Chapter 61

Ethan Blackwood shoved the door open. His eyes landed on the scene before him—Micah Larson, clearly drugged, pinning Vivian Lockhart beneath him, attempting to force himself on her.

"Ethan, help me!"

Vivian's voice was desperate, her fingers clawing at the floor. Even though Micah was her boyfriend and they'd been intimate before, this was different. This was violation. Humiliation.

Ethan's gaze flickered over them, cold and detached. He snatched what belonged to Olivia Sinclair from the table without a second glance.

"Serves you right."

His words were sharp, final. He turned on his heel and walked out.

His spoiled cousin needed to learn consequences.

Downstairs, Vivian stood by the entrance, arms crossed. Ethan's frown deepened. "We're still married. You're still the lady of Blackwood Villa."

"No, thanks."

She snatched the items from his hand and strode away without another word.

Night had fallen. The estate was too remote for cabs. Vivian tapped her phone impatiently, but no drivers accepted the fare.

Moments later, a silver Bugatti Veyron purred to a stop beside her. Ethan's expression was unreadable.

"Get in."

Not a request. A command.

Vivian hesitated, then yanked open the passenger door.

Her breath caught.

An amber pendant lay on the seat—identical to the one she'd found at her parents' grave that morning.

Her pulse quickened. Had he been there? Had he left it?

But that made no sense. Why would he?

"Your pendant—"

"Don't touch my things."

He snatched it away, his tone icy.

Vivian scoffed. Of course. Wishful thinking.

Ethan Blackwood didn't care about her. Why would he remember her parents' death anniversary?

She turned to the window, willing the ride to end.

Then she noticed—they weren't heading toward Sunrise Heights.

"This isn't the way home. Where are we going?"

Ethan kept his eyes on the road. "You'll see."

"Stop the car. Now."

If she'd known he'd pull this, she'd have walked.

"Stay put."

The doors locked. The engine roared. The Bugatti shot forward, weaving through traffic.

Vivian gripped the seat. "Slow down! If you want to die, don't take me with you!"

She'd raced cars before. Speed didn't scare her. But the twins did.

"Relax. We're almost there."

Ten minutes later, they pulled up to The Midnight Club.

Vivian knew the place. Exclusive. Elite. Members-only.

Why bring her here?

"Out."

Ethan parked and unlocked the doors.

Vivian bolted—only for his hand to clamp around her wrist.

"You're accompanying me tonight."

She arched a brow. "We're divorcing. Why should I? What's in it for me?"

The old Vivian would've obeyed without question. Not anymore.

"One hundred thousand. Per minute."

"Deal."

Her lips curved. "Generous as always, Mr. Blackwood."

The waiter led them to the VIP suite—The Night Banquet. Laughter and chatter spilled into the hall.

The moment Ethan stepped inside, silence fell.

A man lunged forward, eyes wide. "Holy hell, Nate! You actually showed up?"