Together Apart: Her White Moonlight Has Returned Too-Chapter 1: Let’s Have a Child

Outside the window, the moonlight was bright and the stars sparse; inside, the storm had just subsided.

After three months apart, the man was insatiable, having stirred all night.

Vera Yves finished her shower and came out to see Winston Valentine buttoning his shirt. Droplets of water fell from his hair onto his firm chest, which bore a few shallow scratches, accidentally made by her earlier.

Vera turned her face away, just in time to see the wall clock. It was past 3 a.m.

"It’s so late, where are you going?"

Winston didn’t answer her question, only said coldly, "Don’t forget to take your pill."

Vera was taken aback, "You didn’t use protection?"

Winston glanced at the empty box on the bedside table and curled his lips, "It’s rare for Mrs. Valentine to be this enthusiastic. Used it all up."

Clearly, it was he who...

Vera’s cheeks flushed, hesitant for a moment, "Why don’t we have a baby?"

The lingering warmth in the room seemed to freeze instantly.

Winston leisurely buttoned his shirt, suddenly seized her chin, forcing her to look up, "What, you still want to use a child to tie me down again?"

Facing his cold gaze, the color drained from Vera’s face, "I don’t."

"Don’t?" Winston sneered, "Did you forget how you became Mrs. Valentine?"

Vera’s mind flashed back to that rainy night three years ago. She had drunk too much and stumbled into that room; it was him who pressed over and said he would fulfill her.

She shook her head in explanation, "I never thought of becoming Mrs. Valentine."

Hearing this, Winston’s fingers tightened, and Vera’s small face wrinkled in pain.

"So, you’ve been wronged for the past three years." Winston laughed mockingly, "If you didn’t want to be Mrs. Valentine, did you want to be Mrs. Warren, Mrs. Lowell, or... Mrs. Monroe?"

Vera tensed up, "You know that’s not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?" Winston released her face, "You don’t want to be my wife, but you want to have my child. Should I call you noble or stupid?"

Vera’s face was pale, "It’s Grandma who’s been urging us to have a child, so I..."

"You’ve managed to absolve yourself pretty cleanly." Winston cast a cold glance at her, "Just be a good Mrs. Valentine, and don’t entertain thoughts you shouldn’t."

Winston left, and Vera couldn’t fall asleep again.

They had been married for three years. Although not particularly affectionate, Winston wasn’t excessively cold to her. She had thought... It turns out he still cared a lot about those things.

Vera stayed awake all night; early the next morning, a servant delivered the medicine to her room. Vera looked at the medicine with bitterness in her heart.

After taking the medicine, she got up to water the backyard flowers and plants.

Her phone kept ringing. Vera glanced at it; it was her childhood friends’ group chat. Someone said, "Big news, the sixth Miss Valentine is back in the country, having a celebration tonight at ’The Gilded Age’!"

The group chat exploded with messages.

The notifications sounded constantly.

Someone else said, "I heard President Valentine personally fetched this sixth Miss Valentine back home."

The group chat fell silent again.

Vera had heard some rumors about Winston Valentine and this sixth Miss Valentine.

It’s just that when she married into the Valentine family, this sixth Miss Valentine had already gone abroad. Her only understanding about this sixth Miss was that her surname was Vaughn, not Valentine, and her name was Cecilia Vaughn.

At around eleven that night, Vera received a call from Winston, asking her to pick him up at The Gilded Age.

The Gilded Age was an entertainment club favored by these wealthy heirs, but ever since marrying Winston, he’d never officially introduced her to this group of friends, so she seldom went there.

Vera drove to the club.

The Gilded Age was a five-story standalone building on the busiest street in Imperia, resembling a grand palace draped in ambient lights, beaming in resplendent hues through the night.

Vera called Winston; a woman’s voice answered, "Who is this? Winston is drunk and can’t come to the phone."

Winston hadn’t noted her in his contacts?

Vera clenched her phone, "Which booth is he in? I’ll go get him."

The woman promptly gave the name of the booth.

Vera pushed open the door. The room was crowded with men and women, Winston sitting at the very center on a leather sofa, clad in a black shirt and dress pants, legs slightly bent.

Beside him was a beautiful woman, in a white dress, draped in his coat, seeming to lean into his embrace from afar.

"Oh, Mrs. Valentine is here," someone saw Vera, teasing with a laugh, "A rare guest indeed!" Somebody even whistled.

"Miss, you’ve seen her now, satisfied?"

Swirling her wine glass, the woman closely inspected Vera, smiling silently.

"What do you mean by saying nothing? To satisfy your curiosity, our President Valentine summoned his wife with just one call!"

Though Vera was unfamiliar with Winston’s group of friends, they mingled in the same social circle, unavoidable. Probably only Cecilia Vaughn didn’t recognize her.

"What satisfaction is there for me? She’s not my wife," Cecilia smiled at Winston, "Maybe ask our President Valentine, is he satisfied with this wife?"

Winston lifted his eyelids, glanced at Vera, chuckled mockingly, only saying one word, "Pretend."

Vera’s heart tightened, and under the ridicule of the crowd, she walked to the sofa, held Winston’s arm, "You’re drunk, let’s go home."

Winston stood up, body swaying slightly, Cecilia looked at him with concern, "Winston, are you okay?"

Winston had indeed drunk a lot, scanning over Vera’s calm little face, a face he’d seen for three years, today it seemed increasingly irritating.

Heh, never thought of being Mrs. Valentine?

Suddenly, Winston pushed Vera away with considerable force, causing her to retreat two steps. In the room’s dim light, someone unexpectedly stuck out a foot, causing Vera to trip.

With a loud "crash," Vera fell onto the coffee table, overturning several drinks, the liquid soaking her luxurious clothes, her waist colliding painfully with the table’s edge.

The room fell instantly silent, as if a pin dropping could be heard.

Someone chuckled, a laugh sharp and grating.

Seeing her wet shirt, Vera was grateful she wore dark purple today; otherwise, the scene would be more embarrassing.

"Mrs. Valentine, are you okay?" someone stepped forward to help her; Vera refused; she didn’t need their sympathy.

As Cecilia helped Winston to the room’s door, she glanced back at Vera, whispering beside Winston’s ear, "Your wife is quite tolerant."

Cecilia’s voice wasn’t loud, yet enough for everyone to hear.

Winston didn’t even turn his head, mockingly said, "If she couldn’t tolerate, how could she ever be Mrs. Valentine?"

Propping herself up, Vera watched the man’s retreating figure, clenched her hands, "Winston Valentine, you were the one who asked me to pick you up!"