All Chapters of Vegas Hangover: A Husband and a baby: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

MIRANDA Damn, this shouldn't have happened. I looked around, searching for Fernanda, who was not in the reception area. I was hoping she would be there so we could talk, and that she would prevent this story from spreading through the company and ending up in the media. I didn't want my father to find out through others, getting just a glimpse of what was going on. If I didn't act immediately, everything would end up being a total disaster, and a victory for Marlon. That bastard orchestrated his plan, I must admit, with cleverness. If our "marriage" is publicized, the more complicated the divorce and the speculation surrounding it will be. Questions about why we separated so soon after only a few days of marriage, or, in case I decided not to accept the divorce because of the damn contract I had signed, those vultures in the press would comb through my life to find out who the wife of the heir to the Wenecker companies was. And I did not want my life printed for everyone to

LORENZO I don't know what the hell was in my head. FUCK. Why the hell was I there? Turning into an obsessive stalker, there I was in my car watching, looking for any movement from Miss Avery's house, making up some convincing excuse for my strange visit to her residence. I gripped the steering wheel, angry with myself. Hell, I was looking like a scared teenager afraid to talk to the hot neighbor; I was a grown fucking man. I am handsome and a good catch. I have the most desirable and susceptible women anyone would want to have. Whenever I wanted, I just had to make a call and order them to meet me and I would have them. Simple, fast, and without small talk to get what I needed. So why the hell was I there like an idiot recording a voice message that repeated the same thing for three long minutes? "Hi Little Lamb, I just dropped by to get my AC/DC shirt, remember?" Shit. That was crap. I had some kind of sickness; it made no sense to have that shitty hesitation because of a 5'

MIRANDA As we walked through the lobby of the company, heading to the parking lot across the street where my car was, because the insistent Marlon stated he would go with me, as long as I was his driver. His argument for this was: "This way we will avoid arriving late and at the same time." He was actually right, but did he need to be walking so close that I could feel his right arm brushing against mine? "I thought your driver was paid to take you wherever you wanted," I muttered quietly upon seeing that we were attracting the attention of other employees who were leaving for lunch or coming back. Alright, it was normal for a secretary and boss to be together for various things, but not when they went out to have lunch. It could even be normal, but not with me being the secretary, since I always avoided going out with bosses if it wasn't for a business meeting. The sideways glances and some whispers spoken while looking at me made me uncomfortable. "Unfortunately, due to

MIRANDA I don't know what the suspense was about, but whoever created it deserved a bullet in the middle of the forehead. It didn't seem fair to have to wait for the doctor to read the test results after having spent four hours sitting in a tedious waiting room, about to have a nervous breakdown. My hands were sweating, and my blouse was starting to stick to my back due to the cold sweat that was accumulating in that area. Even though the room was cold because of the air conditioning, it wasn't enough to keep me from melting there. Dr. Lawson was looking at the test results in front of her with her lips in a straight line; her dark eyes showed nothing that could prepare me for the answer to come. Dr. Lawson's office was small and cozy. The walls, instead of white like in the reception, were a light shade of bluish-gray. Behind her, stuck to the wall, was a drawing representing the female anatomy, with small letters indicating what was what, such as the ovarian system, among other

MARLONI never imagined that women in high heels could run so fast!Logically, they should make it harder for them to escape, so why was Miranda running as if she were a marathon champion? Honestly, I was never an athlete, and Brad used to envy me for having a "toned" body without having to sweat for it like him, who spent hours at the gym and running at dawn—which I made a point of spending asleep, rather than accepting his invitations.I never regretted anything so much. I should have accepted the invitations Brad made instead of mocking him.I certainly wouldn't be feeling those slight stabs of pain in my left side, low in my abdomen, and the burning in my lungs that were screaming for air.And I only ran about three hundred meters!I swore to myself that if I managed to stop Miranda, I would be an athlete from then on. Anyway, despite her having the head start, I am a man, and I was blessed with long limbs like my feet, which helped me catch up with her quickly, and my long arms,