The Unexpected Groom

Just as I reached the study door, the laughter inside abruptly stopped. The lingering joy in the air seemed to be instantly drained, leaving only a heavy sense of oppression. "... Are you really going to do this?" It was the voice of Thomas Miller, Hugo Lewis' childhood friend, laced with uncertain probing. Hugo snorted disdainfully, the contempt in his tone striking my ears like an ice pick: "What else? Let her give birth, and the whole world will know that b*stard isn't mine." My feet felt nailed to the ground, my blood instantly chilled from the crown of my head down to my toes. It felt as if the blood in her veins had congealed, every breath carrying a piercing chill. "Are the people arranged for the wedding reliable?" Thomas asked again, his voice dropping even lower. "Don't worry," Hugo Lewis' tone was nonchalant but edged with ruthless confidence, "Just get her to drink a few more cups. If things escalate, even if she suspects something, she won't be able to voice it." "Lydia Shaw's side has everything arranged. This wedding is merely a formality." Lydia Shaw. The Lewis Family's adopted daughter, the woman who is supposed to marry Hugo Lewis' cousin in three days. Those words pierced my heart like poisoned needles. I suddenly pushed the door open, and the two in the study turned their heads at the same time, astonishment flickering across their faces before being replaced by panic. Hugo Lewis stood up, his face wearing his customary gentleness, reaching out to pull me closer: "Tina, why are you here?" I stared at him intently, my throat constricted, unable to utter a single sound. After a long moment, I forced out a few words through clenched teeth: "I heard everything you just said." His face went pale, his hand frozen mid-air as he hurriedly tried to explain: "Tina, listen to me—it's not what you think..." "Don't touch me." I stepped back, my voice trembling uncontrollably, each word breaking apart, "Whose child is that?" Hugo Lewis' eyes flickered anxiously as he avoided my gaze. His lips moved, but no words came out. Just then, my phone suddenly lit up, showing a message from my best friend accompanied by a photo. In the photo, Lydia Shaw was holding a crocodile leather bag, smiling triumphantly. That bag was the limited edition I had admired last month. I had stood in front of the display window for a long time, but Hugo Lewis had pulled me away, saying it was too expensive. He said that every detail of the wedding would be to my liking, but now I realize it was all lies. The banquet hall's main color was champagne, Lydia Shaw's favorite; the dessert table held the cakes she adored, and even the wedding gown I had painstakingly chosen was replaced by him, citing it was 'not grand enough.' So it turns out this wedding was never meant for me from the very beginning. My heart felt as if gripped by an invisible hand, aching so fiercely I could barely breathe, my vision darkening in waves. Looking at this man I had loved for three years, I felt more a stranger to him than ever before. His brows, his eyes, his features—all seemed shrouded in a layer of dust, blurred and sullied. "Hugo Lewis," I articulated each word with deliberate clarity, every syllable forced from my throat, "I refuse to marry in this wedding." His face grew utterly dark, all gentleness wiped away, his tone as cold as ice: "Tina Green, don't be ridiculous." "All these years of our relationship wasted over such a trivial misunderstanding..." "Misunderstanding?" I laughed, tears spilling down without warning, searing as they fell onto my hand. "When you plotted to have me sleep with another man to conceal your disgrace with Lydia Shaw, you call that a misunderstanding?" Thomas Miller tried to smooth things over awkwardly, his tone insincere: "Tina, please calm down. Hugo Lewis just lost his head..." "Get lost." I cut him off coldly, my voice low but resolute, leaving no room for doubt. Hugo Lewis stepped forward and grasped my wrist, his tone tinged with menace: "Tina, there's still room to salvage this. Don't be impulsive." I shook off his hand with force, spun around, and rushed out of the study, my steps unsteady but determined. Back in the bedroom, I locked the door behind me and slowly slid down to the floor, leaning against it. The cold door pressed against my back, yet it could not warm a heart long since frozen. The pregnancy test in the drawer seemed to mock my foolishness; those two red lines now appeared unbearably glaring. The love I had so carefully guarded was nothing but a meticulously planned deceit. Like a fool, I was dancing blindly to a laughable charade. Wiping away my tears, my fingertips turned white from the pressure, yet my gaze gradually hardened with resolve. Hugo Lewis, Lydia Shaw, what you owe me, I will reclaim—bit by bit, in full. This is not the end, but a beginning.