Chapter 4
Someone scoffed.
“What, calling for backup?”
The crowd watching burst into laughter.
“Backup? Who’s gonna come! Is there anyone in Beverly Hills more powerful than the Marshalls?”
Lacey dug her nails into me viciously.
“You little bitch, still putting on this act? Look at the rags you’re wearing-who the hell could you possibly call?”
I couldn’t worry about struggling. Looking at the skeptical crowd, I raised the stakes.
“Anyone who makes this call for me gets ten mil…”
Before I’d even finished speaking, Lacey slapped me several times across the face.
My head spun as I spat out a bloody tooth.
“Still acting! You’re not worth a thousand bucks even if we sold you!”
“Strip her!”
Several men grinned lewdly as they started tearing at my clothes.
Someone even started livestreaming, announcing they’d show everyone what happens to homewreckers!
Just as my clothes were about to be ripped off, a Maybach pulled up to the community entrance.
A refined, cold voice spoke with a hint of impatience.
“Didn’t I say not to make a big scene?”
Quinn stepped out, one hand on the car door. With just a slight frown, everyone around immediately fell silent.
Lacey rushed over to him like a little bird, tugging at his sleeve coquettishly.
“Quinn, this woman is absolutely disgusting! She was trashing your reputation in front of all these people. I only did this for you!”
Quinn’s expression softened as he indulgently ruffled her hair.
“You and that temper of yours! You just take advantage of the fact that I always clean up your messes, don’t you?”
His indulgent attitude hit me like a sledgehammer.
I used to be notorious in our social circle for being willful and spoiled.
Back then, Quinn protected me the same way, always covering for me.
He’d once announced in front of everyone:
“If anyone messes with you, hit them right back. I’d like to see who dares touch you!”
All of Beverly Hills knew-you could cross the ice-cold devil Quinn Marshall and be fine, but cross the Reed family princess and you were done for.
I never imagined Quinn would so freely give the tenderness and indulgence that once belonged only to me to another woman.
My heart turned to ash. My last bit of hope for Quinn died.
19:39
You Chose the Bastard? Then Prove It’s Yours
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Quinn glanced at me and frowned slightly.
“This is the crazy woman you mentioned?”
The way I looked now-my face beaten almost beyond recognition, my clothes filthy and torn-he didn’t recognize me right away.
Seeing Quinn look at me twice, Lacey quickly grabbed his attention.
“That’s the little bitch! I was about to livestream so everyone could see what happens to homewreckers!”
Quinn looked away indifferently and nodded.
“Have someone else handle it. Don’t dirty your hands.”
Lacey was thrilled, clinging to him.
“This bitch was bold enough to claim she’s Mrs. Marshall!”
Quinn’s aura turned ice-cold.
“Shea is my wife. Anyone who dares sully her reputation is asking for death!”
Seeing Quinn’s real anger, Lacey’s face flashed with twisted resentment before she quickly changed the subject.
“I was just saying. Come on, let’s go home. Didn’t you say you’d cook for me?”
She shot a look, and the people who’d paused immediately pounced on me to tear off my clothes.
I struggled desperately, my throat making hoarse sounds for help.
Quinn walked past me with his arm around Lacey’s slim waist, not even glancing in my direction.
I touched my slightly rounded belly and shed tears of regret.
Baby, Mommy’s sorry. I chose such a heartless, faithless father for you!
Maybe not coming into this world would be a blessing for you…
Just as my dress tore with a loud rip, a long convoy of intimidating cars pulled up to the entrance.
The crowd gasped in shock.
“Who is this? Their entrance is even more impressive than the Marshalls!”
“That color Rolls-Royce-there’s only one in the States”
Quinn stopped in his tracks too.
Seeing who got out of the car, his face changed. He dropped Lacey and hurried forward.
“How did you get here…”
SLAP!
A clear handprint immediately appeared on Quinn’s face.
The area fell dead silent.
19:39
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You Chose the Bastard? Then Prove It’s Yours
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