Vivienne Hartwell had never, not even in her wildest thoughts, imagined that on the night before her wedding, the man she was about to marry would send her into another man’s bed.
After getting a text from Maxwell Lorne, she had taken a cab straight to the Poly Hotel.
Maxwell was the first man who never looked down on her for having three children, the first one who treated her with real patience and care.
She had gone there full of joy, ready to give herself to him.
One night of passion.
Vivienne slowly opened her sleepy eyes, still sinking into the sweetness of last night, her whole body wrapped in that lingering warmth.
Then movement came from the bathroom door.
A soft, drowsy "Maxwell" had barely left her lips when a man walked out.
He had nothing on but a towel around his waist.
His damp, messy hair was still dripping.
Water traced down the sharp line of his side profile and slid over his firm chest.
As he moved, his long, toned legs flashed into view, tight with clean, powerful muscle.
The second Vivienne saw his face clearly, she yanked the blanket over herself, stunned out of her mind.
"How is it you?"
She recognized that cold, devastatingly handsome face at once.
She had seen him before.
Two days ago, when she passed a construction site and got harassed by a drunk, he was the one who stepped in and helped her.
She had thought that would be the end of it, that their lives would never cross again.
But now? What kind of insane situation was this?
"And who did you think it would be?"
Damien Whitmore’s dark eyes, deep as ink, swept over her panicked little face. His voice was low, calm, and ridiculously magnetic.
"You... why are you here? Last night, you and I..."
Vivienne Hartwell was so flustered she could barely get a full sentence out.
That boneless, weak ache in her body kept dragging her back to one brutal fact—what had happened last night was real.
"This is my room," Damien Whitmore said as he walked over and sat on the sofa, casually tossing aside the towel he’d just used on his damp hair. "So why do you think I’m here?"
His room?
Vivienne’s face turned stark white. "No way! This was obviously the room my fiancé, Maxwell Lorne, booked!"
"You sure?" Damien lifted a brow, his gaze drifting over her pale, smooth skin like cold fire, his eyes darkening a little.
Vivienne’s mind was a total mess.
The second she noticed his eyes stop at her chest, she panicked and yanked the blanket higher around herself.
"Pervert! Get out right now, or I’ll sue you for rape!"
"Sue me?" Damien looked at her with maddening calm, completely unbothered.
He said lazily, "Want me to remind you who made the first move last night?"
Vivienne choked on her own words.
Last night, she’d deliberately had a little alcohol to hype herself up, wanting to spend a sweet, romantic night with Maxwell Lorne.
When she knocked and entered the hotel room, the inside had been dim, almost pitch-dark.
She’d thought it was Maxwell Lorne, so riding that buzz, she’d gone straight over, wrapped her arms around the man, and kissed him first.
She really had been the one who started it.
But...
“You could’ve said no, you know!”
Damien Whitmore reached for the clothes beside him. Seeing her face flushed with anger, he spoke in that lazy, maddening tone of his.
“I saved you. You giving yourself to me as thanks sounded pretty reasonable. I thought you came to repay me.”
She did not. That was not what happened.
Vivienne Hartwell was mortified and furious all at once, her thoughts tangled into a total mess. Right now, she only wanted one thing—get out of this room first, talk later, freak out later.
She scrambled to gather the clothes scattered all over the floor and threw them on in a rush, then strode straight for the door.
“You’re leaving just like that?”
The man’s voice came from behind her.
Vivienne gritted her teeth. “We’re both adults. It was just a one-night stand. Take it as me paying you back for saving me!”
Bang!
She slammed the door and walked out without looking back.
Wow. That temper was no joke.
The corner of Damien’s lips lifted slightly. Unhurried as ever, he began fastening the buttons of his shirt one by one.
Just then, the phone on the coffee table started vibrating.
He glanced at it casually, then slid a long finger across the screen and picked up.
The voice on the other end sounded old, forceful, and completely unreasonable, with a straight-up threat mixed in.
“You ungrateful brat, if you still refuse to get me a granddaughter-in-law, I’ll hang myself right in front of you with a rope!”
Damien narrowed his dark eyes. For a second, the memory of yesterday’s soft warmth flashed through his mind.
Half coaxing, half brushing it off, he said, “Alright, alright. Stop with the crying, the drama, and the suicide threats. I’ll get married, okay?”
“For real? Which family’s daughter did you set your sights on?”
He asked, “Does she have to be some rich heiress?”
The person on the other end was clearly scared he’d change his mind and answered in a rush, “As long as it’s a woman, that’s enough!”
...
In the hotel corridor.
Vivienne Hartwell stood there in a daze, staring at the room number in front of her.
It was 1802. No mistake.
She hadn’t gone to the wrong room.
Then why on earth was the man inside not Maxwell Lorne?
Her lips pressed into a tight line, her mind a total mess, questions piling up one after another.
That man in the room had been slippery as hell, impossible to deal with, and not one word out of his mouth sounded real.
If she wanted the truth, she’d probably have to go back and ask Maxwell herself.
Once she made up her mind, Vivienne immediately called Maxwell Lorne. But the phone kept ringing with no answer.
Left with no choice, she walked out of the hotel, hailed a cab, and headed straight for Maxwell Lorne’s villa. She had to get this cleared up face-to-face.
For the past while, she and her three children had been staying there.
Maxwell had always treated the kids like they were his own, and toward her, he’d been gentle, considerate, basically flawless.
If he found out that last night she had been with a complete stranger...
Half an hour later.
Vivienne stepped into the villa, guilt sitting heavy in her chest.
But the second she walked in, she spotted a pair of brand-new, elegant high heels by the entryway.
Her movements froze.
A few uneasy guesses flashed through her mind in an instant.
She hurried toward the master bedroom on the second floor.
Before she even got close, she could already hear a man and a woman inside, their voices tangled together, intimate and shameless.
Vivienne Hartwell’s heart gave a hard tremble. She froze for a second, wrestling with herself, then finally reached out and twisted the doorknob.
The filthy, ambiguous sounds grew clearer at once, sharp as needles, stabbing straight through her ears.
Then came a woman’s soft, familiar laugh.
"Maxwell, are you really going to come clean with Vivienne?"
"Of course. The Hartwell family is bankrupt. She’s useless to me now. I’ve been putting up with it and coaxing her along for four years. It’s about time I ended this."
"You really sent her to entertain your client? How could you do that?"
"A woman who’s already had kids? What’s there to feel bad about? Sure, that client of mine is old and ugly, but he’s rich. Maybe he’ll even keep her as a mistress and throw her some money to raise those three bastards."
Bastards.
The second that word hit her ears, Vivienne’s whole body started shaking.
Maxwell Lorne had once sworn he would never look down on her past. He had said he would spoil her, make her the happiest woman alive.
And now?
Now he was sleeping with her best friend, Celeste Hartwell.
Worse than that, he had even set her up to sleep with another man.
Rage surged up so fast it nearly blacked her out. Vivienne grabbed the water pitcher from the cabinet by the door and hurled it inside.
Crash!
Broken porcelain exploded across the floor.
"Ah!"
Celeste shrieked from the bed and scrambled in panic into Maxwell’s arms.
Maxwell stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Vivienne.
After that brief flash of surprise, Maxwell Lorne’s face turned ice-cold.
He got up from the bed, but before leaving, he still bent down to soothe the woman beneath him, all gentle and attentive, like he was handling something precious.
Seeing that, a sharp sting tore through Vivienne Hartwell’s chest, and pain flickered across her eyes.
“Maxwell Lorne, how can you do this to me?”
Maxwell let out a mocking laugh. He grabbed his robe, threw it over his shoulders, and strode up to her.
“Vivienne, since things have blown up anyway, let’s just say it straight. The person I’ve always loved is Celeste. If you hadn’t been carrying the title of the Hartwell family’s daughter, if your background hadn’t been useful for my career, do you really think I would’ve put up with you this long? A woman who already had kids? Be serious.”
“Now your Hartwell family is done for. Bankrupt. So tell me, what exactly are you now? No family backing, no status, and with three kids. What makes you think you’re worthy of me?”
“You’d better be smart and call off the engagement yourself. Don’t stand here asking for humiliation. Otherwise, with what I can do now, crushing you would be easy.”
Vivienne’s fingers clenched hard at her sides. She was so angry her eyes started to burn red.
Four years ago, after an accident she never saw coming, she had given birth to three children whose biological father was still unknown.
At that time, Maxwell had already been her boyfriend.
He hadn’t rejected her. He hadn’t looked down on her either. He had even stayed engaged to her.
It was just that he kept saying he wanted to build his career first and settle down later, so the wedding got postponed again and again.
Using the Hartwell family’s resources as a springboard, Maxwell had climbed fast in just a few years and made a real name for himself in Haicheng.
And right when his life was taking off, the Hartwell family’s company suddenly collapsed.
The company went bankrupt. Her father, cornered by creditors with nowhere left to run, jumped to his death.
Her mother suffered such a massive shock that her mind broke. Then, after going out alone, she was hit by a car and left in a vegetative state.
Overnight, Vivienne lost everything. Her family was shattered, her home gone, and all she could do was bring her three children to rely on Maxwell.
She had thought this place would become her new home.
But in the end, all of it had been a setup. A lie. He had been using her from the start.
The help the Hartwell family gave Maxwell Lorne had turned into the very knife he used to stab Vivienne back.
Vivienne’s eyes instantly brimmed with tears. She lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face.
"Maxwell Lorne, you bastard!"
She didn’t hold back at all. The force of it made Maxwell stagger a step.
"Vivienne Hartwell, you actually dared to hit me?!"
He blew up on the spot, face dark with rage, and swung his hand right back at her.
Vivienne couldn’t dodge in time. The slap sent her crashing to the floor.
"Don’t bully my mommy!"
"Mommy!"
"Mr. Lorne is bad!"
The three children had rushed over at some point without anyone noticing.
The little boy in front, still in his pajamas, charged over first. With his tiny fists clenched, he threw himself at Maxwell and started hitting him over and over.
"Get lost."
Maxwell shoved him away with one hand.
The little boy dropped hard onto the floor on his butt. Pain scrunched up his delicate little face at once.
"Dodo!"
Vivienne hurried over and pulled her son up, her reddened eyes trembling with tears.
"Maxwell Lorne, you even hit a child? Are you even human?!"
"This is my house! Vivienne Hartwell, take your three little bastards and get the hell out of my house right now!"
