Chapter 40

Vivian Lockhart walked alongside Nathaniel Blackwood down the grand hallway leading to the ballroom.

The man who had just moments ago carried himself with icy authority now gazed at Vivian with puppy-like devotion.

"Those Hunt family bastards had no right treating you that way," he muttered, jaw clenched. "Next time they try anything, I'll make them regret it."

Vivian arched an eyebrow, lips curving. "Nathaniel Blackwood, intimidating? Who knew my playful junior could turn so fierce?"

He puffed out his chest. "I am a Blackwood, after all."

Yet despite his words, his expression remained soft as he studied Vivian's outfit. "Though honestly, Viv, that jacket doesn't exactly scream 'high society gala.'"

"It's Miss Lockhart to you," she corrected lightly. "Unless you've forgotten who's senior here?"

Nathaniel's lower lip jutted out. "Sophia gets to call you Viv. Why can't I?"

"Because," Vivian said, tapping his nose, "that would imply certain... feelings. You're not harboring any, are you?"

His gaze turned serious. "You're single now. What's stopping me?"

Years of waiting. That's what this moment was for him.

Vivian only smiled in response.

As they reached the ballroom doors, her fingers moved deftly, unbuttoning the windbreaker. With one fluid motion, she shrugged it off, shook out her hair, and slicked on crimson lipstick.

Nathaniel's breath caught.

Every head in the ballroom swiveled toward them.

Vivian stood radiant in a blood-red gown that hugged every curve, the daring cut accentuating her slender waist. She glowed like a fallen star, commanding every eye in the room.

"Is that... Mrs. Blackwood?" someone gasped.

The murmurs had just begun when Nathaniel Blackwood descended the staircase like a stormcloud, his icy glare locking onto the scarlet vision by the entrance.

Annoyance flickered behind his composed mask.

What game was she playing now?

In three strides, he had her waist in his possessive grip. "Mrs. Blackwood," he said through clenched teeth, "I was just coming to collect you."

Though his smile was perfect, the danger in his eyes made bystanders step back.

The confirmation sent shockwaves through the crowd. Men averted their gazes from Vivian's figure; silenced women swallowed their cattiness.

Without ceremony, Nathaniel hauled her into a private room.

"Care to explain?" Vivian asked calmly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

His gaze dropped to her décolletage. "I provided a dress. What is this?"

"Your choice looked like something my grandmother would wear."

Nathaniel saw red. That dress had been a Gi original—most socialites would kill for it.

(Though admittedly, it had been... conservative.)

Vivian tilted her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or were you worried others might enjoy the view too much?"