Chapter 412

"You're awfully quick to wish her dead." Nathaniel shot Cassandra a dark glare, cradling Vivian protectively in his arms before gently laying her down on a nearby bench.

Cassandra had nearly met her end thanks to Vivian's sudden violent outburst. In that panicked moment, Nathaniel had no choice but to strike Vivian's pressure point, rendering her unconscious. Otherwise, Cassandra wouldn't have survived the attack.

Vivian would likely recover after some rest, so Nathaniel made no move to wake her. Instead, he turned his attention to Cassandra, who was still in the children's section, gathering the scattered clothes. His gaze sharpened as he picked up a tiny striped sock from the floor. "Why are you buying so many children's clothes?"

Cassandra barely spared him a glance as she continued packing. "Since when do you care? Am I not allowed to shop for cute things?"

The sock was soft, pink, and small enough to fit in his palm. He couldn't deny its charm—something about it made his chest tighten unexpectedly.

"You bought this… because it's cute?" he asked skeptically, holding it out to her.

Cassandra recoiled as if he'd handed her something contaminated. "I did think it was adorable. But now that you've touched it, I don’t want it anymore."

His jaw clenched. What the hell? She acts like I’m some kind of plague. One minute she’s all polite, the next she’s treating me like I’m beneath her.

"I just saved your life by knocking her out, and this is how you repay me?" He blocked her path, forcing her to meet his glare. "What did I do this time to deserve your attitude?"

Her eyes burned with fury. "Are you seriously playing dumb, Blackwood? Or are you just that oblivious? You and Delacroix—you’re cut from the same cloth. Since she’s part of your precious family now, she’s just as eager to choke the life out of people. You failed to break my neck four years ago, so she’s finishing the job for you. Stop pretending you’re anything but a monster."

Four years should have been enough to bury the past. But when Cassandra’s hands had closed around her throat, all Vivian could see was him—his grip had been stronger, his hatred more visceral. The memory of that near-death experience had never faded.

And now, it was all rushing back.

Nathaniel watched the fire in her eyes with perverse satisfaction. Finally. She’s not acting like some emotionless statue. She’s feeling something—because of me.

Even if it was hatred, it meant he still mattered. That realization sent a thrill through his cold, dead heart.

"You’re right. I’m not a good man." He seized her wrist and pressed her palm against his chest. "So hate me. Scream at me. Hit me if you want. But don’t you dare pretend you’re fine. I’d rather you fight me than act like I mean nothing to you."

He couldn’t stand her indifference. If rage was all she had left for him, he’d take it—gladly.