The First Heir

Wynn stood up. Wearing a white blazer, heels, a presentable black lace blouse, and white slacks, she walked out of the VP’s office.

“Mindy, I’m going out for a bit. Call me if you need me,” Wynn told her assistant, Mindy Scott.

“Sure thing, Wynn. Oh, do you want to take my car?” Mindy was always so cheerful and full of smiles. She was adorable.

Full of youth and vigor, she was.

“Alright.” Wynn accepted Mindy’s car keys and headed to the carpark alone.

She wanted to go to the bank and check how much money was in the card Philip gave her.

More than anything else, she was simply curious.

On the other end, Philip was just leaving a mall with a princess doll about half his height.

Mila had insisted on it.

As soon as he walked out of the door, though, he had barely taken a few steps before a flashy pink Porsche 911 swerved a beautiful 180 degrees and skidded to a halt right in front of Philip.

“F*ck!”

Philip resisted the urge to swear out loud. He walked around the car and tried to leave. This person was rich, after all. He should not provoke them.

However, the window on the pink Porsche wound down, revealing a young girl with long purple hair. She wore shades and had an eye-catching figure to go with it, looking just like one of those magical girls from TV.

The girl turned around and tilted her fair chin at

was sweet, cute, and very

himself and asking, “Are you talking to

out of the car impatiently. She wore a short black skirt, revealing her long, slender, fair legs with calf-high boots. For her top, she wore a plain white T-shirt. Presently, she grabbed the doll from Philip’s hands

lost, but he got into the

because he recognized this car. It was the one

Theo’s

That seemed about right.

drag a

life,

left when a woman in a long black dress and carrying a handbag walked out

the direction the Porsche had left, perplexed. Inwardly,

What was happening here?

got into that Porsche, and

Philip had a mistress, or he had

of Joshua’s previous investigations were right

Philip Clarke was

her phone, Yolanda’s lips curved into a mean, cold

‘You’re dead meat, Clarke!

about this, you’ll be

‘Take that, you sunuvab*tch!’

long time before she reluctantly accepted the call. A woman’s wails immediately blasted from the speaker. “Yola! Where are you?

frustrated, but she had to reply exasperatedly, “Stop calling me, Mom.

Smack!