She Borrowed My Fiancé’s Sperm，So I Called Off the Wedding

On the day of the engagement party, I pushed open the door to the dressing room and saw my fiancé's "buddy" wearing my designer wedding dress, laughing in his arms. She held up an ultrasound report and said, "Oliver, your daughter takes after you; she's got an eye for your fiancée's wedding dress." Oliver Cooper straightened her veil and replied, "If you like it, keep it. Perfect for maternity photos." Seeing me enter, Violet Turner gave him a light tap and said, "Layla, don't be mad. Oliver said you wouldn't mind." I'd only just asked what was going on with the baby when Violet handed me a Co-Parenting Agreement. As she spoke, she wrapped her arms around my arm with a grin and said, "Layla, don't worry. I'm only borrowing the sperm, not your husband." I looked at Oliver. He looked completely normal and said, "She's a total tomboy; she can't raise a kid alone. We'll raise the kid together, the three of us." I didn't ask when they did it. I turned away and, bit by bit, wiped off the engagement makeup I had redone seven times. ***** Oliver's voice came from behind me. "Layla, put your makeup back on. Everyone is waiting for you." He followed me out of the fitting room, stopping two steps away from the sink. I looked at the face in the mirror, half made‑up, half bare. I tossed the last cotton pad in my hand into the trash can and said, "I'm returning the wedding dress. Don't bother getting the deposit back. We need to talk about the wedding." Oliver walked over, pulled out a face wipe, and handed it to me. He said, "Put your makeup back on first. We'll talk later." His tone was steady, as if he were soothing a child throwing a tantrum. "Our family and friends are all out there. If you go out like this, it'll be embarrassing for everyone." I didn't take the face towel. My phone buzzed. It was Logan Barnes who offered me the second‑round interview opportunity I had waited seven years for. I had just reached out when Oliver beat me to it. He answered it without putting it on speaker. "Mr. Barnes, hello. This is Oliver. Yes, Layla is right beside me. We've discussed the interview. She has a family celebration and is too busy to get away. Thank you for your understanding." The call lasted less than thirty seconds. He hung up and tossed the phone back into my bag. He said, "That place is at an altitude of 4,500 meters. You can't make it up there." He looked at me like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I spared you the trip. That leg of yours can't take it." I looked at him. Seven years ago, Oliver's first round of financing had failed. We were on the rooftop of a warehouse on the outskirts of town, waiting for the Perseid meteor shower. The wind was strong that day. He was freezing, rubbing his hands together, pointing at the sky as he said, "One day, I'll build you an observatory on a mountaintop, reserved for no one but you." Now, with a single sentence, he had denied me the one observatory I could actually reach. I dried my face with that face wipe. "I don't mind." Oliver clearly didn't pick up on the sarcasm. He let out a breath and smiled. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Did you forget what the doctor said?" His fingers were warm against my cheek. He went on, "You can't rush into having a baby yourself. Violet is taking care of that step for us. You can just hold the baby when the time comes." The fitting room door was pushed open. Violet walked out, holding up the hem of that wedding gown. She said, "Oliver, the relatives in the group chat are all urging us to hurry, asking why Layla hasn't come out yet." Her words made my stomach churn. "Oliver said it's fine if the kid calls you Mom." Violet walked over and looped her arm through Oliver's. "I'm a mess of a mother anyway, so I'll be counting on you to handle the hard part." Oliver pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and turned toward the balcony, pointing in Violet's direction. "If this were anyone else, I'd have dealt with it already. She's my buddy. If you can't even stomach this, then what the hell were these last seven years?" He flicked the ash. "The wedding's on. Invitations are printed. Your name's on them." Oliver's mother, Grace, entered the lounge at that moment. She glanced at Violet's belly, unable to keep the smile off her face. She said, "It's a blessing, Layla. You need to be generous about this." Oliver's father, Henry, stood outside the door, hands behind his back, and said only one thing the entire time, "It's decided. That's final." Oliver answered a call and stubbed out his cigarette. "Violet's setting up her prenatal record. I'll take her. You pick the wallpaper. The installer's coming tomorrow morning." The door shut. My phone buzzed again. Logan had sent a text. Logan: 10 days until the Brindlewood second-round interview. I stared at that line for a long time. Then I photographed the Co‑Parenting Agreement on the table, screenshotted the family group chat, and sent them both to Iris Reed. Layla: Save these for evidence.