Chapter 51

The morning light streamed through the curtains as Nathaniel Blackwood forwarded Vivian Lockhart's complete dossier to Ethan Young.

Ethan's fingers trembled slightly as he scrolled through the documents. His breath caught when he realized who his wife truly was.

Four years of marriage. Four years of ignorance. The woman he'd dismissed as quiet and unremarkable had been Stanford University's prodigy.

Vivian had skipped two grades in high school. Gained direct admission to Stanford's prestigious Electrical Engineering program. Specialized in Electromagnetic Fields and Wave Propagation.

By sophomore year, she'd become a teaching assistant. Her lectures drew standing-room-only crowds. During her master's program, she'd studied abroad in Berlin, maintaining perfect grades.

Then came the fall of the Lockhart dynasty.

The Elite Eight's golden child watched her parents jump from their penthouse when Lockhart Enterprises collapsed. Enemies emerged from every shadow.

Arthur Lockhart took in his orphaned granddaughter. That's when Alfred Blackwood had forced Ethan home to marry her.

He remembered their first meeting in the rain. Vivian in white, a single gardenia tucked behind her ear. Silent. Solemn. Everything he despised in a woman.

For four years, he'd ignored his wife. Played the doting husband at corporate functions. Returned to ignoring her afterward.

Yet she'd never faltered in her duties as Mrs. Blackwood. Cared for his grandparents with unwavering devotion. Maintained impeccable conduct despite his neglect.

If not for Cassandra Delacroix, he might have continued this charade indefinitely.

Vivian awoke to sunlight warming her face. For the first time in four years, she'd slept through the night undisturbed.

The empty space beside her brought immediate relief. "Finally gone," she murmured.

Her hope shattered when she entered the living room. Nathaniel sat on the sofa, newspaper in hand.

"Aren't you needed at Blackwood Group?" Her voice dripped with disdain as she crossed her arms.

He set the paper aside. "Breakfast is ready."

The dining table overflowed with dishes - her favorite almond croissants, fresh berries, perfectly poached eggs.

Her stomach twisted. Once, this gesture would have thrilled her. Now it tasted like bitter irony.

"Don't bother, Nathaniel." She met his gaze coolly. "Our marriage was transactional. Our divorce is imminent. Cassandra would appreciate this more than I do."

She took a steadying breath. "Respect boundaries. We're almost strangers now. Let's keep it that way."

The words hung between them, sharp as broken glass.

Nathaniel rose slowly. The air thickened as he closed the distance between them. Even in silence, his presence overwhelmed her.

His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me, Isabella... what exactly are you misunderstanding?"