The Billionaire's Sinful Heiress

Chapter 3

Michael’s eyes caught the bruises on Vivian’s neck, the realization hit him instantly. His wife had been freaky again. The only question was… with who this time?

“Where have you been?” Michael asked. His voice was low and controlled at first, but threaded with suspicion. His gaze locked onto Vivian, narrowing like he was trying to piece together a puzzle only he knew existed.

Vivian froze—just for a heartbeat, the question came too suddenly, slicing through the remnants of what had existed minutes ago. Just moments earlier, Michael had leaned into her space, teasing his hands all over her body with the confidence of a lazy man who's used to getting what he wanted. As usual, she had brushed him off. But all of a sudden his acting like a demon again.

“I said…” Michael’s voice dropped lower and more intense. “…where have you been?” Her gaze flickered once—almost reflexively. She followed the direction of his stare, and it hit her instantly.

Her neck. The bruise on her neck she noticed earlier in the elevator. "f**k, the bruise..." she cursed slowly, almost to her self in an awkward way. The faint, dark mark sat there like a quiet confession—proof she had been careless, that she’d indulged herself in ways he was never supposed to know. But f**k him anyways, I mean she's Vivian West, why should she care?

Michael’s jaw tightened, a muscle flexing beneath his skin as realization spread across his face. The coldness in his expression wasn’t manufactured. It wasn’t anger yet. It was the raw and unfiltered shock of someone who had just seen something he desperately didn’t want to see, but he wasn't surprised either.

Vivian straightened her back, a flicker of that usual shock running through her, but she masked it almost immediately. She tilted her chin with a smooth and distant voice. “Why do you care?”

Michael’s lips parted, disbelief and anger finally flashing simultaneously. His hands clenched at his sides, his fingers tightening, slowly—he took a step closer.

“Who have you been fuckin’ Vivian?” he demanded. “Tell me, whose the d**k?” Her eyes widened slightly. Not with fear, but with sharp, incredulous amusement.

“Excuse me?” she said, her voice dripping with mockery. “What the hell do you mean by that, Michael?” She tilted her head slightly, letting the faintest smirk play on her lips. She couldn't even deny it, this was a game she knew all too well. Michael’s arrogance, his pride, his inability to grasp the depth of her freedom—it all worked to her advantage.

He had sworn this marriage was just a performance, an arrangement dictated by their families. Yet beneath the pretense, Vivian could always see the truth: He cared about her. He loved her deeply and is literally obsessed with everything she does, maybe more than he should. His like a pain in the ass, he stalks her contacts, the people she talks to and the places she visits, but he'd swear he was being 'protective' so Vivian don't embarrass him to the public, And that made this confrontation all the more delicious.

“I won’t ask you again” he said with a rising voice, his fingers brushing her arm in a rough, desperate grip. “Who the hell is the guy you’ve been f*****g?”

Pain flared where his hand dug into her skin. She drew a sharp breath but didn’t flinch otherwise. “Michael, you’re hurting me” she said, her voice tight and cold. “Answer me!” His tone cracked slightly, betraying the edge of panic he tried to hide. “Do you think I’m stupid? Or do you think I’m blind? What’s that bruise on your neck, Vivian?”

No amount of excuse can erase what he already saw. She exhaled sharply, the shock melting into fury. “Let go of me...” she said, yanking her arm free with force. She stepped back with blazing eyes, the smirk now replaced by fire. “And why the f**k do you care who I’m fucking...? Have you forgotten what this marriage is?” She gestured between them, her words slicing through the tension. “This whole thing is just made up. It’s not real.”

Michael’s fingers rose, his voice shaking with restrained fury. “You will not embarrass me and my family, Vivian. You go around f*****g all the lowlifes in Chicago. Don’t you have any shame left?”

Vivian laughed. Not a light laugh, but a cold, biting sound that echoed with mockery. “Coming from you?” she said, letting the words hang. She stepped closer, her voice dropping. Each word was deliberate and aimed to sting. “Where were you last night, huh? Or maybe because I choose to mind my business, you think I don’t know about Olivia Simon? Ava Sinnett? Tasha Jacobs?” He didn’t answer, the silence only fueling her.

“Oh, wait...” she continued, “Who the f**k is Lily Campbell, Michael?” Silence fell again. “What?” she sneered, stepping closer. “Can’t talk now? Cat cut your tongue?” Her voice rose, merciless and unfiltered. “Don’t you ever call me a w***e. You’re a community d**k—f*****g everything in panties, every p***y you can afford!” Michael’s face darkened, his muscles tensing, anger pooling beneath the surface. But it didn't stop Vivian—she went on, relentless. “You’re a good-for-nothing lowlife with nothing to offer but misery. pathetic” The words landed hard, striking like a hammer. He lifted his trembling hand in anger, as though he was going to slap her. “How dare you” he said through clenched teeth.

A sudden, crisp knock on the door sliced through the chaos. “Sorry for intruding...” Diana’s voice cut in, calm and perfectly timed. “But Mr. West has arrived.” Vivian’s eyes flicked to the doorway, the storm in her chest barely abating. Diana didn’t move away, letting her presence anchor Vivian as the weight of reality pressed in.

****

Outside, in the company driveway, a sleek black Porsche Panamera rolled to a stop. The engine purred, then stilled, almost in sync with the tension in the office above.

The car door opened smoothly. Madame Gloria stepped out first, poised and elegant, every inch of movement screaming "The Rich Stepmother". Behind her, George West moved slowly and deliberately, his gaze unreadable. Finally, Kelvin—their younger son in his mid-twenties followed suit, watching everything.

The security guard acknowledged them respectfully, then stepped aside. The trio made no comment, their entrance a silent declaration.

****

Inside—Vivian inhaled, a brief smile tugging at her lips. She turned toward Diana. “Oh...” she said softly, almost casually. “He’s here?”

“Yeah” Diana said, eyes darting between Vivian and Michael. She didn’t move away. She lingered, just as she had promised she would, ensuring Vivian’s exit would be smooth. Vivian squared her shoulders, every inch screaming 'THE QUEEN OF HER OWN WORLD', the fire of anger tempered into elegant control.

“I’m coming with you...” she said to Diana. She brushed past Michael, her shoulder colliding with his deliberately, she kept her head high, and walked toward the door, leaving the storm she had just ignited behind.

George West moved slowly through the company lobby, his presence alone enough to make the atmosphere shift. Beside him, Gloria West walked with quiet authority, heels clicking softly against the marble floor, in her usual flawless composure. A step behind them was Kelvin.

Conversations softened as they walked. Movements stilled. Staff straightened instinctively as the trio advanced further inside the building. “Good morning, Mr. West…” The company staff said in collection.