At my engagement party, a pretty, dark-skinned woman stepped forward and presented a striking gift.

A double-lined pregnancy test.

Everyone laughed and made light-hearted jokes. Everyone except my fiancé, Miles Vaughn, quietly put the test kit away, smoothing it out as if it were precious.

After the party ended, Miles seemed dazed, lost in thought.

"That night... I thought it was you, so I just..."

He tried to explain, "Don’t worry, Luna. She’s a foreigner, so she won’t care about things like having a child outside marriage here. I’ll have the child call you mom, how about that?"

I quietly looked at him without saying a word.

"But Monica is pregnant, after all. She’s got cravings. I remember you studied abroad, so you know how to cook a balance meal, right? You will cook for her, okay? I don’t have much time these days. Just Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I’ll take her out to eat on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays."

I smiled and nodded. But as I turned around, I bumped straight into a firm, muscular chest.

It was Miles’s younger brother. His tan skin was warm and his eyes shimmered with tears.

"Sis," he said pitifully, "what about me? Don't you want me?"

The words left my mouth before I could stop them. "Yes, I want you… every night."

——

That night, Miles brought Monica home.

The moment I walked in, I saw Monica sitting on a yoga ball in just a bikini, doing exercises while drenched in fragrant sweat.

Miles stood behind her, holding her by the waist with both hands, occasionally letting out strange, ambiguous moans.

“So provocative.”

Suddenly, Miles gave Monica a firm pinch.

“What part of me is provocative?”

“Your armpit.”

“You’re saying I’m gross? Fine, come here and smell it!”

The two of them burst into laughter as Monica stuffed her armpit into his face.

My father stood awkwardly nearby, watching with concern.

“Easy now, Monica, careful of the baby.”

Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. They looked like a cheerful, loving family. I was the only one who did not belong.

Perhaps my cold sneer was too obvious. Finally, someone noticed my presence, and they paused.

I had not said a word, but Miles was already on the defensive, acting like I was the unreasonable one.

“We were just doing yoga. Don’t be so narrow-minded. Try being more open, like Monica.”

He continued as if nothing had happened.

“So, sniffing each other’s armpits is part of being open-minded now?”

My heart, already in pieces, stopped beating for a moment. My voice was calm but laced with bitterness.

At last, Miles frowned and pulled back slightly.

“I’m in a good mood today. I don’t want to argue with you.”

Miles always did this. Whenever something happened, he would give me the cold shoulder, waiting for me to approach him first and back down.

But truth be told, I had always enjoyed such mistreatment.

The atmosphere had clearly grown tense, but Monica kept laughing beside him like nothing had happened.

“Hey, Lulu’s been busy with the engagement party all day and hasn’t had anything to eat. I just learned a new dish, so let me cook for you guys.”

“What can you possibly cook with your skills? Luna is far better in the kitchen than you. Let her do it,” Miles said, cutting her off before she could even get up. He pushed her gently back down into her seat.

Then, he began naming one dish after another, all of Monica’s favorites.

When he looked up again, he raised his chin slightly, signaling me to head into the kitchen. It was his usual tactic as if he were offering me a chance to make up for my earlier outburst.

But this time, I was not going to yield. I turned and walked straight into the kitchen. And then, I smashed every single pot I had used over the past three years.

Miles’s face darkened instantly. “Luna Westbrook, I’m starting to think you really don’t want to marry me.”

My father stepped in front of me, but instead of shielding me, he leaned toward the outsiders with his tone and words.

“Lulu, why are you in such a bad mood? Can’t you think about the bigger picture? In the end, isn’t Monica’s child going to call you mom anyway?”

“You have disease and can’t conceive. You should be thankful to Monica for bearing a child, someone who’ll take care of you in your old age.”

I had polycystic ovarian syndrome. I loved children so much, but it would be difficult for me to get pregnant.

And it was precisely because of this that my father felt he had no choice but to depend on outsiders.

After my father bowed and scraped before Miles to apologize on my behalf, Miles gave a cold snort and finally walked away.

But even after that, my father did not stop preaching to me.

At that moment, I pulled a piece of paper from my bag, the corrected diagnosis.

"I’m not having any problem. I can give the Westbrook Family a real heir."

My father’s hands trembled as he took the paper. He was so overwhelmed with emotion that he could not speak.

He asked me how this happened.

Back then, I had missed my period, and it was Monica who insisted on taking me to the hospital for a check-up. When the diagnosis of polycystic infertility came back, I was heartbroken.

But over time, something did not sit right with me.

The diagnosis came immediately after Monica arrived. And I had only just begun preparing for pregnancy when I was suddenly told I was infertile.

"Great, wonderful! You and Miles will get married at once, and I’ll finally have an heir who shares my true Westbrook Family bloodline."

Now that there was a choice, my father naturally wanted a child with a blood connection to him.

"You want marriage and an heir? Fine. But I want to change the person I marry."

"Change? Who? Isn’t it supposed to be Miles?"

My father clearly favored Miles, his adopted son, the one he had raised himself. He trusted him because he knew where he came from.

But I understood my father well, and I gently reminded him.

"Dad, don’t forget that you have more than one adopted son. There’s someone else. Miles’s younger brother."

At those words, my father suddenly remembered Daniel, the very same person he had exiled thousands of miles away into the rainforest.

Although he could not compare to the polished and well-trained Miles, who had been carefully groomed by my father, he saw my determination and eventually nodded in agreement.

"It doesn’t matter who it is. What matters most is giving me an excellent heir."

Once we finished talking, I immediately sent a message to Daniel Vaughn.

Back then, he had pursued me with all his heart, but I was blinded by the refined, soft-spoken Miles and his gold-rimmed glasses. I never cared for Daniel’s tan skin or his rough appearance, and I thought he was uncultured and dull.

However, in a cutthroat place like the Westbrook Group, how could someone truly stupid or vulgar manage to stay out of the mess and still take charge of the Westbrook Group's operations?

[Come back and marry me.]

He only sent a simple sentence in reply, but the emotions behind them ignited something in my chest.

[Wait for me to come back.]

After Daniel’s chat window went silent, it was Miles who began messaging me frequently.

[Just cook breakfast and dinner. You don’t need to make lunch. Is that enough?]

Miles rarely ever compromised.

[I’m giving you a way out, Luna. Just go with the flow when the situation is still manageable.]

[No, let’s stop here. We’re not getting married.]

There was a long silence before he finally responded, clearly in disbelief.

[Luna Westbrook, are you joking with me? Haven’t you knelt down and apologized enough in the past three years? Do I need to make you do it a few more times before you finally learn your lesson? Don’t forget how you begged me to marry you back then. If you really get me mad, let’s see who else would even want to marry you.]

He was clearly furious, and he asked me to come to Monica’s room to talk. He even warned me in advance that I would be sleeping in Monica’s room tonight and would be responsible for taking care of her. He told me not to be so conservative or old-fashioned.

Everyone in her country did this. It was normal for men and women to sleep together, he told me.

Indeed, last time, Monica had happily lain on a tiny bed, squeezed together with him and a few of his so-called good friends, sleeping soundly as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

In the end, of course, I did not listen to what Miles said. Still, I went upstairs and apologized.

That night, the bed in Monica’s room next door shook violently, and even the floor on my side trembled with it.

The dignity I just managed to reclaim was trampled all over again. I should have known from the beginning that the whole story about mistaking me for someone else was just a blatant lie.

Miles dismissed all my previous doubts, calling them foolish and the result of being overly dramatic.

He did everything he could to belittle me, all to mask the deep inferiority he carried inside.

He accused me of only caring about money and said I could never compare to Monica’s genuine kindness and generosity.

But he was the one who gladly accepted my father’s resources and the promise that as long as he married me, he would inherit the Westbrook Family business.

Next door, they sounded like they were in heaven, and I could not sleep the entire night.

The next morning, my friends dragged me out to a bachelor party.

Everyone was there.

Miles lounged in a chair, calm and collected, but when he saw me, his eyes narrowed slightly.

There was a silent challenge in his gaze. I knew he wanted me to apologize for what happened the day before, but I ignored him completely.

Seeing that Miles clenched his fists under the table, his expression stern.

Then the party’s big game began, Truth or Dare, and somehow, the dare landed on Miles and Monica. They had to kiss.

Everyone laughed, about to brush it off. "Hey, the bride’s right here, you know."

However, Miles gave a sly smile and locked eyes with me.

"It’s just a kiss, Luna. Can’t handle that? It’s normal where she comes from, just a polite gesture. You’re just too uptight."

Everyone exchanged awkward glances, and when they looked at me, their eyes held a mixture of pity and discomfort.

The kiss went on for a full three minutes before it finally ended.

Miles looked like he was savoring every second.

"Way better than you. You can’t even breathe properly. Take notes from Monica."

I looked away, not wanting to watch. Just then, the waiter arrived with the bill.

"I’ll get this."

In the past, I was always the one with the deepest pockets at events like this, and I just wanted to use this as my escape.

But Monica was quicker, grabbing the bill before I could.

"Lulu, it’s always you paying. Let me cover this one."

I frowned, wanting nothing more than to get out of there as fast as possible.

"No, I’ll do it."

Just as Monica and I were pushing each other, Monica suddenly fell to the ground.

She flipped the situation. "No matter how rich you are, you can’t go around bullying others. It doesn’t matter if you hurt me, but what if you hurt the baby in my belly? If it weren’t for you being my friend's wife, I really wouldn’t forgive you."

With that, she called out loudly to Miles again.

"It was just a kiss earlier, and you’re already so jealous. You’re really stuck in old-fashioned thinking. Miles, teach your wife a lesson!"

Watching this ridiculous scene, I fixed my gaze on Monica.

"Get out!"

The moment I said that the room fell completely silent.

I turned to leave, but Miles grabbed a handful of my hair and yanked me back onto the sofa.

"I have to admit, you’re something else. Since you’re so rich, if you’ve got the guts, why don’t you return everything I gave you?"

As he spoke, a cold shiver ran down my chest.

"I bought you this underwear three years ago, and you’re still wearing it, Luna. Tell me, are you a slut?"

Then, without warning, he roughly tore my earrings off, leaving my earlobes raw and bleeding.

My dignity lay shattered on the floor, and the eyes of everyone around me pierced through me like daggers.

Meanwhile, Monica was loudly praising him.

"Miles, you did great. That’s how women are disciplined in my country."

I clearly saw that Monica had just paid the bill using contactless payment.

The irony was, for three years, Miles had always been the one paying for every meal with me.

I never had a single receipt.

It was not until I took off my last pair of pants that Miles finally let me go.