Chapter 172

Vivian studied Evelyn's expression before nodding in silent agreement.

"Absolutely. Your priority now is ensuring the baby's health and a smooth delivery."

The older woman didn't press for details about the father, and Vivian didn't offer any. Some truths didn't need words—they simply existed between them, understood.

She trusted Evelyn completely. This secret would remain buried unless Vivian herself chose to reveal it.

For days, Vivian stayed in bed, resting under Evelyn's watchful care. The woman's medical expertise was undeniable—every minor ailment Vivian had suffered vanished with precise remedies.

Her exhaustion faded. Her appetite returned. She could finally eat without nausea twisting her stomach.

That morning, Evelyn left early for the market. Vivian dozed beneath golden sunlight, warmth seeping into her skin.

Peace settled over her.

A plan formed in her mind—once everything was resolved, she'd take the child and Evelyn far from here. Somewhere safe. Somewhere Nathaniel Blackwood couldn't reach them.

The fantasy shattered when crashing erupted downstairs.

"Scared? Just wreck it all! Since when do the dead scare the living? If you don't smash this place to rubble, I'll make sure you regret it!"

Vivian's eyes snapped open, irritation flickering across her face.

The destruction grew louder—glass shattering, wood splintering. This wasn't imagination. This was an invasion.

She rose, slipping into a robe and slippers before stepping out.

Below, a man in a white suit commanded a group of thugs armed with steel pipes. They tore through the manor's furnishings with brutal efficiency.

"People say this place is cursed, but our boss doesn't believe in ghosts!" The man smirked. "Consider this a public service, boys!"

Too absorbed in his theatrics, he didn't notice Vivian descending the stairs.

Evelyn returned just then, groceries in hand. Horror twisted her features. "What is this? The Lockhart estate isn't your playground! Get out before I make you!"

The suited man paled. His voice cracked. "Y-you—! I buried you alive! How are you—? Are you a ghost?!"

Recognition flashed in Evelyn's eyes. "Damian Reeves. Of course it's you."

Rage transformed her. She lunged, fingers curling like claws. "You're right. I am a ghost. And I've come for revenge."

"Stay back!" Damian stumbled, legs trembling. "It wasn't me! Richard Ashford gave the orders! Go haunt him!"

A dark stain spread across his pants.

Then realization struck. Ghosts didn't have warm hands. Or pulse points.

"You—you're alive?!"

Fury replaced fear. He whirled on his men. "Kill her! Now!"

A cold voice cut through the chaos. "Try it."

Vivian stood at the staircase's peak, fingers flexing. Ready.

The air sharpened with promise.

Blood would spill today.