The Penniless Heir

At the direct question regarding her pregnancy, Clara’s face instantly turned a sickly pale. The color drained from her cheeks, leaving her looking fragile and cornered amidst the chaotic airport crowd. Her hands trembled as her large, doe-like eyes began to shimmer with unshed, pathetic tears. She frantically clutched her rounded belly and stammered out an apology to Vivienne, desperately trying to frame the situation as a massive mistake.

"I-I'm sorry, Vivienne!" Clara’s voice quivered with practiced distress. "This is all just a mistake. It wasn't supposed to happen."

Standing opposite her, Vivienne did not flinch. She observed Clara’s victim-like act, finding the whole performance amusing. It was almost theatrical how the woman tried to play the wronged party. Refusing to break her confident stride, Vivienne kept her smile warm and bright. She let her gaze sweep over the adulterous couple before offering a cheerful, sarcastic congratulations.

"Well, congratulations to both of you," Vivienne said, her voice smooth and devoid of genuine warmth.

The tension spiked when Clara took a hesitant step forward. Utilizing her pleading, trembling voice, she begged, "Vivienne, I... can I really keep this baby?"

Damon stepped forward without hesitation. Acting as the protective shield, he positioned his broad shoulders between his fragile lover and his wife. He shot a venomous glare directly at Vivienne, treating her as if she were a predator about to strike.

"Don't waste your breath, Clara," Damon snapped, his voice sharp and authoritative. He wrapped a defensive arm around Clara, pulling her flush against his side. He boldly declared, "This child belongs to us. We require zero approval from Vivienne to keep it."

Vivienne responded with a sharp, derisive sneer. She crossed her arms over her chest, the expensive fabric of her designer outfit rustling softly against the humid air. "Yeah, we’re such a modern family, aren't we?" She sarcastically remarked on their twisted family dynamic, her tone dripping with mockery. "Back in the day, having a concubine to bear more children was considered a blessing. Tell me, once the kid is born, will it be forced to call me 'Mom'?"

This infuriated Damon. The veins in his neck bulged as he snapped at her. "Vivienne, stop your nonsense right now!"

Vivienne merely laughed right in his face. The sound was bright, ringing clearly over the airport noise, easily brushing off his rage. She pivoted the conversation without missing a beat. "Oh, relax, I'm just kidding. No need to look like you want to strangle me. Just a reminder, Grandpa Winston is currently waiting for our arrival at the Winslow residence. Are you coming with me, or are you staying here on the pavement with her?"

The scene transitioned swiftly as they left the airport. Damon directed Vivienne to drop his pregnant lover off at a hotel first. After pulling up to the Valerius Hotel and getting Clara settled inside, Damon returned to the vehicle. He reluctantly climbed back into the passenger seat of Vivienne’s luxury car. The moment the heavy door clicked shut, he pressed himself against the side panel, crossing his arms to maintain maximum physical distance from his wife.

As Vivienne navigated the busy city streets, the silence between them stretched tight. A genuine giggle escaped her crimson lips. She kept her eyes on the road, innocently asking him why on earth he would stash his pregnant lover in a basic hotel instead of a luxurious villa. "Shouldn't you be treating her better?"

Before Damon could even open his mouth to answer the provocation, Vivienne feigned a dramatic gasp of realization. She covered her mouth with one manicured hand, mockingly apologizing to him. "Oops! I'm so sorry. I simply forgot that you do not legally own any property whatsoever."

The narrative revealed a stark truth. Because the Winslow family assumed Vivienne was a permanent fixture in their lineage, all properties bestowed upon Damon since his kindergarten years had been placed under Vivienne’s name. Over a hundred estates, dozens of sprawling villas, and numerous lucrative storefronts belonged to her on paper. Damon, despite being the sole heir to the Winslow empire, practically owned nothing but his company shares.

Damon watched her profile closely from the passenger seat. His jaw clamped tight. He observed the smooth curve of her smile, his mind rigidly convinced that her cheerful, carefree facade was nothing more than a desperate mask meant to hide her bitter jealousy over Clara’s pregnancy. He figured she was using his lack of assets to get under his skin.

His voice dropped to a cold, threatening warning. "Vivienne, do not take your frustrations out on Clara." He leaned toward the center console, issuing his demands. "And I forbid you from harboring any delusions about winning me back. I will let you keep the properties as a settlement for these past three years. But if you dare to push for anything more, I will strip you of the title of Mrs. Winslow."

Hearing this arrogant threat, Vivienne’s playful expression vanished. The mocking light in her eyes died out, replaced by a deadpan seriousness. She turned her head slightly to look at him, flatly proposing, "Damon, let's get a divorce."

Damon’s face darkened in an instant. A storm brewed in his cold eyes as he studied her stoic expression. Relying on his knowledge of her past desperation—specifically her dramatic suicide attempt over losing him three years ago—he arrogantly assumed this divorce talk was merely an empty, manipulative threat designed to force his hand and make him abandon Clara.

He sneered cruelly, his words designed to inflict maximum psychological damage. "Do you really expect me to believe that? If you are supposedly so willing to let go now, why did you try to take your own life back then?"

But Damon did not understand the reality of her transformation. The three years apart had profoundly altered Vivienne’s internal landscape. Her suffocating obsession with him had evaporated, blowing away like dust in the wind. She possessed zero desire to remain trapped in a hollow marriage that only served to hold back his supposed happiness with another woman. She no longer wanted to fight a pointless battle.

Casually tossing her cascading blonde hair over her shoulder, she returned her attention to the road. She responded with apathy, her tone flat. "If you disagree with the divorce, it is fine by me."

Infuriated by her casual initiation of the topic and his own unshakeable conviction that she was just testing his loyalty, Damon scoffed loudly. He leaned back against the leather seat, staring at her with disdain. He spat out the words, "Vivienne, you're really a pathetic suck-up."

It was an intentional strike. He purposefully echoed the exact, agonizing phrase he used to break her heart years ago during their explosive confrontation over Clara. While the memory of those sharp words once cut her like a jagged knife, leaving her bleeding on the floor of their shared past, time had done its work. Three years of building thick, emotional calluses protected her now. The insult bounced off her armor without leaving a single mark. She kept driving, her expression serene and untouched by his venom.

The tense drive concluded in stifling silence as they arrived at the grand Winslow residence. The towering wrought-iron gates swung open, and Vivienne parked the car smoothly in the expansive circular driveway.

Standing squarely at the massive front door was Damon’s mother, Audrey. She was dressed impeccably, but her face was twisted into a menacing, furious scowl. She did not look like a mother eager to welcome her long-lost son home.

Bypassing the fact that her son had been gone for three years, Audrey marched down the stone steps the second Damon stepped out of the vehicle. She fired off a sharp, accusing question, her voice ringing out aggressively across the pristine lawn.

"I heard the news!" Audrey demanded, pointing a rigid finger in his direction. "Did you actually bring that little vixen back with you?"

Damon’s expression turned into a sheet of ice. He whipped his head around, his eyes locking onto Vivienne across the roof of the car. He glared accusingly at her, convinced that she had maliciously tipped his mother off during their drive.

Vivienne stood by the open driver’s side door. Meeting his furious stare, she raised both of her hands in the air, presenting a picture of perfect innocence. She shrugged her shoulders gently, her tone casual and unbothered by his misplaced rage.

"Don't look at me," Vivienne noted calmly, stepping away from the vehicle. "I didn't say a word, and I didn't even have the opportunity to make a phone call."