Chapter 383

Emily Reynolds was Vivian Lockhart's only cousin. As a child, she'd been Vivian's shadow, following her everywhere.

She adored Vivian.

But when Walter Reynolds betrayed the Lockhart family, he cut off all contact between Emily and Vivian. Otherwise, their bond would've been unbreakable.

Walter's modest apartment sat in a quiet neighborhood on the east side of Newport City. Three bedrooms, one living room—cozy but unremarkable.

When Vivian stepped inside, the scent of home-cooked food filled the air. Margaret Reynolds was chopping vegetables in the kitchen while Emily belted out a pop song in her room.

"Look who's here!" Walter boomed, grinning from ear to ear.

Mother and daughter rushed to the living room. Their jaws dropped at the sight of Vivian.

"Viv! Oh my god, it's really you!" Emily squealed, throwing her arms around Vivian. "Seven years! Where have you been? Dad visits the cemetery every year, saying you'd come back someday to visit your parents. And he was right!"

Vivian smiled. "You're all grown up now. Last time I saw you, you were still a kid."

At eighteen, Emily radiated youthful energy.

"Aunt Margaret, it's been too long."

Margaret—a practical homemaker—wiped her hands on her apron, flustered. "Welcome back, dear."

"Make yourself at home," Walter said. "Margaret, break out the good wine. We're celebrating tonight. And we've got another guest—Mr. Blackwood is joining us."

Margaret froze. "Nathaniel Blackwood? Here?"

To them, the CEO of Blackwood Group was practically a myth. The idea of him in their humble apartment was surreal.

"Why not? He's Vivian's ex-husband and our benefactor. Now get cooking—this meal better impress."

Margaret marched to the kitchen like a soldier heading into battle.

Emily frowned. "Dad, be real. Mr. Blackwood runs a billion-dollar empire. Why would he waste time here?"

Walter scoffed. "For Vivian, obviously. She vanishes for four years, then reappears? Of course he'd come."

Emily nodded. "True. Ice-cold as he is, he's always looked out for us. I wouldn't have gotten into Stanford Arts without him. He's definitely not over her."

Father and daughter launched into a heated analysis of Nathaniel's lingering feelings, oblivious to Vivian's discomfort.

Four years was long enough to erase anything. Bridges had burned. Some things weren't meant to last.

Walter grabbed his phone. "I'll call him again. We'll know soon enough."

This time, the call connected after three rings.

A deep, icy voice answered. "What is it?"