

Life was blissfully peaceful.

As she often joked—getting involved with men only brought trouble. Ever since she cut ties with Ethan Blackwood for good, her days had been nothing but joy. No alarms, no obligations. She slept in, ate well, and even put on a few happy pounds.

This island had been her secret dream for years. She purchased it with scholarship money, patent earnings, and childhood savings. Every detail was designed to her exact vision—a holiday retreat where she could bring her family.

Fate, however, had other plans.

Shortly after its completion, her family fell apart. Then came her marriage into the Blackwood dynasty, trapping her in a gilded cage.

For years, Liam Osborne had quietly maintained the island. Not only was it preserved, but its amenities had only grown more luxurious. It even had its own satellite station, ensuring secure, untraceable communication.

No exaggeration—this was a self-sufficient paradise.

Vivian could live here forever, hidden from the world.

She named it Coral Haven.

Sunflowers bloomed across the land, a symbol of her wish—that her children, like those golden blooms, would always seek the light, stand strong, and embrace life’s brightness.

Her nanny, Evelyn Whitmore, stayed with her. A master of ancestral medicine, Evelyn dedicated herself to Vivian’s prenatal care, crafting nutrient-rich meals daily.

Both women eagerly awaited the baby’s arrival, a new heartbeat for the island.

Bzzzz…

The hum of a speedboat engine echoed from the pier.

Evelyn glanced toward the dock, then turned to Vivian with a grin.

"Vivian! Look who’s here!"

Still absorbed in her phone, Vivian didn’t bother lifting her head.

"Who else would it be? Liam, the man allergic to a nine-to-five?"

"Not just him—Sophia’s here too!"

"What? Sophia?"

Vivian’s eyes lit up. She grabbed the hammock’s support rope and carefully stood, ready to greet them.

Sophia Osborne was already sprinting toward her in a breezy tank top and cutoff shorts.

"Viv! I’ve missed you so much!"

She threw her arms around Vivian in a tight embrace.

Liam, trailing behind, frowned in alarm.

"Sophia, I told you to be gentle! She’s seven months pregnant—one wrong move and you’ll regret it!"

He wedged himself between them, forcibly separating the pair.

Dressed in a crisp white shirt and casual shorts, Liam looked like he’d stepped off a magazine cover—sunglasses, tousled hair, effortless charm.

Countless women would swoon over him.

But right now, he was in full overprotective mode, radiating the energy of a very handsome, very naggy guardian.