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