In the hotel, Vivienne Whitmore looked at her husband of five years and her former best friend, her expression remarkably calm.
The mistress was riding high on arrogance.
Vivienne tossed down a stack of cash and said indifferently, "This is your hard-earned compensation for servicing my husband. Which young master doesn't keep a few unsavory side pieces? If this were ancient times, I'd be the one arranging to take you in as a concubine. Now, get out."
The mistress fled in panic.
Vivienne slammed down the divorce papers.
"Let's divorce. I'm pregnant, and the child isn't yours!"
Maxwell flew into a rage and tried to strike her, but Vivienne Whitmore kicked him flying with one blow.
Later, the child's biological father came knocking.
The man lifted her chin and said coldly, "Just where do you think you're running off to with my baby in your belly?"
