He Got Another Woman Pregnant, I Left Him for His Brother

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.