Marrying My Ex-Fiancé's Cousin

Isolde Vancrest had witnessed the ultimate betrayal. Her long-time fiancé, Alan Princeton, had gotten his own sister-in-law pregnant, and he had the audacity to defend it.

Alan: "You can't have children. The family can't end with me."

How ironic. This was the same man who had once knelt nine times to propose, swearing he would rather be sterile than ever hurt her. If love was a joke, then pride had lost all meaning.

That night, Isolde called the one man in Southbridge whose name most people feared to speak. By morning, she was his wife. When Alan saw her again, it was at her wedding.

He dropped to his knees, eyes red.

Alan: "Honey, I was wrong. Please… look at me."

Isolde took a step back and fell into the arms of the man behind her. "The Prince," the ruthless ruler of half the city, wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Seems you've forgotten your place." His voice was biting cold as he looked down at Alan. "Now she’s someone you don’t deserve to even look at."

"Alan, is the baby Sandra's carrying… yours?"

Isolde Vancrest froze. The color drained from her face. She couldn't believe what she had just heard.

Seven months ago, Alan Princeton's older brother had died in a car crash. Out of sympathy for his widowed, pregnant wife, Sandra Carter, Isolde had done everything to help her. She would prepare nourishing meals for her every day, accompany her to every prenatal appointment, and treat her like family.

And now this? This was how they repaid her?

Never had she imagined that Alan—the man who once held her as if she were his entire world—would betray her like this.

"Explain yourself!" she demanded, her voice trembling. She fixed her gaze on the man sitting silently on the sofa.

The light caught the lines between his brows, deepening the shadows across his sharp face. His usual composure was gone, replaced by a suffocating heaviness.

Alan exhaled slowly and said in a low voice, "Calm down, Isolde. My family… needs an heir."

The words cut through her heart like glass. Three years ago, Isolde had hurt her womb while saving his life. The doctor had said she might never conceive again.

Alan had held her hand then and sworn, "I only want you. Who cares about babies? I'll never need one."

And now this?

"An heir?" Isolde gave a hollow laugh, tears breaking free. "So you slept with your sister-in-law? How disgusting can you get?"

A sharp crack echoed through the room.

Alan's mother, Ruth Whitmore, stood before her, her face contorted with disdain as she fixed Isolde with a glare. "Watch your mouth! How dare you speak to Alan like that? His brother is gone. It's only natural that the younger one continues the family line. You have no right to question it."

Ruth's shrill voice rose. "Besides, you can't even bear children. What right do you have to act proud? You should be grateful that Alan hasn't thrown you out already!"

'Can't even bear children…' Isolde touched her burning cheek and stared at Alan in disbelief. 'So this is what he thinks. I should be grateful? Grateful he hasn't thrown me out?!'

Alan was the one to propose—nine times. He was the one who swore he could live without a child, who showed her the vasectomy papers while pleading, tears in his eyes, for one last chance. Those papers still lay locked in her safe.

Alan's eyes flickered with guilt and frustration as he looked at the red mark on her face.

After a long pause, he spoke again, his voice quiet but unyielding. "My brother's gone. I have to take responsibility for the family. You can't have children. That's reality, Isolde. We both need to face it."

He hesitated, then added, "You love kids, don't you? When Sandra's baby is born, we'll adopt it. You can raise it as your own. We'll finally have the family we wanted."

Isolde let out a bitter laugh. "So I should thank you, Mr. Princeton, for letting me become a mother without the inconvenience of childbirth?"

Alan frowned. "Isolde, I'm trying to reason with you. Must you take that tone?"

"You ungrateful girl!" Ruth snapped. "You should be thankful you're getting a son at all! How dare you talk back?"

She shoved Isolde toward the door. "Get out! Go think about what kind of daughter-in-law you should be. Don't come back until you've learned some respect!"

It was past ten. Snow fell heavily outside, and the wind was biting at her skin. They were really throwing her out—barefoot, dressed only in a thin sweater.

Isolde turned to Alan instinctively, searching for a word of defense, a sign of mercy. But he only stood there with clenched fists and a frown.

After a moment, he looked away. He didn't stop his mother. He just let it happen.

The heavy oak door slammed shut with a deafening thud. The click of the lock sliced through the silence.

Cold seeped into Isolde's bones as she stood frozen on the steps, her gaze fixed on the closed door. Her mind was a blank void.

'Three years of engagement…' The words echoed bitterly in her thoughts.

Alan had once loved her with a devotion so fierce it had seemed unshakable. He used to tuck the blanket around her each time she kicked it off at night. He'd bought entire designer collections because she had paused for a moment over a single dress in a magazine. He hated traveling, yet he had taken her across the world when she'd grown restless.

Isolde had once believed she had found the right man. Now she finally understood that love could never withstand the weight of family duty or reality.

When that duty came into conflict with their relationship, he hadn't even tried to talk it through. He had simply made the decision for both of them.

Alan knew she had no one in Southbridge, nowhere to turn. He knew she loved him too deeply to walk away. He expected her to bear everything, even his betrayal, and still remain by his side. He believed she was trapped.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten one crucial fact. When Ruth had threatened suicide to stop their marriage, they had settled for a modest engagement party. They had never been legally married.

A cold, fragile smile curved her lips. Beneath the heartbreak, something in her finally steeled. "Alan Princeton, I don't want you anymore."

With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in years.

When the line connected, her voice was steady. "Do your words from back then still count, Bruce?"

…

The housekeeper, Helen Danfrey, said anxiously, "Madam, she's gone. Ms. Vancrest has left."

"She's gone?" Ruth snapped. "She dares walk out instead of begging for forgiveness? That woman's lost her mind."

"The news hit her hard," Helen said softly. "Maybe you should go after her, Mr. Princeton. You might still catch her if you leave now."

Alan stared out the window, irritation flickering across his face. "No need."

He knew Isolde too well. Even when she was angry, she never truly left. This was just her temper. She would come back.

"Exactly. As if she could leave him. She'll crawl back tomorrow, begging for forgiveness," Ruth said with a smirk.

"And when she does, she won't get away with a simple apology. She needs to learn obedience if she wants to stay in this family," she added, her voice brimming with contempt.

She then turned to Alan. "Don't go easy on her this time, Alan. You've spoiled her too much. When she comes back, make her work as a nanny. Sandra's delicate and can't handle caring for a child. Let that barren woman make herself useful. If she can't have her own, she can raise ours. Waste not, want not."

Helen drew in a sharp breath. She couldn't tell if Isolde would truly allow herself to be humiliated like that again. After all, she had borne everything else without complaint.

…

The next morning, snow still blanketed Southbridge.

A black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up in front of the Princeton estate, its tires crunching through ice.

The door opened, and Isolde stepped out with a brand-new marriage certificate in her hand.