Chapter 48

"Ethan, put me down. We're not that close!" Vivian struggled against his hold, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

Despite her skills and reputation, she couldn't break free from him.

"Stop squirming. You're injured." His voice was firm as he carried her into the bathroom, his expression unreadable.

She was light in his arms, stirring an unexpected protectiveness in him.

Vivian scoffed. It was just a minor cut on her arm—not a broken leg. But when he set her down in the bathtub without leaving, panic flared.

"Ethan, you're not seriously planning to bathe me, are you? Don't even think about taking advantage!"

A slow smirk curved his lips as he leaned in, his finger tilting her chin up. "What if I want to? This tub is big enough for two."

"No!" Her face flushed crimson.

She never imagined the cold, composed man she once admired had such a wicked side. The most proper ones were always the most dangerous.

"Touch me, and I'm calling the police."

"Go ahead. Let's see what they say about a married couple sharing a bath."

With that, he turned on the faucet, then casually undid two buttons of his shirt, revealing sculpted abs.

His voice dropped to a husky whisper as he leaned closer. "Since the divorce is coming, why not make this our farewell?"

He was openly seducing her.

Vivian clenched her fists. If the police won't help, I'll handle this myself.

Even injured, she could still take him down.

The water rose steadily, the air thickening with tension. Just as she prepared to strike, he suddenly stood, looking down at her with amusement.

"You're so gullible."

He flicked water at her face. "I'm not desperate enough to pounce on an injured woman. Call if you need me."

Then he walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Vivian exhaled. Had she really misread him?

Ethan had never shown interest in her before. In four years of marriage, they'd only been intimate once—and that was because they were both drunk.

You're overthinking, she told herself.

Steam filled the bathroom as she sank into the warm water, closing her eyes to the soft hum of music.

Outside, Ethan lounged on the sofa, newspaper in hand, every inch the refined aristocrat.

The charity gala dominated the front page—with him and Vivian as the centerpiece.

The four attackers had been caught, including a man disguised as a woman. Over the years, the Blackwood family had made enemies, and as the sole heir, Ethan was a prime target.

He remembered Vivian's warning before he took the stage.

Did she know something?

But no—she was just an innocent woman caught in this mess.

He planned to question her later, but his phone rang.

"Mr. Blackwood," Ethan Young's voice was grave. "The police confirmed it—the same people behind the Newrest attack three months ago hired these men."

Ethan's grip tightened.

That attack was no accident. If it was planned... then Sebastian's death wasn't random. It was murder.

"They won't name who's behind it. If you're well enough, I suggest attending the hearing—"

BANG!

A loud crash came from the bathroom.