Chapter 287

The painting hung just high enough to escape the flames.

Ethan Blackwood grabbed the fire extinguisher, spraying the surrounding flames before carefully retrieving the artwork.

But Vivian Lockhart's precious "map" remained trapped in the upstairs bedroom—now an inferno.

"Ethan, get back here! Don't you dare go in again!"

Vivian's voice cracked from screaming.

She couldn't stay put any longer. She'd risk the flames herself if necessary.

Then—smoke billowed as Ethan emerged, cradling her father's beloved painting.

His sculpted features were smudged with soot matching hers. His designer shirt hung in charred tatters, angry burns marking his hands.

He met her gaze, gently presenting the salvaged artwork. "The map... I couldn't reach it."

Tears streamed down Vivian's face at the sight of his battered sincerity. Words failed her.

"You reckless idiot! If you'd died in there—" Her voice broke. "I wouldn't survive losing you. Do you understand?"

Abandoning restraint, she flung her arms around his neck, clinging like he might vanish. Like she'd reclaimed something priceless.

Ethan stood frozen, the painting still in his grip.

Moments ago, he'd been burning alive. Now electricity coursed through him at her touch.

In four years of marriage, Vivian had never held him like this—never unleashed the full force of her passion. Always so careful. Always holding back.

Now her love scorched hotter than the blaze behind them.

"Stop crying," he murmured, uncharacteristically gentle. "Nathaniel Blackwood doesn't die easily. Fire and water both failed today."

Vivian suddenly realized her outburst. She jerked away, wiping tears.

"Right. You're practically unkillable—like some mutant cockroach. Wasted my tears."

Ethan's expression darkened. "This is my thanks?"

"How else should I thank you? Throw myself at you?"

"I wouldn't object."

Tension crackled between them—new and intoxicating.

Later, in Ethan's Lamborghini, Vivian studied the rescued painting with a frown.

Not a singe marred Claude Monet's "The Night Shepherd."

"My father adored this piece," she whispered. "Collectors offered fifteen million during our bankruptcy. He refused every bid." Her voice thickened. "Thank you, Ethan. I never expected such loyalty... from a friend."

"A friend?" he echoed coldly.

At a red light, Ethan yanked the parking brake. His smoldering gaze pinned her. "Earlier—did you mean it?"

Vivian's cheeks flushed. "Mean what?"

"That you couldn't live if I died."

"O-of course not!" She looked away. "Just... dramatic timing."

"Is that so?"

The light turned green. Instead of driving, Ethan's hand captured hers—