Pregnant and Divorced: I Hid His Heir

Vivian arrived at Sterling Corp HQ at 8:45 AM. Her access badge took two tries to work. The red light blinked at her, a warning. When it finally turned green, the receptionist, a girl Vivian had bought coffee for a dozen times, looked down at her desk, avoiding eye contact.

The grapevine was faster than fiber optics. Everyone knew.

Vivian walked to the PR department. The usually buzzing floor went silent as she passed. Heads ducked behind monitors. Whispers trailed in her wake like smoke.

She entered the main conference room.

Olivia Lane sat at the head of the table. She was wearing a red dress, aggressive and bright.

Behind her, on the projection screen, were giant digital posters. They were mock-ups of the new campaign.

Serena Chase's face was everywhere.

We're rebranding, Olivia said. She didn't say hello. She didn't offer Vivian a seat.

Lily Evans is out, Olivia continued. "Serena is in."

Vivian frowned. Lily Evans was the current face of the brand. She was a sweet girl, a rising model who had just signed a two-year contract. Vivian had negotiated that contract herself.

Lily has a contract, Vivian said. "You can't just fire her."

Olivia smirked. She tapped her pen on the table. "Julian authorized the breach fee. He wants the slate wiped clean."

Vivian felt a headache blooming behind her eyes. The waste of money. The cruelty to Lily. It was all for Serena.

This is unprofessional, Olivia, Vivian said, keeping her voice steady.

Olivia leaned forward. Her eyes glittered with malice.

We're streamlining, Olivia said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Cutting the dead weight. Honestly, Vivian, with your... background, it's a miracle you lasted this long in a company of this caliber. Budget cuts are tough, but we can't keep supporting charity cases just because of old family debts."

Vivian's blood ran cold.

Olivia was talking about her father. Her adoptive father, Miller. He had been a good man, a hardworking man who died of a heart attack trying to pay for her tuition before the Sterlings stepped in. He wasn't a "charity case." He was a victim of the very capitalist machine Sterling Corp represented.

Take that back, Vivian said quietly. Her hands were shaking.

Olivia laughed. It was a high, ugly sound. "Or what? You'll tell your ex-husband? Oh wait, he doesn't care about you anymore. He's finally with a woman of his own class."

Vivian snapped.

The rage that had been building for days-the pregnancy, the divorce, the lies, the bracelet-it all focused into a single point.

She walked up to Olivia.

She didn't think. She swung her hand.

Slap.

The sound echoed in the glass-walled room. It was loud, crisp, violent.

Olivia's head snapped to the side. She screamed, holding her cheek. It was a fake, dramatic scream, but the red mark on her face was real.

I am going to sue you! Olivia shrieked.

The glass door to the conference room flew open.

Julian stood there.

He took in the scene instantly. Olivia sobbing theatrically. Vivian standing there, chest heaving, her hand still raised.

He didn't ask what happened. He didn't look at Vivian's tear-filled eyes. He looked at Olivia.

Vivian, come to my office, he barked.

Now, he added.

Vivian lowered her hand. Her palm stung. She felt sick.

She walked past him. She held her head high, but her legs felt like jelly.

Behind her, she heard Olivia sniffle. "She's unstable, Julian. I was just discussing the budget..."

Vivian walked into the hallway. She didn't look back. She knew who he would believe.