Chapter 66

"How... do you want me to make you feel better?"

Vivian's voice was soft, her back pressed firmly against the leather seat. Her wide, innocent eyes searched his face.

Honestly, she wasn't sure what to feel.

She should have been triumphant. Seeing the mighty Nathaniel Blackwood in such a vulnerable state should have been satisfying.

Yet, the raw pain in his expression twisted something inside her.

"The best way to forget someone is time and a new love." His voice was rough. "I have time. But a new love..."

Nathaniel's gaze burned into her. He tilted her chin up with one finger, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"People say you're an upgraded version of Olivia Sinclair. Why don't you play her stand-in for a few minutes? Give me a comforting kiss."

He closed his eyes. His sculpted features were flawless in the dim light, his lips parting slightly as he leaned in.

Most women would melt.

The old Vivian might have too.

But now? Her mind was razor-sharp. Her fingers curled into fists.

You want me to be a replacement?

Over my dead body.

She tensed, ready to throw him off.

Then—her sharp hearing caught it. A faint, rhythmic beeping beneath the hum of the engine.

"Don't move!"

Nathaniel's eyes flew open, dark with frustration. "You're rejecting me?"

"Shut up!" Her voice was urgent. "There's something wrong with your car!"

Instantly, his demeanor shifted. The playfulness vanished, replaced by cold alertness.

"Hear that? That beeping—"

Nathaniel stilled, listening.

Sure enough. A steady, ominous pulse came from beneath the driver's seat.

Vivian's throat tightened. "If I'm right... there's a bomb under your seat."

His face went rigid.

For the first time, the unshakable Nathaniel Blackwood looked shaken.

He moved to check, but she shoved him back. "Stay still unless you want us both blown to pieces!"

Being ordered around was new for him. Strangely, he didn't mind it.

He exhaled sharply. "Fine. What's the plan?"

"We dismantle it."

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself. Drawing on years of training, she slid into the driver's seat and bent down.

It should have been terrifying.

But Nathaniel was... distracted.

The way her hair cascaded over one shoulder, the scent of her perfume, the curve of her back as she moved—

His jaw clenched. He forced his gaze out the window.

Vivian didn't notice. Her focus was entirely on the device.

A compact timer, two minutes left.

Simple wiring—red, yellow, blue. Child's play compared to what her grandfather had taught her.

"Status?" Nathaniel's voice was tight.

"Two minutes. Scissors. Now."

He didn't question her. A sleek pair was in her hand within seconds.

She worked quickly, fingers steady despite the ticking clock.

The beeping grew faster.

Nathaniel's knuckles whitened. Fear wasn't something he acknowledged—but the thought of her getting hurt?

"Done yet?"

"Finished a minute ago."

He blinked. "What?"

She smirked. "Had to be sure."

The realization hit him. She'd let him sweat.

His eyes narrowed. "You little—"

She dodged his half-hearted swipe, grinning. "You really need to work on your people skills. Who did you piss off this time?"

"I believe you owe me for saving your life. Again."

The tension between them shifted, charged with something unspoken.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Since when do you dismantle bombs?"

"Since Grandpa Arthur decided dolls were too boring for me." Pride colored her voice. "By ten, I could field-strip a rifle."

It should have sounded impossible. But remembering she was General Lockhart's granddaughter? It made sense.

Top student. Champion gamer. Bomb expert. What else was she hiding?

Vivian moved to sit up—then froze. A sharp pain lanced through her abdomen.