Billionaire's Ex-Wife ✓

XXI. I'm Not A Prostitute

Vivian's POV:

I cried.

I cried harder than I ever did.

I cried harder than when my pet goldfish - Nugget died.

I cried harder than when my ant farm spilled on the ground and I tripped on top of it.

After that, I refused to get another pet.

I cried harder than when I was on my honeymoon with Liam where he stays next door for two weeks.

I cried harder than when Liam and I divorced.

Crouching in the corner of the jail cell beside the bars, I wrapped my arms around it; avoiding the looks from the half-naked lady across from me. The police officers stroll by without giving me a second look. I'm assuming they deal with my kind many times.

My hair was in disarray, as if it entered a frenzied attack, from who I thought was a rapist/killer beating earlier. There was only a single heel attached to my foot. My mascara was running horribly wrong; eyelashes sticking to one another each time I blinked.

I would say I'm not too different from the prostitute across the room. I'm not calling her a prostitute because of the way she's dressed, but she is one. She offered nearly every officer, male and female, who passes by a good time.

"Ah," the prostitute sigh, "I remember my first night behind bars."

My eyes widen at her statement and I look upward from my dirty hands. "I'm not a prostitute!"

She nudges a colored brow, "If you're not a prostitute. Why are you dress like that?"

"I was out on a date!" Speaking of date, I wonder what Cason is doing.

When they threw me in the back of the car, they took everything from me; including his phone. Not like I can call him anyways, my phone is turned off. Gosh, I wish he won't ask me to pay for his medical bills afterward. The night is tough enough already.

"Is that what kids call it nowadays?"

I crunched my hands into fists. "I was out on a legal date with a nice guy! He didn't pay me to do anything!"

Her eyes scanned my body once more, and I bit my lower lip to hold back the tears. I have to pee really bad but I don't want to use that extremely dirty looking toilet in the corner. I could always squat, but everyone will see me doing my business. "If he is such a nice guy. Why are you in here sweetheart?"

I exhaled, "I beat up my ex-husband who I thought was a rapist, thief, and/or killer."

She crossed a leg, placing her elbows on her thighs, "Sounds like you got a rough night," she said, nodding her head. "I once gave a 200-pound man a blow job and he refused to pay."

"Oh," I responded, "I'm sorry."

She laughed, "Don't be sorry for me honey. My pimp took care of him."

There was a brief silence between us as the police officers work around the room. Phone calls from victims and/or pranking children buzz in the air as conversations of cases and small talks overlapped, "What's your name?" I asked her.

She smiles, and I noticed how she's a bit skinnier than normal girls; probably in her late twenties or early thirties, "Cate."

I returned her smile, "That's beautiful."

She rushes her fingers through her hair and I noticed how there is a deep scar on her jawline which was quickly covered by the hair once more. "Really? Because I hate it."