Chapter 8 The Jerk Ruined Her

"Mm, yes, yes." Vivian Donovan felt the man's icy breath, like a grim reaper risen from hell, and realized for the first time how close death could be. Driven by survival instinct, she nodded frantically. "Of course I want to live. But how can I prove it?" "Good." The frost on Bernard Jacobson's face softened slightly, his well-shaped lips curving into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. Leaning close to her ear, his breath stirred the fine hairs at her nape, sending a tingling chill down her spine, making her shiver with fear. After a few seconds, she finally heard him say, "I have a foolproof solution." "W-what solution?" "That is…" He paused mid-sentence, toying with her, only continuing when he saw her trembling with tension. "Die." "...Die?" Vivian recoiled in terror, stumbling backward until she crashed into the sofa, collapsing onto it, staring at Bernard in shock. "No, no… I don't want that." She absolutely refused. "Bernard Jacobson, are you a demon?" Even the usually strong-willed Vivian was terrified. Before, she hadn't known Bernard's identity. Now that she did, she feared him even more. Because this man had the power to crush anything. Killing her would be as easy as squashing an ant. Bernard gave a cold chuckle and pulled out his phone. "Scott, get here right now—" "No, no, you can't!" Before he could finish, Vivian shot up, snatched the phone, slammed it shut, and screamed at him, furious and humiliated: "Who do you think you are? Just because you're rich, you can do whatever you want?" It was proven again—playing the innocent little rabbit meant nothing to this man. Because this bastard was a cold-blooded beast. "Whether you can or not—try it and see." Bernard snatched the phone back, walked past her, and left. "Don't go!" Vivian grabbed his arm, then dropped to her knees with a thud, tears streaming down her face as she sobbed: "Bernard, you can't do this. I don't even know if I'm pregnant. But if I am, I'll abort it—I swear." To save her life, Vivian threw dignity aside. What was dignity when her life was on the line? "Just now you were so indignant, now you're on your knees begging?" His large hand gripped her chin. "Tell me, which version should I believe?" "Bernard, have a conscience. Your grandmother drugged me. You were the one who took advantage. I'm the victim—why should I pay?" She was furious. Seeing her shift from pitiful to furious, kneeling yet blazing with anger, her emotional volatility sparked a flicker of interest in Bernard. "Because the rich can break all rules." He threw her words right back. Bernard pulled out a tissue, wiped his hand as if it were contaminated, then tossed it into the trash. Then he turned and walked away. "Bernard?" "Mr. Jacobson, we can talk this through!" "Hey, Bernard, don't walk away!" "Bernard Jacobson, you're a bastard! A damn scumbag!" Watching him leave without a backward glance, Vivian couldn't help but scream curses. Then she stood, sat back on the sofa, brushed imaginary dust off her knees, and muttered, "You shameless dog." The elevator doors closed. He was gone. Sitting on the sofa, Vivian reached for her phone to call Madam Jacobson—only to find the signal blocked. "I can't just sit here and wait to die." Her mind raced, plotting her escape. She stood and scanned the floor: the only way in was the elevator; a locked door stood at the hallway's end. Outside the living room, two burly bodyguards stood watch. She wandered, finally entering the bedroom, where she found a lighter. She wrapped toilet paper around a mop, lit it, and aimed it at the ceiling sprinkler. In a second, the sprinklers burst on, spraying water nonstop. From bedroom to side room, kitchen, bathroom—Vivian triggered every sprinkler and smoke alarm. Hearing the alarm, she quickly set the mop aside and ran out from the bathroom. "What happened?" "Where's the fire?" The two bodyguards rushed in, panicked. Vivian shook her head. "I don't know… it's terrifying…" "James, check that side. I'll check this side." "Got it." They dashed inside. Vivian smirked, then bolted out, hit the button for the private 38th-floor elevator, and went down. Escaping the Nightshade Club, she hailed a taxi and left. "Driver, take me to Serene Medical. Wait—no, Rivermoor Villa." She'd meant to go to Serene Medical for her adoptive parents, but now decided to go to Rivermoor Villa—to get money from the Whiteheads, then leave Westmoor with her parents. When she donated bone marrow to the youngest Whitehead son, her biological father had promised her fifty thousand as compensation upon divorce. Vivian had once scorned taking his money, but now had no choice. Her salary wasn't paid, and her only five thousand had gone to Bernard's medical bills. To take her parents back to the countryside, she needed money everywhere. Without money, you couldn't move. Half an hour later, she arrived at Rivermoor Villa. Vivian got out, walked to the gate, rang the bell. Soon, the door opened. Lainey Whitehead, dripping in jewels, frowned at her. "What are you doing here?" Nearly fifty, Lainey wore a royal blue, waist-cinching V-neck blouse and black high-waisted pants. With flawless care, she looked young and elegant. She was Vivian's biological mother. "Where's Frederick? I need to see him." Vivian cut straight to the chase. "How dare you say his name?" Lainey sneered, full of contempt. Sometimes Vivian didn't understand—she and Lilith were twins, born of the same mother, so why did this couple despise her? "Can't I say his name?" Vivian scoffed. "Fine. Where's your husband's thing? I need to talk to him." "You—hmph! Truly, you're a backwater hick with no manners." Lainey was furious. "Manners are taught by real mothers. A girl like me, without real parents, is lucky to be alive—why should I care about manners?" Vivian never imagined her reunion with her biological parents would be like this.