The Final Party

Edward and I held our engagement party in Las Vegas. Everything seemed perfect—until someone suggested a game of Truth or Dare.

One of Edward's female coworkers looked me straight in the eye. "I am pregnant. It is your fiancé's baby."

Laughter burst out around us. Everyone thought it was a joke—except Edward.

After the trip, we returned home. He looked uneasy.

"I'm the father of Juliet's baby," he admitted.

"Don't overthink it. We were on a business trip and got too drunk with a client. We accidentally spent the night together.

"She is from a British aristocratic family. Reputation matters a lot to her. She will never marry me. She only wants to have the baby and raise it alone."

"So what are you saying?" I asked.

"I am the father. I have to take responsibility. I will stay in the apartment I rented for her and take care of her pregnancy on weekdays, and come home on weekends.

"Our wedding will be delayed. We will get married after the baby is borned."

I gave a small smile. So he had it all planned out. He was just here to inform me.

He let out a sigh of relief, picked up his Rimowa suitcase, and walked out without looking back.

I wiped the tears off my face and began packing away all the memories of our relationship.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed. The voice on the other end sounded messy and emotional.

"Margot, I freaking love you. Don't marry him. Marry me instead."

I froze for a second, then replied, "Okay."

I finished packing my suitcase.

I placed the engagement ring and all the keepsakes from our relationship on Edward's work desk.

Our home still looked like a wedding venue—ribbons, white lilies, and napkins embossed with 'M & E Forever'.

I had always dreamed of it.

I had a crush on him for four years. We dated for eight. In just three days, we were supposed to get married.

However, he betrayed me.

Tears filled my eyes again, and I forced myself to shut them tight.

My phone buzzed as I dragged my suitcase to the front door.

It was Edward.

"I forgot my towel. Can you bring it over?" he asked.

"To Juliet's place. You know the address, right?"

I let out a bitter laugh. Of course, I did.

Every month, Edward and a few guys from finance would gather at Juliet's SoHo loft. They always called it a 'work get-together'.

He took me there a few times.

The men would slump on the couch, drinking, playing poker, and talking business, while Juliet strutted around in crop tops and tiny shorts like it was a runway.

I had told him I hated those gatherings and begged him to stop going.

He just brushed me off.

"Margot, networking is part of my job. We talk business and make connections at those parties. Come on, we're not attached at the hip just because we're dating.

"Juliet is like one of the guys. We are business partners. Even if she walked in front of me undressed, I would feel nothing."

All of it was just pretty lies to keep me quiet.

I did not reply. A few seconds later, he sent me the address anyway.

I wanted to delete his number, but my fingers went another way.

"Got it," I replied.

Something bitter rose in my chest. Maybe—I just wanted to see for myself.

I wondered how a man who could not even peel an apple could take care of a pregnant woman.

I gripped the shopping bag that held the towel and rang the doorbell.

Juliet answered quickly. As usual, she wore a tight tank top and short shorts. She smiled brightly and pulled me inside without hesitation.

Before I could say anything, she snatched the bag from my hands.

"Take a seat," she said casually.

"Edward is cooking for me. You should eat with us."

The water stopped running.

"Jules, where's the jam?" Edward's lazy, familiar voice came from the kitchen.

A few minutes later, he walked out shirtless, wearing only a pair of low-rise lounge shorts.

"Jules, can you help me with the salad?" he asked.

Juliet laughed and wiped the lipstick smudge from the corner of his mouth.

"Eddie, are you sure you're the one taking care of me? It feels like I'm taking care of you. Don't forget, I'm pregnant with your baby," Juliet said.

He clicked his tongue and made a show of looking annoyed, wrapping an arm around her waist. Then, he noticed me sitting silently in the corner.

He froze for half a second, then handed the salad bowl to me instead.

"Jules, don't take it personally," he said. "Your cooking is awful. My fiancée is like a professional chef. Cooking is her thing."

Edward called me his fiancée.

What a joke. Juliet looked more like his wife than I ever did.

In all our years together, he never once cooked for me.

I stood up and stepped away from him.

"I don't have time for this. I'm leaving."

He grabbed my wrist, his face tight, and said, "Can you stop making a scene?"

"Am I?" I gave a cold laugh.

"Edward, you got her pregnant, and you two are living together. Do you still want me to act as your fiancée?"